 | The Distressed Poet |  |
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When call'd on, ne'er to be deny'd;
And, tho' a damp to joy all thought her,
Yet, strange to tell! most people sought her.
She, putting on a semblance hearty,
Welcom'd the Doctor, and his party,
Whilst her poor brain was rack'd in vain,
To know whence came his beauteous train:
They, in return, could scarce forbear
To giggle at this Beldam's air;
Two vixen eyes, as black as sloes,
Stood centry on each side her nose,
Which, near in contact with her chin,
Cast o'er her cheeks a ghastly grin:
Her back and shoulders out of place,
Gave to her form no added grace;
Yet what kind Nature had denied,
By Affectation was supplied;
55
The Ostrich' waving plume was spread,
Whence streaming lappets, ribbands, gause,
Seem'd to insult grave Age's laws,
Whilst round her squat, distorted waist
A fashionable Sash was plac'd,
Making one grieve the Coral too
With all its bells hung not in view,
By which spectators might have learn'd
That second Childhood was return'd,
And seen, where modish Folly revels,
How much it all distinction levels.
| The Distressed Poet | |