AN

ELEGY

ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX,

MRS. MARY BLAIZE.

Good people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word-
From those who spoke her praise.

The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor-
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wondrous winning;
And never follow'd wicked ways-
Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size;
She never slumber'd in her pew-
But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,

By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has follow'd her-
When she has walk'd before.

But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short-all;

The doctors found, when she was dead,—
Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
For Kent-street well may say,

That, had she lived a twelvemonth more,-
She had not died to-day.

ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH,

STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING.

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.

SURE 'twas by Providence design'd,
Rather in pity than in hate,
That he should be, like Cupid, blind,
To save him from Narcissus' fate.

THE GIFT.

ΤΟ

IRIS, IN BOW-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN.

SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,

Dear mercenary beauty,

What annual offering shall I make

Expressive of my duty?

My heart, a victim to thine eyes,
Should I at once deliver,
Say, would the angry fair one prize
The gift who slights the giver!

A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,
My rivals give-and let 'em,
If gems, or gold, impart a joy,
I'll give them when I get 'em.

I'll give but not the full-blown rose,
Or rose-bud more in fashion:
Such short-lived offerings but disclose
A transitory passion.

I'll give thee something yet unpaid,
Not less sincere than civil:

I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid,
I'll give thee to the devil.

STANZAS ON WOMAN.

WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can sooth her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom-is, to die.

LINES

INSERTED IN THE MORNING CHRONICLE OF
APRIL 3, 1800.

E'EN have you seen, bathed in the morning dew,
The budding rose its infant bloom display:
When first its virgin tints unfold to view,

It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day.

So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came,
-Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek;
I gazed, I sigh'd, I caught the tender flame,

Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with passion weak.

SONG.

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF

"SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER."

АH me! when shall I marry me?
Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me.
He, fond youth, that could carry me,
Offers to love, but means to deceive me.

But I will rally and combat the ruiner:

Not a look, not a smile shall my passion discover; She, that gives all to the false one pursuing her, Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover.

SONG.

WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight;

Myra, too sincere for feigning,

Fears the' approaching bridal night.

Yet why impair thy bright perfection!
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had Myra follow'd my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.