Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/305

Rh Yet, from this mingled mass of things, In time a new creation springs. These crude materials once shall rise To fill the earth, and air, and skies: In various forms appear again, Of vegetables, brutes, and men. So Jove pronounc'd among the gods, Olympus trembling as he nods.

! Strephon, how can you despise Her, who without thy pity dies? To Strephon I have still been true, And of as noble blood as you; Fair issue of the genial bed, A virgin in thy bosom bred; Embrac'd thee closer than a wife; When thee I leave, I leave my life. Why should my shepherd take amiss, That oft I wake thee with a kiss? Yet you of every kiss complain; Ah! is not love a pleasing pain? A pain which every happy night You cure with ease and with delight; With pleasure, as the poet sings, Too great for mortals less than kings. Chloe, when on thy breast I lie, Observes me with revengeful eye: Rh