Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/446

434 No sheers to check her sprouting vigour, Or shape the yews to antick figure." But you forsooth your all must squander On that poor spot, call'd Dell-ville, yonder: And when you've been at vast expenses In whims, parterres, canals, and fences, Your assets fail, and cash is wanting; Nor farther buildings, farther planting: No wonder, when you raise and level, Think this wall low, and that wall bevel. Here a convenient box you found, Which you demolish’d to the ground: Then built, then took up with your arbour, And set the house to Rupert Barber. You sprang an arch, which, in a scurvy Humour, you tumbled topsyturvy. You change a circle to a square, Then to a circle as you were: Who can imagine whence the fund is, That you quadrata change rotundis? To Fame a temple you erect, A Flora does the dome protect; Mounts, walks, on high; and in a hollow You place the Muses and Apollo; There shining 'midst his train, to grace Your whimsical poetick place. These stories were of old design'd As fables: but you have refin'd The poets' mythologick dreams, To real Muses, gods, and streams. Who would not swear, when you contrive thus, That you're don Quixote redivivus? Beneath, a dry canal there lies, Which only Winter's rain supplies. O!