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. A Rebus. By Vanessa
2. Dean Swift at Sir Arthur Acheson’s, in the North of Ireland
3. Verses on Blenheim
4. At Holyhead
5. Drapier’s Hill

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