kill'd in no other arts was she,
dressing, patching, repartee;
, just as humour rose or fell,
urns a slattern or a belle;

true she dress'd with modern grace,
naked at a ball or race;

when at home, at board or bed,
greasy nightcaps wrapp'd her head.
ld so much beauty condescend
be a dull domestic friend?
ld any curtain lectures bring
lecency so fine a thing?

hort, by night, 'twas fits or fretting;
day, 'twas gadding or coquetting.
d to be seen, she kept a bevyd
powder'd coxcombs at her levy;
'squire and captain took their stations,
twenty other near relations;

Ik suck'd his pipe, and often broke gh in suffocating smoke;"

ile all their hours were pass'd' between ulting repartee or spleen.

VARIATIONS.

d Now tawdry madam kept a bevy.'
• She in her turn became perplexing,
And found substantial bliss in vexing.
Thus every hour was pass'd.

ain she tries her paste1 and creams, mooth her skin, or hide its seams; country beaux and city cousins, ers no more, flew off by dozens: 'squire himself was seen to yield, Ie'en the captain quit the field.

oor madam now condemn'd to hack rest of life with anxious Jack, ceiving others fairly flown, empted pleasing him alone. k soon was dazzled to behold present face surpass the old; th modesty her cheeks are dyed, mility displaces pride;

tawdry finery is seen Derson ever neatly clean;

more presuming on her sway, learns goodnature every day; renely gay, and strict in duty, ck finds his wife a perfect beauty.

OF GOLDSMITE

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

I'll give theeah! too charming maid,
I'll give thee to the devil.2

This poem is taken from Menagiana, vol. iv. P. 200.

( ETRENE A IRIS.

'Pour témoignage de ma flamme,
Iris, du meilleur de mon âme
Je vous donne à ce nouvel an
Non pas dentelle, ni ruban,
Non pas essence, ni pommade,
Quelques boites de marmalade,
Un mouchoir, des gans, un bouquet,
Non pas heures, ni chapelet,

Quoi donc ? attendez, je vous donne
O fille plus belle que bonne,
Qui m'avez toujours refusé,
Le point si souvent proposé,

Je vous donne. Ah! le puis-je dire ?
Oui c'est trop souffrir le martyre,
Il est temps de m'émanciper,
Patience va m'échapper.

Fussiez-vous cent fois plus aimable,
Belle Iris, je vous donne... au diable.'

T