Herrings

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Title:     Herrings
Author: Jonathan Swift [More Titles by Swift]

Be not sparing,
Leave off swearing.
Buy my herring
Fresh from Malahide,[1]
Better never was tried.
Come, eat them with pure fresh butter and mustard,
Their bellies are soft, and as white as a custard.
Come, sixpence a-dozen, to get me some bread,
Or, like my own herrings, I soon shall be dead.

[Footnote 1: Malahide, a village five miles from Dublin, famous for oysters.--_F_.]

[The end]
Jonathan Swift's poem: Herrings

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