Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/79

Rh P. Ah, Corydon! survey the 'Change around, Through all the 'Change no wretch like me is found: Waft the soft accents to the gods above. Alas! the day; for (O, eternal shame!) I sold you handkerchiefs, and lost my fame. . When I forget the favour you bestow'd, Red herrings shall be spawn'd in Tyburn Road; Fleet street transform'd become a flowery green, And mass be sung where operas are seen. The wealthy cit, and the St. James's beau, Shall change their quarters, and their joys forego; Stockjobbing, this, to Jonathan's shall come, At the Groom Porter's, that, play off his plum. And raging hunger lays my beauty waste. On templars spruce in vain I glances throw, And with shrill voice invite them as they go. Expos'd in vain my glossy ribands shine, And unregarded wave upon the twine. The week flies round; and when my profit's known, I hardly clear enough to change a crown. . Hard fate of virtue, thus to be distrest, Thou fairest of thy trade, and far the best! As fruitmen's stalls the summer-market grace, And ruddy peaches them; as first in place Rh