By all defpis'd, by one betrayed,
Ah! whither fhall fhe fly;
Where hapless fhall fhe feek for aid?
Her refuge is on high.
Say, when the grave shall hide her shame,
Shall prove her grief fincere ;
Ah! fhall not malice cease to blame,
And pity drop a tear?
THE YOUNG LADY AND LOOKING
THERE was a little ftubborn dame,
Whom no authority could tame;
Restive, by long indulgence, grown,
No will fhe minded, but her own;
At trifles oft fhe'd fcold and fret,
Then in a corner take a feat,
And fourly moping all the day,
Disdain alike to work or play.
Papa all fofter arts had try'd,
And sharper remedies apply'd ;
But both were vain, for every courfe
He took ftill made her worfe and worse.
'Tis ftrange to think how female wit
So oft fhould make a lucky hit;
When man, with all his high pretence
To deeper judgment, founder fenfe,
Will err, and measures falfe purfue ;-
'Tis very ftrange, I own, but true.—
Mamma obferv'd the rifing lafs
By ftealth retiring to the glass,
To practife little airs, unfeen,
In the true genius of thirteen:
On this a deep design she laid
To tame the humour of the maid ;
Contriving, like a prudent mother,
To make one folly cure another.
Upon the wall, against the feat
Which Jeffy us'd for her retreat,
Whene'er by accident offended,
A looking-glafs was ftraight fufpended,
That it might fhew her how deform'd
She look'd, and frightful when she ftorm'd;
And warn her, as the priz'd her beauty,
To bend her humour to her duty.
All this the looking-glass atchiev'd,
Its threats were minded and believ'd.
The maid, who fpurn'd at all advice,
Grew tame and gentle in a trice:
So when all other means had fail'd,
The filent monitor prevail'd.
Thus Fable to the human kind
Prefents an image of the mind:
It is a mirror, where we spy
At large our own deformity;
And learn of course those faults to mend,
Which but to mention would offend.
TO A LADY WHO LOVED DANCING.
MAY I prefume, in humble lays,
My dancing fair, thy fteps to praise ?-
While this grand maxim I advance,
That all the world is but a dance;
That human-kind, both man and woman,
Do dance is evident and common.
David himself, that god-like king,
We know could dance as well as fing.
Folks who at court would keep their ground,
Muft dance the year attendance round.
Whole nations dance: gay frifky France
Has led the nation many a dance.
And fome believe both France and Spain.
Refolve to take us out again.
All nature is one ball we find,
The water dances to the wind;
The fea itfelf at night and noon
Rifes and capers to the moon ;
The moon around the earth does tread
A Cheshire round in buxom red;
The earth and planets round the fun
Dance; nor will their dance be done,
'Till nature in one mafs is blended,
Then we may fay the ball is ended.
To a Lady who wished not to hear the toll of a Bell on the Evening of a Lady's Funeral.
AND why not hear the found of yonder bell?
Ah! why from ferious thoughts for ever fly!
It tolls a fober, awful, folemn knell,
A wish'd-for knell to immortality..
Think not a round of folly's mad career
Can always fhield thee from reflection's power; The young, the fond, the rich, the gay muft fear, Too long regardless of an awful hour.
Think not that beauteous form that now you wear,
That glow of crimson-those infpiring eyes
Muft linger ever here-they all declare-
They speak aloud their kindred to the fkies.,
Do not the hour, the day, the month, the year,
All in their course expire, but all renew?
All nature shews, alas ! a prospect drear,
All nature shews there's happiness in view.
Long loft in ftorms do mariners repine,
When the glad pilot diftant land defcries?
Ah! fee them eager trace the folid line,
See their hopes kindle as the objects rife.
And shall my fair with brightest hopes in store,
Not once look up beyond this earthly clod,
Shall the alone her destiny deplore,
Her anchor, heaven I and her pilot, God
LESBIA'S LAMENTATION FOR THE
LOSS OF HER SPARROW.
[WRITTEN ABOVE 100 YEARS SINCE.]
TELL me not of joy-there's none,
Now my little Sparrow's gone.
He, juft like you,
Wou'd toy and woo;
And, 'till he faw me look and fmile,
Dear, how fullen he wou'd be!
Now wou'd hang the wing a while;
Then wou'd chirp, and flatter me.
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