Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/99

Rh Hard by a filthy basin stands, Foul'd with the scouring of her hands; The basin takes whatever comes, The scrapings from her teeth and gums, A nasty compound of all hues, For here she spits, and here she spews. But, oh! it turn'd poor Strephon's bowels, When he beheld and smelt the towels, Begumm'd, bematter'd, and beslim'd, With dirt, and sweat, and earwax grim'd; No object Strephon's eye escapes; Her petticoats in frowzy heaps; Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot, All varnish'd o'er with snuff and snot. The stockings why should I expose, Stain'd with the moisture of her toes , Or greasy coifs, or pinners reeking, Which Cælia slept at least a week in? A pair of tweezers next he found, To pluck her brows in arches round; Or hairs that sink the forehead low, Or on her chin like bristles grow. The virtues we must not let pass Of Cælia's magnifying-glass; When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't, It show'd the visage of a giant: A glass that can to sight disclose The smallest worm in Cælia's nose, And faithfully direct her nail To squeeze it out from head to tail; For, catch it nicely by the head, It must come out, alive or dead. Why,