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Her presence banish'd all his peace.
So with decorum all things carried;
Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then was-married.
Need we expose to vulgar sight
The raptures of the bridal night?
The honeymoon like lightning flew,
b Our alter'd parson now began
But still the worst remain'd behind,
That very face had robb'd her mind.
Skill'd in no other arts was she, But dressing, patching, repartee; And, just as humour rose or fell, By turns a slattern or a belle.
'Tis true she dress'd with modern grace,
But when at home, at board or bed,
In short, by night 'twas fits or fretting;
Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke
A sigh in suffocating smoke;
While all their hours were pass'd' between Insulting repartee or spleen.
d Now tawdry madam kept a bevy.
Thus as her faults each day were known,s
Or thins her lip, or points her nose
How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes!
Her face is grown a knowing phiz;
Now, to perplex the ravell'd noose,
The glass, grown hateful to her sight, Reflected now a perfect fright:
Each former art she vainly tries
To bring back lustre to her eyes.
Each day the more her faults were known.
In vain she tries her paste1 and creams, To smooth her skin, or hide its seams; Her country beaux and city cousins, Lovers no more, flew off by dozens; The 'squire himself was seen to yield, And e'en the captain quit the field.
Poor madam now condemn'd to hack
For tawdry finery is seen
A NEW SIMILE.1
IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT.
LONG had I sought in vain to find A likeness for the scribbling kind; The modern scribbling kind, who write In wit, and sense, and nature's spite: Till reading, I forget what day on, A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon, I think I met with something there To suit my purpose to a hair. But let us not proceed too furious, First please to turn to god Mercurius: You'll find him pictur'd at full length In book the second, page the tenth: The stress of all my proofs on him I lay, And now proceed we to our simile.
Imprimis, pray observe his hat,
Wings upon either side, mark that. Well! what is it from thence we gather? Why, these denote a brain of feather.
1 Printed among the Essays (the xxvii.)
a I long had rack'd my brains to find.