Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/118

108 Fair Decency, celestial maid! Descend from Heaven to Beauty's aid! Though Beauty may beget desire, 'Tis thou must fan the Lover's fire: For Beauty, like supreme dominion, Is best supported by Opinion: If Decency bring no supplies, Opinion falls, and Beauty dies. To see some radiant nymph appear In all her glittering birthday gear, You think some goddess from the sky Descended, ready cut and dry: But, ere you sell yourself to laughter, Consider well what may come after; For fine ideas vanish fast, While all the gross and filthy last. O Strephon, ere that fatal day When Chloe stole your heart away, Had you but through a cranny spy'd On house of ease your future bride, In all the postures of her face, Which nature gives in such a case; Distortions, groanings, strainings, heavings, 'Twere better you had lick'd her leavings, Than from experience find too late Your goddess grown a filthy mate. Your fancy then had always dwelt On what you saw, and what you smelt; Would still the same ideas give ye, As when you spy'd her on the privy; And, spite of Chloe's charms divine, Your heart had been as whole as mine. Authorities, both old and recent, Direct that women must be decent; And