Poem by Jonathan Swift

On a Pair of Dice

We are little brethren twain,
Arbiters of loss and gain,
Many to our counters run,
Some are made, and some undone:
But men find it to their cost,
Few are made, but numbers lost.
Though we play them tricks for ever,
Yet they always hope our favour. 

1. Dean Swift at Sir Arthur Acheson’s, in the North of Ireland
2. Drapier’s Hill
3. Verses on Blenheim
4. At Holyhead
5. Mrs Frances Haris's Petition

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