VERSES

WRITTEN BY MARGARET, LADY S

DECEASED.

WRITTEN ON THE OPERA OF 17-.

The clock strikes ten, and beaux advance,
But just in time to view the dance;
They come to see or to be seen;
The greatest part the last, I ween;
And in the lobby as they stand,
To female eyes a sightly band;
Some chosen few outshine the rest,
By nature or by fashion blest.
But aye! how few among the host
Of these united charms can boast!
And those who only claim the first,
As the world goes have much the worst.
Observe them now, rapt up in self,
And bowing to that idol elf.

Ladies, it is not you they'd please;
Leave off your airs, and sit at ease;
You feed their vanity, 'tis true,

But they'll think ne'er the more of you.
See how they stand-now stretch-now loll—
Look at that tip-toed perfumed doll!
A Scotchman too! 'tis Cunynghame,
You'd only guess it by the name.
Where are the limbs that erst of old
Could brave alike or heat or cold;
And tho' unpolished, still could prove
Faithful to their rude country's love?
In these I see some French friseur,
All dress, grimaces and millefleurs.
See Milsington with simpering face;
In Fashion's list he holds a place.
There Reason's only known by name,
And veils her head for very shame
Yes M-
At some masked ball on gala days.
As harlequin or punch he stumps,
But always is a Jemmy Jumps.

his shining parts displays

Next see yon compound sneering stand, As though all other fault she'd scanned,

By nature for a man intended,

But since by affectation mended,—

C

-'s become a waspish thing,

That feels the wish but cannot sting.

A boxer's! oh I have it pat,

Whose brawny shoulders well declare,
A porter's load should be placed there.
And Hervey Ashton, that heart-slayer,
Admired by all our modern fair

May well deserve bright beauty's meed
Who every night commits some deed
Of mighty prowess in the street
With every blackguard he can meet.
Ladies of Billingsgate, all say,

And all ye Strand nymphs e'er that stray,
How often in defence of you

He's beat some coachman black and blue;
How often at a drunken bout

He's sat his fellow-monster's out?
Well may he claim from beauty's hoards
For all these deeds some bright rewards.
And next who is it there I see?
A figure of no mean degree;
Paget, whose supercilious air
Alarms the pride of modern fair.
With seeming ease, but studied care,
His eyes assume a vacant stare;
But spite of art in every feature,
We trace the nature of the creature.
But fortune, beauty, title, fame,
Most fluttering female breasts inflame.
By these he conquers; but by these
The sensate heart he'll never please.
In V- -'s sly tho' handsome mien,
His nature may be quickly seen;
The oily tongue, with honeyed phrase,
The insidious eye, that courts the gaze
Which downcast still it seems to shun,
As wily serpents court the sun,
In spite of nonchalance betrays
A cloven foot a thousand ways.
Though, to say truth, the handsome boy
I do believe has no such joy
As racing, or as rattling dice;
Compared to which all other vice,
Is tasteless, cloying, and soon o'er ;
But that once gained lasts evermore.
H- with unaffected form,

Some hoyden girl who's ta'en by storm,
May win his rank, can too dispense
Far greater baits than those of sense;

That face in which good nature teems
Those laughing eyes where softness gleams,
Make one forgive the noisy calf,

And with him one may dance and laugh,
But he who'll hunt the live long day,
And spend his hours 'mong boors away,
Then o'er a bottle sit and smoke,

And crack some senseless drunken joke,
May choose that life for him designed:
I'm not his wife-so I'm resigned.
But of all follies that I see,
The most disgusting still to me

Is age and ugliness presuming

To court the fair, the young and blooming.
I know but one thing that is worse:
It is to see the clinking purse

Draw forth consenting smile from these
Nor think it infamy to please.

Observe that worn-out battered beau,
One eye for use, one eye for show
With half an ear, and that one eye
To Vice's manes, breathe a sigh.
Behold the aged wizen'd thing,
That flutters still round Folly's wing.
One of the bulwarks of the state,
A powdered fop with empty pate.

If in this skeleton you trace

Q's worn out form and withered face,
You surely recognise his grace.

No, not in Fashion's rounds I see

My heart will lose its liberty.
There Nature's ever in disguise;

There lips and looks, and hands, and cyes
Are still at variance with plain truth;
And age affects the vice of youth.
Shew me the man to whom for ever tied,
I'd proudly own subjection till I died.
Apollo's form, with Alexander's face;
A manly beauty, yet a gentle grace;

To snatch from sounding fame unfading fruit.
Not scorning gentle and domestic joys,
And e'er a foe to vulgar drunken noise.
A butt his odium; a led captain worse;
And boon companions still his greatest curse:
His public life in legislation shine;

His private hours be only Love's and mine.
If such a blessing be designed for me,
However distant the fair prospect be,
Nor time, nor barrier shall withhold
My heart, or barter it for gold.

I live to hope,-and now, adieu to thee,
Thou varying scene of various imagery!

And beau and link,
Adieu, adieu.

nese doggrel lines do indeed recall poor Lady S▬▬ y remembrance, and excite many painful regrets one so gifted by nature, and so worthy of fortune's ur, should have made so little use of the first, and so scantily endowed with the latter. It is another ncholy proof of the folly of romance. Verily I beo think I have not a spark left within my own breast; have witnessed its bad effects in so many I have and liked, that I am sick of the word. Well, all reflections cannot avail my poor friend, and I turn a sorrowful pleasure to the thought that she is now nd this world's joy or sorrow. Had any one but S-- written these playful verses, it might have thought she only condemned those whom she could ope to please. But being, as she was at the time, handsomest woman in England, and as exalted in on as in beauty, this satire on the beaux of that od cannot be ascribed to pique. No, she was quite ere, and felt as she wrote. But before she died, aye y years previously to her decease, she said to me, ave proved that

'Tis best repenting in a coach and six.'"

never shall forget how angry I was with her for g so. My beau ideal of romance was destroyed that moment, and I have never been able since to ure up another bright vision.

nother friend, Sir W. H——, writes to me and an-
ces the decease of another person, but one of more
in public life, and less interesting to myself. In
king of Lord Hood, Sir W-- says:

Advanced as he was in life, (for he had reached his
y-third year) his society was delightful to those for
m he still felt the warmth of attachment.
He was

E

e.

Inough for some ume under nis commuch with him subsequently in domestic life, peared to betray any want of that steadiness hich bespeaks the officer and the gentleman. warm, and what is more rarely to be met evering friend. It was gratifying to me to Ia few days after his dissolution, the counny venerable friend-calm and composed in death.

a very pleasant evening yesterday at Mrs. where, notwithstanding the music and the , which were both good, I was reminded, ough, of Lord Sheffield and Gibbon, and

nd

and a thousand circumstances of which distracted me from attention to the e period when the friendship I first formed was in embryo, reverted to me; and I felt a ny hours I passed there should return. But retrospections upon happiness of which we he value whilst we possess it, are sometimes they are unavailing; and the phantoms of which flit before our imaginations, vanish the illusions of a morning's dream. My chments in this country are strong, very hey ought to be so; but many a wistful towards the Alps, and the shores of the 7. I want soul,* and there is little of that net with, either in the splendour of a court, ation of military glory, or what is worse more frequent than either here, the insufnce of newly acquired wealth. It would

nt which it would not appear was ever satisfied or with whom the writer was nearly connected; for a a lady, on the occasion of her visiting Rome, see some of the most famous ruins, only exclaimed, of large stones !" 5*