« ForrigeFortsett »
Some wonderful folks make a wonderful rout,
One Side says the Times are so good they are glad; The Times, says the other side, ne'er were so bad: No Wonder if this Side or that Side is mad.
For the Times, I some Patriot Changes propose,
She fled without leaving behind her directions, 'Twas in vain she observ'd to oppose such con
nexions, As Turtle-feasts, Cuckoldoms, Cards, and Elections,
think wrong, I promis's a Wonder at first in my Song, And the Wonder is-How could you listen so long?
Which nobody can deny. .
Here, independent, we rejoice;
The Health of Peace abuse.
Life's social scenes they lose.
The Danglers at a Birth-night's glare,
In courtly Sunbeams play.
To garnish Grandeur's day. Daughters of Dignity and Grace, Ye high-bred Dames of haughty Race, What think you, 'midst your Di'mond blaze, Your crouded Routs, and Gala days ? Tho' sordid Flatt'ry's servile grin Extols your forms, is all within
Fit for Contentment's dome ? Sisters of Fashion laugh and love, Tho'round you all the Graces move,
Yet how are things at Home?
Your stucco'd Ceilings, emboss'd Plate,
Or strengthen Vigour's stores ?
Or sottish Husband snores.
While we, as marry'd folks shou'd do,
Give Cesar Cesar's due.
And each to each be true.
Miss sat on the side of the Green,
And what it was marry'd folks mean. " All night how I tumble and toss,
6. Yet neither want manner nor means; 6. Alas! must I live to my Loss,
“ And wither away in my Teens ?"
Young Rhodophil ran up the slope,
, As if he some Sport had in view; She trembl’d, betwixt Fear and Hope,
Irresolute what she shou'd do. She saw him advance to her seat,
She saw him, but cou'd not away ; Love fixʼd a large weight to her feet,
Curiosity told her to stay.
Desire gave grace to his tongue,
As Lovers to Lovers will speak; Enamour'd, he over her hung,
Then bow'd down his Lips to her Cheek. He knelt, she attempted to rise, Tho' 'twas but a feeble
essay ; The wildness he wore in his eyes,
So scar'd her she fainted away.
weak is the Wisdom of Man ?
How foolish the fancy of Taste ?
That Span must we wantonly waste ?
; Yet neither enjoy nor improve,
But only, alas! to kill Time.
Ye Husbands, rash Dupes to Excess,
Pretend to live damn'd honest lives,
Wives. At midnight inebriate reel,
A prey to foul Prostitute's lure,
What delicate Wives may endure ?
The Gun-loaded 'Squire will toil
All day with keen Industry's care, Incessantly anxious to spoil,
The innocent Tenants of Air. Or after the Fox bursts away,
Swift down the wind gallops along; The Mischiefs that chance in the Day,
At Night furnish Fun for a Song.
At Toilets how Beauties appear,
Like Fowlers they arm and take aim; High charg'd with Curls, tier over tier,
And animal Man is their Game. Sometimes with less dangerous arts
The fair, Dissipations pursue, If Trifles did not take their parts,
With horrid Time what cou'd they do ?
When fine Women do as they please,
They hear not the Nursery's din; No Husband's absurdities teaze,
They fly such dull Scenes to cut in. Dear Bragg, Hazard, Loo, and Quadrille,
Delightful! extatic! immense ! With them each Reflection they kill,
And escape all the trouble of Sense.