The Works of John Hall-Stevenson :: :: University of Virginia Library

Both high and low! simple and wise!
Agree in making a great bustle,
About a certain pair of eyes,
Belonging to the House of Russell.
Though not so awful and discreet,
There was a pair of eyes at Brussels,
Far more compassionately sweet,
Than Lady Carolina Russell's .
Her eyes are like those swords of fire,
The flaming swords to Angels given,
By which impure and rash desire
From the forbidden fruit are driven.

134

Far other eyes are those I mean,
I speak of an inviting pair,
The property of frail eighteen,
A Nun as amorous as fair.
Impassion'd eyes, fit for a Nun;
Eyes that Love lights and Venus shapes;
Eyes like the gilding of the sun,
Gilding ripe nectarines and grapes.
The Lady Abbess was her Aunt;
And, as they lay in the same cell,
The Abbess was so complaisant,
She pass'd her time exceeding well.
She had the privilege alone
Of running in the convent-ground,
Surrounded by high walls of stone,
Just like a filly in a pound.
Within this close were shady trees,
And there an Oratory stood;
A Chapel of delight and ease,
When folks delight in doing good.
After her matines and her complines,
Here she spent many pleasant hours;

135

Instead of making cakes and dumplings,
Purses and artificial flowers.
'Twas a delightful life she led,
Here every day she met her monk,
Unless he was confin'd in bed,
Which was the case when he was drunk.
One day within this Oratory,
As she was with her Monk in chat,
Instead of being solitary,
And melancholy as a cat;
Chatt'ring with many a lewd device,
In which they neither were to seek,
Tricks that Love teaches in a trice,
Better than studying a week;
In gibberish, and playful cant,
Father, says she, pulling him down,
I've a great mind to turn gallant,
And give your Reverence a green gown:
And, like my Aunt, I'll make you mad,
As mad as King Nebuchadnazor,
When she transforms you to a pad,
As he was turn'd into a grazer.

136

For all your stiffness and your pride,
With whip and spur, I'll make you run;
To which the humbled Monk reply'd,
Spouse of the Lord, thy will be done.
Her pad, as sturdy as a Miller's,
She taught to rear, curvet, and prance,
Make graceful caprioles, and dance,
As if he was between the pillars.
The Monk cry'd out, My Lady Abbess!
My Lady Abbess! without cease,
Your ways are ways of pleasantness,
And all your paths are joy and peace.

The Rev. Mr. R. L.

Now Duchess of Marlborough.