A Lady's Diary. Convey a libel in a frown, But see, the female club disbands, Each twenty visits on her hands. Now all alone poor madam sits In vapours and hysteric fits: "And was not Tom this morning sent? I'd lay my life he never went. Past six, and not a living soul! I might by this have won a vole." A dreadful interval of spleen; How shall we pass the time between? "Here, Betty, let me take my drops; And feel my pulse; I know it stops. This head of mine, Lord, how it swims! And such a pain in all my limbs!" "Dear madam! try to take a nap"But now they hear a footman's rap: "Go run, and light the ladies It must be one before we sup." up. The table, cards, and counters set, How can the Muse her aid impart, A Lady's Diary. What agony of soul she feels In vain, alas! her hope is fed; She draws an ace, and sees it red. But pawns her snuff-box, rings, and keys: This odious chair, how came I stuck in't? "Nay, madam, give me leave to say 66 Madam, you have no cause to flounce; A Lady's Diary. I swear I saw you thrice renounce." A child may know it in the dark: I guess the hand; it seldom fails; I wish some folks would pare their nails." It While thus they rail, and scold, and storm, passes but for common form; And conscious that they all speak true, They give each other but their due; Or makes them sensible of shame. The time, too precious now to waste, And supper gobbled up in haste, As if they had but just begun. How oft they squabble, snarl, and cheat. Now all in haste they huddle on Their hoods and cloaks, and get them gone; But first the winner must invite The company to-morrow night. LUTTERING, spread thy purple pinions, Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, Thus the Cyprian Goddess, weeping, A Love Song. Him the boar, in silence creeping, Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers; Fair Discretion, string the lyre: Soothe my ever-waking slumbers: Bright Apollo, lend thy choir. Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors, Lead me to the crystal mirrors Mournful cypress, verdant willow, Gilding my Aurelia's brows, Morpheus, hovering o'er my pillow, Hear me pay my dying vows. Melancholy, smooth Meander, Swiftly purling in a round, On thy margin lovers wander, With thy flowery chaplets crown'd. Thus, when Philomela, drooping, Softly seeks her silent mate, See the bird of Juno stooping; Melody resigns to fate. |