The city's smoke-the noxious air-
The constant crowd-the torch's glare-
The morning sleep-the noonday call--
The late repast-the midnight ball,
Bid Faith and Beauty die, and taint
Her heart with fraud, her face with paint.
And what the boon, the prize enjoyed, For fame defaced, and peace destroyed? Why ask we this? With conscious grace She criticises silk and lace;
Queen of the modes, she reigns alike
O'er sarcenet, bobbin, net, vandyke;
O'er rouge and ribbons, combs and curls,
Perfumes and patches, pins and pearls;
Feelings and faintings, songs and sighs,
Small-talk and scandal, love and lies.
Circled by beaux behold her sit,
While dandies tremble at her wit;
The Captain hates "a woman's gab;"
"A devil!" cries the shy Cantab;
The young Etonian strives to fly
The glance of her sarcastic eye,
For well he knows she looks him o'er,
To stamp him "buck," or dub him "bore."
Such is her life-a life of waste,
A life of wretchedness-and taste;
And all the glory Fannia boasts,
And all the price that glory costs,
At once are reckoned up, in one-
One word of bliss and folly-Ton.
Not these the thoughts that could perplex The fancies of our fickle sex,
When England's favourite, good Queen Bess,
Was Queen alike o'er war and dress.
Then ladies gay played chesse-and ballads,
And learned to dress their hair-and salads;
Sweets and sweet looks were studied then,
And both were pleasing to the men;
For cookery was allied to taste,
And girls were taught to blush-and baste.
Dishes were bright-and so were eyes,
And lords made love-and ladies pies.
Then Valour won the wavering field,
By dint of hauberk and of shield;
And Beauty won the wavering heart,
By dint of pickle, and of tart.
The minuet was the favourite dance,
Girls loved the needle-boys the lance;
And Cupid took his constant post
At dinner, by the boiled and roast,
Or secretly was wont to lurk
In tournament, or needle-work.
Oh! 'twas a reign of all delights,
Of hot Sir-loins,-and hot Sir knights;
Feasting and fighting, hand in hand,
Fattened, and glorified the land;
And noble chiefs had noble cheer,
And knights grew strong upon strong beer;
Honour and oxen both were nourished,
And chivalry-and pudding flourished.
I'd rather see that magic face,
That look of love, that form of grace,
Circled by whalebone, and by ruff's,
Intent on puddings, and on puffs,—
I'd rather view thee thus, than see
"A Fashionable" rise in thee.
If Life is dark, 'tis not for you
(If partial Friendship's voice is true)
To cure its griefs, and drown its cares,
By leaping gates, and murdering hares,
Nor to confine that feeling soul,
To winning lovers-or the vole.
If these and such pursuits are thine,
Julia! thou art no friend of mine!
I love plain dress-I eat plain joints,
I cannot play ten-guinea points,
I make no study of a pin,
And hate a female whipper-in.
"For she in shape and beauty did excei
All other idols that the heathen do adore."
"Aud all about her altar scattered lay
Great sorts of lovers piteously complaining."
A LOOK as blithe, a step as light
As fabled nymph, or fairy sprite;
A voice, whose every word and tone
Might make a thousand hearts its own;
A brow of fervour, and a mien
Bright with the hopes of gay fifteen;
These, loved and lost one! these were thine, When first I bowed at Beauty's shrine;
. But I have torn my wavering soul
From woman's proud and weak control;
The fane where I so often knelt,
The flame my heart so truly felt,
Are visions of another time,
Themes for my laughter,—and my rhyme.
She saw, and conquered; in her eye
There was a careless cruelty,
That shone destruction, while it seemed
Unconscious of the fire it beamed.
And oh! that negligence of dress,
That wild, infantine playfulness,
That archness of the trifling brow,
That could command-we know not how,
Were links of gold that held me then,
In bonds I may not bear again;
For dearer to an honest heart
Is childhood's mirth than woman's art.
Already many an aged dame,
Skilful in scandalizing fame,
Foresaw the reign of Laura's face,
Her sway, her folly, and disgrace.
Minding the beauty of the day
More than her partner, or her play :-
"Laura a beauty? flippant chit!
I vow I hate her forward wit!"
("I lead a club!")-" Why, Ma'am, between us.
Her mother thinks her quite a Venus;
But every parent loves, you know,
To make a pigeon of her crow."
"Some folks are apt to look too high-
She has a dukedom in her eye."
"The girl is straight" ("we call the ace"),
"But that's the merit of her stays."
"I'm sure, I loathe malicious hints-
But-only look, how Laura squints!"
"Yet Miss, forsooth"-("who play'd the tent
Is quite perfection with the men ;
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