Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/54

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Advance the fringed curtains of thy eyes, And tell me who comes yonder.

The wooden guardian of our privacy Quick on its axle turn.

Bring me what nature, tailor to the bear, To man himself deny'd; she gave me cold, But would not give me clothes.

Bring forth some remnant of Promethean theft, Quick to expand th' inclement air, congeal'd By Boreas's rude breath.

Yon' luminary amputation needs, Thus shall you save its half extinguish'd life.

Wax! render up thy trust.

Apply thine engine to the spungy door: Set Bacchus from his glassy prison free, And strip white Ceres of her nut-brown coat. CHAP.