Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/233

Rh All their religion will be spent About thy woven monument, And not one orison be sent to Jove, sir. You the fam'd idol will become, As gardens grac'd in ancient Rome, By matrons worship'd in the gloom of night: O happy Dan! thrice happy sure! Thy fame for ever shall endure, Who after death can love secure at sight. So far I thought it was my duty To dwell upon thy boasted beauty; Now I'll proceed a word or two t' ye in answer To that part where you carry on This paradox, that rock and stone In your opinion are all one: How can, sir, A man of reasoning so profound So stupidly be run aground, As things so different to confound t' our senses? Except you judg'd them by the knock Of near an equal hardy block: Such an experimental stroke convinces. Then might you be, by dint of reason, A proper judge on this occasion; 'Gainst feeling there's no disputation, is granted: Therefore