Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/308

296 And, after all, I chiefly owe My beauty to the shades below. Most wondrous forms you see me wear, A man, a woman, lion, bear, A fish, a fowl, a cloud, a field, All figures Heaven or earth can yield; Like Daphne sometimes in a tree: Yet am not one of all you see.

up and down, and round about, Yet all the world can't find me out, Though hundreds have employ'd their leisure, They never yet could find my measure. I'm found almost in every garden, Nay in the compass of a farthing. There's neither chariot, coach, nor mill, Can move an inch except I will.

jet black, as you may see, The son of pitch, and gloomy night: Yet all that know me will agree, I'm dead except I live in light. Sometimes in panegyrick high, Like lofty Pindar, I can soar: And raise a virgin to the sky, Or sink her to a pocky whore. My