Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/111

 The crystal eye, alas! was miss'd; And puss had on her plumpers p—ss'd. A pigeon pick'd her issue-peas: And Shock her tresses fill'd with fleas. The nymph, though in this mangled plight, Must every morn her limbs unite. But how shall I describe her arts To re-collect the scatter'd parts? Or show the anguish, toil, and pain, Of gathering up herself again? The bashful Muse will never bear In such a scene to interfere. Corinna, in the morning dizen'd, Who sees, will spew; who smells, be poison'd.

. 1731.

F Chloe all the town has rung, By every size of poets sung: So beautiful a nymph appears But once in twenty thousand years; By Nature form'd with nicest care, And faultless to a single hair. Her graceful mien, her shape, and face, Confessed her of no mortal race: And then so nice, and so genteel; Such cleanliness from head to heel: No humours gross, or frouzy steams, No noisome whiffs, or sweaty streams, Before, behind, above, below, Could from her taintless body flow: