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Poems

By Anthony Pasquin [i.e. John Williams]. Second Edition
  
  

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107

Tho' enrag'd and revil'd, the old Dowager Drury
Reflected and smil'd, as she fetter'd her fury:
Nor sought by base taunts to condemn or deride,
For her Wit and her Years had corrected her pride:
But feeling compassion, imbitter'd with woe,
Thus bade the sweet streams of experience flow:
Of old, when young ladies offended good manners,
Their peers left their elbows, the men fled their banners;
But, thanks to the impulse of high-born refinement,
Each spinster now laughs at the chains of confinement:
No parents are lab'ring by coercive measures
To fashion the thought, or give laws to their pleasures,
Hence daily the torments Propriety feels,
As tittering girls tread on Decency's heels.—
When I was a virgin, young, callow, and bland,
Then Wisdom and Prudence were known in the land;

108

The girls of that æra were beauteous and good,
And drank no French wines to give warmth to their blood:
They knew not the magic that lurks 'neath a sigh,
But trembled at Folly, and blush'd at a lie;
Tho' men were more willing, and husbands more plenty,
We thought not of love 'till at least five and twenty:
But now every minx, when she gets in her teens,
Well knows what the mystical union means,
Rejects the advice of her elders with scorn,
And loves and coquets ere her passions are born.
But, a truce with resentment, our failings we'll smother,
Nor kindle a flame to consume but—each other;
As our interests are mutual, we'll bury our rage,
And strive to restore Common Sense to the stage;
As the Nymph has been banish'd by sturdy Pollution,
Be it ours to raise a renown'd revolution.—
As the kings of the drama Apollo reviews,
He pities mankind, and he mourns for each muse;
From such an assemblage of dolts and deformity,
Can aught be expected but ills and enormity?
Alas! that such follies should riot unchain'd,
Or Ideots rule where a Titus has reign'd:
To shew their base splendor in Reason's despight,
And annoy human kind, they rush forth to the light;
Like the bird of Minerva at Sol's torrid rays,
'Till their sense is oppress'd, and they wink at the blaze:
Thus Pride draws them on, as the scent leads the beagle,
While Scorn draws a line 'twixt the owl and the eagle.