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On The Five Senses

All of us in one you'll find,

Brethren of a wondrous kind;

Yet among us all no

Knows one tittle of the other;

We in frequent councils are,

And our marks of things declare,

Where, to us unknown, a

Sits, and takes them in the dark.

He's the register of

In our ken, both great and small;

By us forms his laws and rules,

He's our master, we his tools;

Yet we can with greatest

Turn and wind him where we please.  One of us alone can sleep,

Yet no watch the rest will keep,

But the moment that he closes,

Every brother else reposes.

If wine's brought or victuals drest,

One enjoys them for the rest.  Pierce us all with wounding steel,

One for all of us will feel.  Though ten thousand cannons roar,

Add to them ten thousand more,

Yet but one of us is

Who regards the dreadful sound.  Do what is not fit to tell,

There's but one of us can smell.

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Jonathan Swift

Jonathan Swift (30 November 1667 – 19 October 1745) was an Anglo-Irish satirist, essayist, political pamphleteer (first for the Whigs, then for …

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