Arose from powder, shreds, or lace : Skilled in no other arts was she, But when at home, at board or bed, In short, by night 'twas fits or fretting; Thus as her faults each day were known, Now to perplex the ravelled noose, As each a different way pursues, While sullen or loquacious strife Promised to hold them on for life, That dire disease, whose ruthless power Withers the beauty's transient flowerLo! the small pox, whose horrid glare Levelled its terrors at the fair; And, rifling every youthful grace, Left but the remnant of a face. The glass, grown hateful to her sight, Reflected now a perfect fright; Each former art she vainly tries To bring back lustre to her eyes; In vain she tries her paste and creams, To smooth her skin or hide its seams; Her country beaux and city cousins, Lovers no more, flew off by dozens; The 'squire himself was seen to yield, And even the captain quit the field. Poor madam, now condemned to hack The rest of life with anxious Jack, Perceiving others fairly flown, Attempted pleasing him alone. Jack soon was dazzled to behold Her present face surpass the old : With modesty her cheeks are dyed; Humility displaces pride; For tawdry finery is seen A person ever neatly clean: No more presuming on her sway, She learns good-nature every day: Serenely gay, and strict in duty, Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty. A NEW SIMILE. IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT. LONG had I sought in vain to find Imprimis, pray observe his hat, Wings upon either side-mark that. Well! what is it from thence we gather? Why, these denote a brain of feather. A brain of feather! very right, With wit that's flighty, learning light; Such as to modern bard's decreed; A just comparison,--proceed. In the next place, his feet peruse, Wings grow again from both his shoes; Designed, no doubt, their part to bear, And waft his godship through the air : And here my simile unites; For in the modern poet's flights, I'm sure it may be justly said, Lastly, vouchsafe t' observe his hand, Now to apply begin we then :— Denote the rage with which he writes; And here my simile almost tript, DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER. WHERE the Red Lion, flaring o'er the way, Invites each passing stranger that can pay, Where Calvert's butt and Parson's black champagne Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane; The Muse found Scroggen stretched beneath a rug. The rusty grate unconscious of a fire: With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scored, And five cracked teacups dressed the chimney board : A night-cap decked his brows instead of bay; A cap by night--a stocking all the day! V ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. GOOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, A kind and gentle heart he had, When he put on his clothes. And in that town a dog was found, This dog and man at first were friends; The dog, to gain some private ends, ✓ STANZAS. WHEN lovely Woman stoops to folly, Ꮴ Around from all the neighbouring streets The wound it seemed both sore and sad But soon a wonder came to light, ON WOMAN. The only art her guilt to cover, THE GIFT. TO IRIS, IN BOW-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN. IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH. SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake, Dear mercenary beauty, My heart, a victim to thine eyes, ; A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, I'll give but not the full-blown rose, I'll give thee something yet unpaid, EPITAPH. ON THOMAS PARNELL. THIS tomb, inscribed to gentle Parnell's name, What heart but feels his sweetly moral lay, That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way? And Heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid. The transitory breath of fame below: More lasting rapture from his works shall rise, While converts thank their poet in the skies. EPILOGUE TO “THE SISTER." SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY. WHAT? five long acts-and all to make us wiser! My life on't, this had kept her play from sinking; What if I give a masquerade?—I will. But how? ay, there's the rub! [pausing]-I've got my cue; The world's a masquerade! the masquers, you, you, you. [To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery. Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses ! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses! There Hebes, turned of fifty, try once more To raise a flame in Cupids of threescore. Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, Flings down her sampler, and takes up the woman ; Is to seem everything-but what they are. Yon broad, bold, angry spark I fix my eye on, Who seems t' have robbed his vizor from the lion, Who frowns, and talks, and swears, with round parade, Looking, as who should say, Dam'me! who's afraid? [Mimicking. Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am You'll find his lionship a very lamb. Yon politician, famous in debate, Perhaps, to vulgar eyes, bestrides the state; If with a bribe his candour you attack, He bows, turns round, and whip- the man's a black! If I proceed, our bard will be undone ! Well, then, a truce, since she requests it too : Do you spare her, and I'll for once spare you INTENDED EPILOGUE TO “SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER." Enter MRS. BULKLEY, who curtsies very low as beginning to speak. Then ente-MISS CATLEY, who stands full before her, and curtsies to the Audience. Mrs. BUL. Hold, Ma'am, your pardon. Miss CAT. Yes, the Epilogue, my dear. What's your business here? The Epilogue! I bring it. Miss CAT. Excuse me, Ma'am. The Author bid me sing it. RECITATIVE. Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring, Mrs. BUL. Why, sure the girl's beside herself! an Epilogue of singing? Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the etiquette. MISS CAT. What if we leave it to the House? Mrs. BUL. The House !-Agreed. Miss CAT. Agreed. Mrs. BUL. And she whose party's largest shall proceed. I've all the critics and the wits for me. They, I am sure, will answer my commands: Miss CAT. I'm for a different set.-Old men, whose trade is RECITATIVE. Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, AIR.-Cotillon. Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu! Da capo. Mrs. BUL. Let all the old pay homage to your merit: |