 | Miscellanies in Prose and Verse |  |
199
A SONG.
Ye Coxcombs and Beaux, and ye grave wiser things,
Who walk in this frolicsome round,
Pray tell me from whence your ill-nature could spring,
At once the fair sex to confound?
To censure those fair who are dressing for you,
Indeed is unkind without measure:
Then teach us the way, and, O! give us the clue,
To hold you, we'll keep it as treasure.
Who walk in this frolicsome round,
Pray tell me from whence your ill-nature could spring,
At once the fair sex to confound?
To censure those fair who are dressing for you,
Indeed is unkind without measure:
Then teach us the way, and, O! give us the clue,
To hold you, we'll keep it as treasure.
The maid who has copy'd the statue admir'd,
And modestly turn'd from your view,
Her have you not left, tho' you knew she desir'd,
None other alliance but you?
Who has felt your approach, with a warmth like a Jove,
When Venus before him appear'd,
The stare not return'd, yet with ardour she lov'd,
To the free you have flown, left her passion unheard.
And modestly turn'd from your view,
Her have you not left, tho' you knew she desir'd,
None other alliance but you?
Who has felt your approach, with a warmth like a Jove,
When Venus before him appear'd,
The stare not return'd, yet with ardour she lov'd,
To the free you have flown, left her passion unheard.
200
Fanny's and Lucy's, and some other names,
Their hats we all thought was the clue,
Then did we pursue, both their flirting and fame,
For their dress, and for every thing new.
And have you not forc'd us to have this recourse,
To catch but one glance of your eye?
For when Murray, or Charlotte, or Lucy, appear'd,
Ah! to them, how eager you'd fly!
Their hats we all thought was the clue,
Then did we pursue, both their flirting and fame,
For their dress, and for every thing new.
And have you not forc'd us to have this recourse,
To catch but one glance of your eye?
For when Murray, or Charlotte, or Lucy, appear'd,
Ah! to them, how eager you'd fly!
And be ty'd by their streamers, for ten tedious rounds,
On Ranelagh's famous parade;
O! could we forbear, to try if that snare
Would call you from jilts and from jades!
But now we'll grow wise, these follies despise,
Lead you but to Wisdom the way,
We'll hold her as fast, we'll adore her as much,
And shine forth as god of the day.
On Ranelagh's famous parade;
O! could we forbear, to try if that snare
Would call you from jilts and from jades!
But now we'll grow wise, these follies despise,
Lead you but to Wisdom the way,
We'll hold her as fast, we'll adore her as much,
And shine forth as god of the day.
| Miscellanies in Prose and Verse | |