Come hither, all ye empty things,
Ye bubbles rais'd by breath of Kings;
Who float upon the tide of state,
Come hither, and behold your fate.
Let pride be taught by this rebuke,
How very mean a thing's a Duke;
From all his ill-got honours flung,
Turn'd to that dirt from whence he sprung.

The works of dr. Jonathan Swift, with some account of the author's life, and notes by J. Hawkesworth [and others]. Revised (ed. 1765)