For _me_, ye CISSOIDS,[204] round my temples bend Your wandering curves; ye CONCHOIDS[205] extend; Let playful PENDULES quick vibration feel, While silent CYCLOIS rests upon her wheel; Let HYDROSTATICS,[206] simpering as they go, 15 Lead the light Naiads on fantastic toe; Let shrill ACOUSTICS[207] tune the tiny lyre; With EUCLID sage fair ALGEBRA[208] conspire; The obedient pulley[209] strong MECHANICS ply, And wanton OPTICS roll the melting eye! 20 I see the fair fantastic forms appear, The flaunting drapery, and the languid leer; Fair sylphish forms[210]—who, tall, erect, and slim, Dart the keen glance, and stretch the length of limb; To viewless harpings weave the meanless dance, 25 Wave the gay wreath, and titter as they prance. Such rich confusion[211] charms the ravish’d sight, When vernal Sabbaths to the Park invite. Mounts the thick dust, the coaches crowd along, Presses round Grosvenor Gate th’ impatient throng; 30 White-muslined misses and mammas are seen, Linked with gay cockneys, glittering o’er the green: The rising breeze unnumbered charms displays, And the tight ankle strikes th’ astonished gaze. But chief, thou Nurse of the Didactic Muse, 35 Divine NONSENSIA, all thy soul infuse; The charms of _Secants_ and of _Tangents_ tell, How Loves and Graces in an _Angle_[212] dwell; How slow progressive _Points_[213] protract the _Line_, As pendent spiders spin the filmy twine; 40 How lengthened _Lines_, impetuous sweeping round, Spread the wide _Plane_, and mark its circling bound; How _Planes_, their substance with their motion grown, Form the huge _Cube_, the _Cylinder_, the _Cone_. Lo! where the chimney’s sooty tube ascends, 45 The fair TROCHAIS[214] from the corner bends! Her coal-black eyes upturned, incessant mark The eddying smoke, quick flame, and volant spark; Mark with quick ken, where flashing in between, Her much-loved _Smoke-Jack_ glimmers thro’ the scene; 50 Mark, how his various parts together tend, Point to one purpose,—in one object end; The spiral _grooves_ in smooth meanders flow, Drags the long _chain_, the polished axles glow, While slowly circumvolves the piece of beef below; 55 The conscious fire[215] with bickering radiance burns, Eyes the rich joint, and roasts it as it turns. So youthful Horner rolled the roguish eye, Cull’d the dark plum from out his Christmas pie, And cried, in self-applause—“How good a boy am I”. 60