Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/427



SYLVIA my heart in wondrous wise alarm'd, Aw'd without sense, and without beauty charm'd: But some odd graces and some flights she had, Was just not ugly, and was just not mad: Her tongue still ran on credit from her eyes, More pert than witty, more a wit than wise: Goodnature, she declar'd it, was her scorn, Tho' 'twas by that alone she could be born: Affronting all, yet fond of a good name; A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame: Now coy, and studious in no point to fall, Now all agog for D——y at a ball: Now deep in Taylor, and the Book of Martyrs, Now drinking citron with his grace and Chartres. Men, some to business, some to pleasure take; But ev'ry woman's in her soul a rake. Frail, fev'rish sex! their fit now chills, now burns: Atheism and superstition rule by turns; And the mere heathen in her carnal part Is still a sad good Christian in her heart. Rh