Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/452

446 Reserv'd, demure, than snow more cold, She scorn'd the gentle boy.

Late at a ball he own'd his pain: She blush'd, and frown'd, and swore, With all the marks of high disdain, She'd never hear him more.

The swain persisted still to pray, The nymph still to deny; At last she vow'd she would not stay; He swore she should not fly.

Enrag'd, she call'd her footman straight, And rush'd from out the room. Drove to her lodging, lock'd the gate, And lay with Ralph at home.

HOW vain are mortal man's endeavours! (Said, at dame Elleot's, master Travers) Good Orleans dead! in truth 'tis hard: O! may all statesmen die prepar'd! I do foresee (and for foreseeing He equals any man in being) The army ne'er can be disbanded. — I wish the king were safely landed. Ah friends! great changes threat the land! All France and England at a stand! There's