Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/120

108 (For gods, we are by Homer told, Can in celestial language scold) Perfidious goddess! but in vain You form'd this project in your brain; A project for thy talents fit, With much deceit and little wit. Thou hast, as thou shalt quickly see, Deceiv'd thyself, instead of me: For how can heavenly wisdom prove An instrument to earthly love? Know'st thou not yet, that men commence Thy votaries, for want of sense? Nor shall Vanessa be the theme To manage thy abortive scheme: She'll prove the greatest of thy foes; And yet I scorn to interpose, But, using neither skill nor force, Leave all things to their natural course. The goddess thus pronounc'd her doom: When lo! Vanessa in her bloom Advanc'd, like Atalanta's star, But rarely seen, and seen from far: In a new world with caution stept, Watch'd all the company she kept, Well knowing, from the books she read, What dangerous paths young virgins tread: Would seldom at the Park appear, Nor saw the playhouse twice a year; Yet, not incurious, was inclin'd To know the converse of mankind. First issued from perfumer's shops, A crowd of fashionable fops: They ask'd her, how she lik'd the play; Then told the tattle of the day; A duel