Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 18.djvu/459



UR schoolmaster may rave i' th' fit Of classick beauty hæc & illa, Not all his birch inspires such wit As th' ogling beams of Domitilla. Let nobles toast, in bright champaign, Nymphs higher born than Domitilla; I'll drink her health, again, again, In Berkeley's tar, or sars'parilla. At Goodman's Fields I've much admired The postures strange of monsieur Brilla; But what are they to the soft step, The gliding air, of Domitilla? Virgil has eternized in song The flying footsteps of Camilla: Sure, as a prophet, he was wrong; He might have dream'd of Domitilla. Great