Read BOUTS RIMEZ of The Poems of Jonathan Swift‚ D.D.(Volume I of 2), free online book, by Jonathan Swift, on


Our schoolmaster may roar i’ th’ fit,
  Of classic beauty, haec et illa;
Not all his birch inspires such wit
  As th’ogling beams of Domitilla.

Let nobles toast, in bright champaign,
  Nymphs higher born than Domitilla;
I’ll drink her health, again, again,
  In Berkeley’s tar, or sars’parilla.

At Goodman’s Fields I’ve much admired
  The postures strange of Monsieur Brilla;
But what are they to the soft step,
  The gliding air of Domitilla?

Virgil has eternized in song
  The flying footsteps of Camilla;
Sure, as a prophet, he was wrong;
  He might have dream’d of Domitilla.

Great Theodose condemn’d a town
  For thinking ill of his Placilla:
And deuce take London! if some knight
  O’ th’ city wed not Domitilla.

Wheeler, Sir George, in travels wise,
  Gives us a medal of Plantilla;
But O! the empress has not eyes,
  Nor lips, nor breast, like Domitilla.

Not all the wealth of plunder’d Italy,
  Piled on the mules of king At-tila,
Is worth one glove (I’ll not tell a bit a lie)
  Or garter, snatch’d from Domitilla.

Five years a nymph at certain hamlet,
  Y-cleped Harrow of the Hill, a-
­bused much my heart, and was a damn’d let
  To verse ­but now for Domitilla.

Dan Pope consigns Belinda’s watch
  To the fair sylphid Momentilla,
And thus I offer up my catch
  To the snow-white hands of Domitilla.