Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/227

Rh Make one work immortal: 'tis all I request." Apollo look'd pleas'd; and, resolving to jest, Reply'd, "Honest friend, I've considered thy case: Nor dislike thy well-meaning and humourous face. Thy petition I grant: the boon is not great; Thy works shall continue; and here's the receipt. On rondeaus hereafter thy fiddlestrings spend: Write verses in circles: they never shall end."

fair lady Betty Dan sat for his picture, And defy'd her to draw him so oft as he piqu'd her. He knew she'd no pencil or colouring by her, And therefore he thought he might safely defy her. Come sit, says my lady; then whips up her scissar, And cuts out his coxcomb in silk in a trice, sir. Dan sat with attention, and saw with surprise How she lengthen'd his chin, how she hollow'd his eyes; But flatter'd himself with a secret conceit, That his thin lantern jaws all her art would defeat. Lady Betty observ'd it, then pulls out a pin, And varies the grain of the stuff to his grin: And, to make roasted silk to resemble his raw bone, She rais'd up a thread to the jet of his jaw bone; Till at length in exactest proportion he rose, From the crown of his head to the arch of his nose; Rh