Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/257



Shield me from his rage, celestial powers! This tyrant, that embitters all my hours! Ah! Love! you've poorly play'd the hero's part: You conquered, but you can't defend my heart. When first I bent beneath your gentle reign, I thought this monster banish'd from your train: But you would raise him to support your throne; And now he claims your empire as his own. Or tell me, tyrants! have you both agreed, That where one reigns, the other shall succeed?

you that Delville I describe? Believe me, sir, I will not gibe: For who would be satirical Upon a thing so very small? You scarce upon the borders enter, Before you're at the very centre. A single crow can make it night, When o'er your farm she takes her flight: Yet, in this narrow compass, we Observe a vast variety; Both walks, walls, meadows, and parterres, Windows and doors, and rooms and stairs, And hills and dales, and woods and fields, And hay, and grass, and corn, it yields; Rh