"The girl is straight," (" we call the ace,") "But that's the merit of her stays." "I'm sure I loath malicious hintsBut-only look, how Laura squints.” "Yet Miss, forsooth,"-(" who play'd the ten?") "Is quite perfection with the men ; The flattering fools-they make me sick," ("Well-four by honours, and the trick.") While thus the crones hold high debate, The circling waltz and gay quadrille Are in, or out, at Laura's will; And those the ringlets of her hair. 1 The first his fluttering heart to lose, Was Captain Piercy, of the Blues; He squeez'd her hand-he gaz'd, and swore He never was in love before; bol vi He entertain'd his charmer's ear, With tales of wonder and of fear; pol Of towns o'ercome and ladies too! Of nunneries, and escalades, And damsels-and Damascus blades. Alas! too soon the Captain found 911 37 How swiftly Fortune's wheel goes round; Laura at last began to doze, E'en in the midst of Badajoz ; Since Laura-and his stars were cruel, He fought, and perish'd; Laura sigh'd, To hear how hapless Piercy died ; "What? dead!-poor fellow-what a pity! He was so handsome and so witty; Shot in a duel too!good gracious!! How I did hate that man's mustachios!" Next came the interesting beau, J Oh! how did Laura love to vex Was he jocose?" the man was mad." And there, in accent soft and sweet, 1 Laid rank and fortune, heart and hand, Instead of blushing her consent, She "wonder'd what the blockhead meant.” Yet still the fashionable fool Was proud of Laura's ridicule ; Though still despised, he still pursued, Seeming, like lady's lap-dog, vain Of being led by Beauty's chain. He knelt, he gaz'd, he sigh'd, and swore, When years had past, and Laura's frown He hurried from the fallen grace, Constant to nothing was the ass, The next to gain the beauty's ear Well deem'd the prince of rhyme and blank; Of Helicon's poetic tide, Where nonsense flows, and numbers glide; And slumber'd on the herbage green, That decks the banks of Hippocrene. In short-his very footmen know it→→→ He came and rhym'd—he talk'd of fountains, Of Pindus, and Pierian mountains; "Aut insanit homo,-aut versus facit."-HOR. "All Bedlam-or Parnassus is let out."-POPE. Of wandering lambs, of gurgling rills, He thought a lover's vow grew sweeter, And planted every speech with flowers, "Laura-I perish for your sake," (Here he digress'd about a lake ;) "The charms thy features all disclose," (A simile about a rose ;) "Have set my very soul on fire," (An episode about his lyre ;) Though you despise-I still must love," (Something about a turtle dove ;) "Alas! in death's unstartled sleep," (Just here he did his best to weep ;) "Laura, the willow soon shall wave, Over thy lover's lowly grave." Then he began, with pathos due, To speak of cypress and of rue : But Fortune's unforeseen award Parted the Beauty from the Bard; For Laura, in that evil hour When unpropitious stars had power, Unmindful of the thanks she owed, Lighted her taper with an ode. Poor William all his vows forgot, And hurried from the fatal spot, In all the bitterness of quarrel, To write lampoons-and dream of laurel. Years fleeted by, and every grace Began to fade from Laura's face; Through every circle whispers ran, And aged dowagers began |