Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/198

186 Two brightest, brittlest, earthly things, A lady's face, and China-ware. She ventures now to lift the sash; The window is her proper sphere: Ah, lovely nymph! be not too rash, Nor let the beaux approach too near. Take pattern by your sister star: Delude at once and bless our sight; When you are seen, be seen from far, And chiefly choose to shine by night. But art no longer can prevail, When the materials all are gone; The best mechanick hand mast fail, Where nothing's left to work upon. Matter, as wise logicians say, Cannot without a form subsist; And form, say I as well as they, Must fail, if matter brings no grist. And this is fair Diana's case; For all astrologers maintain, Each night a bit drops off her face, When mortals say she's in her wane: While Partridge wisely shows the cause Efficient of the moon's decay, That Cancer with his poisonous claws Attacks her in the milky way: But Gadbury, in art profound, From her pale cheeks pretends to show, That swain Endymion is not found, Or else that Mercury's her foe. But,