Whence this forgetfulness of dress? Pray, Madam, are you married?=yes. Nay, then, indeed, the wonder ceases, No matter, now, how loose your dress is; The end is won, your fortune's made, Your sister now may take the trade.
Alas! what pity 'tis to find
This fault in half the female kind!
From hence proceed aversion, strife,
And all that sours the wedded life.
Beauty can only point the dart,
"Tis neatness guides it to the heart.
Let neatness then and beauty strive,
To keep a wav'ring flame alive.
"Tis harder far, you'll find it true,
To keep the conquest than subdue;
Admit us once behind the screen
What is there farther to be seen?
A newer face may raise the flame;
is the same.
every woman
Then study chiefly to improve
D'où peut venir ce désordre inoui?
Belle Célie, ah! faites-moi connaître....
Vous souriez; bon, m'y voilà, peut – être,
Seriez-vous donc eh quoi?
Mariée, oh dès-lors plus de surprise,
La négligence à Madame est permise.
Sa jeune sœur, maintenant, à son tour,
Doit déployer les frais de la parure;
Corset, fichu, bonnet et chevelure
Sont des réseaux qu'elle tend à l'amour:
Mademoiselle a besoin de toilette;
Mais pour Madame, ah! sa fortune est faite.
Sexe charmant, c'est un auteur anglais
Qui fit ces vers; pour moi je n'oserais
Le suivre en tout, car ce poëte aimable
Vous gronde un peu ; prétend que la beauté
Lance le trait, mais que la propreté
En rend l'effet plus sûr et plus durable.
Croyez pourtant ce véridique auteur,
Si dans l'hymen vous cherchez le bonheur,
Soyez encor parée après la fête ;
Ce n'est le tout de conquérir un cœur,
Il faut savoir conserver sa conquête.
, par malheur, de bien des femmes, j'ai
The charm that fix'd your husband's love;
Weigh well his humour. Was it dress
That gave your beauty pow'r to bless?
Pursue it still; be neater seen;
'Tis always frugal to be clean;
So shall you keep alive desire
And time's swift wing shall fan the fire.
IN garret high, as stories say,
A poet sung his tuneful lay;
So soft, so smooth his verse, you'd swear
Apollo and the muses there;
Through all the town his praises rung
His sonnets at the playhouse sung;
High waving o'er his lab'ring head
The goddess Want her pinions spread,
And with poetic fury fir'd,
What Phoebus faintly had inspir'd.
A noble youth of taste and wit
Approv'd the sprightly things he writ,
And sought him in his cobweb dome,
Discharg'd his rent, and brought him home.
Behold him at the stately board,
Who, but the poet, and my Lord!
Each day deliciously he dines,
And greedy quaffs the gen'rous wines.
His sides were plump, his skin was sleek,
Tracé, je crois, la fidèle peinture; Pour son amant on veut de la parure, Pour son époux on reste en négligé,
DANS un grenier, certain poëte
Formait des chants mélodieux
Dignes de l'asile des dieux
Dont le rapprochait sa retraite.
Il n'était bruit que de ses vers;
Son nom perçait dans l'univers.
Le besoin, ce dieu famélique,
L'appellant sans cesse au travail,
Mieux qu'Apollon et son sérail,
Allumait son feu poétique.
Un lord riche et spirituel,
Car la scène est en Angleterre,
Vint le prendre à son belvédère
Et le logea dans son hôtel.
Là, dans le sein de l'opulence,
Un bon lit et de bons repas,
Mets friands et vins délicats
Embellissent son existence.
Gras comme un homme de finance
And plenty wanton'd on his cheek;
Astonish'd at the change so new,
Away thinspiring goddess flew.
Now, dropt for politics and news,
Neglected lay the drooping muse;
Unmindful whence his fortune came,
He stifled the poetic flame;
Nor tale, nor sonnet for my lady
Lampoon nor epigram was ready.
With just contempt his patron saw,
Resolv'd his bounty to withdraw;
And thus, with anger in his look,
The late-repenting fool bespoke:
<< Blind to the good that courts thee grown
> Whence has the sun of favour shone?
>> Delighted with thy tuneful art,
>> Esteem was growing in my heart;
>> But idly thou reject'st the charm
> That
gave it birth, and kept it warm. »
Unthinking fools alone despise
The arts, that taught them first to rise,
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