Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/121

 A duel fought last night at two, About a lady — you know who; Mention'd a new Italian, come Either from Muscovy or Rome; Gave hints of who and who's together; Then fell to talking of the weather; Last night was so extremely fine, The ladies walk'd till after nine; Then, in soft voice and speech absurd, With nonsense every second word, With fustian from exploded plays, They celebrate her beauty's praise; Run o'er their cant of stupid lies, And tell the murders of her eyes. With silent scorn Vanessa sat, Scarce listening to their idle chat; Farther than sometimes by a frown, When they grew pert, to pull them down. At last she spitefully was bent To try their wisdom's full extent; And said, she valu'd nothing less Than titles, figure, shape, and dress; That merit should be chiefly plac'd In judgment, knowledge, wit, and taste; And these, she offer'd to dispute, Alone distinguish'd man from brute: That present times have no pretence To virtue, in the noble sense By Greeks and Romans understood, To perish for our country's good. She nam'd the ancient heroes round, Explain'd for what they were renown'd; Then spoke with censure or applause Of foreign customs, rites, and laws; Through