Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/448

442 Sharp as a needle are her words; Her wit like pepper bites.

Brisk as a body-louse she trips, Clean as a penny drest: Sweet as a rose her breath and lips, Round as the globe her breast.

Full as an egg was I with glee, And happy as a king: Good Lord! how all men envied me! She lov'd like any thing.

But, false as Hell, she, like the wind, Chang'd as her sex must do; Though seeming as the turtle kind, And like the Gospel true.

If I and Molly could agree, Let who would take Peru! Great as an emp'ror should I be, And richer than a Jew.

Till you grow tender as a chick, I'm dull as any post: Let us like burs together stick, And warm as any toast.

You'll know me truer than a die, And wish me better sped, Flat as a flounder when I lie, And as a herring dead.

Sure as a gun she'll drop a tear, And sigh, perhaps, and wish, When I am rotten as a pear, And mute as any fish. NEW-