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

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A TOWN ECLOGUE.
67

Phillis. Ah, Corydon! survey the 'Change around,
Through all the 'Change no wretch like me is found:

Alas! the day, when I, poor heedless maid,
Was to your rooms in Lincoln's Inn betray'd;
Then how you swore, how many vows you made!

Ye listening Zephyrs, that overheard his love,

Waft the soft accents to the gods above.
Alas! the day; for (O, eternal shame!)
I sold you handkerchiefs, and lost my fame.
Cor. 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.

Phil. But what to me does all that love avail,
If, while I doze at home o'er porter's ale,
Each night with wine and wenches you regale?

My livelong hours in anxious cares are past,

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.
Cor. 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

F 2
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