Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/440

428 The cold conceits, the chilling thoughts, Went down like stupifying draughts; I found my head began to swim, A numbness crept through every limb. In haste, with imprecations dire, I threw the volume in the fire; When (who could think?) though cold as ice, It burnt to ashes in a trice. How could I more enhance its fame? Though born in snow, it dy'd in flame.

"Credis ob hoc, me, Pastor, opes fortasse rogare, Propter quod, vulgus, crassaque turba rogat." . Epig. lib. ix.

wise and learned ruler of our isle, Whose guardian care can all her griefs beguile; When next your generous soul shall condescend T'instruct or entertain your humble friend; Whether, retiring from your weighty charge, On some high theme you learnedly enlarge; Of all the ways of wisdom reason well, How Richlieu rose, and how Sejanus fell: Or, when your brow less thoughtfully unbends, Circled with Swift and some delighted friends; Rh