TO LADY H ON AN OLD RING FOUND AT TUNBRIDGE-WELLS. Tunbridge Wells, August, 1805. WHEN Grammont graced these happy springs, The merriest wight of all the kings That ever ruled these gay gallant isles; Like us, by day, they rode, they walk'd, The only different trait is this, That woman then, if man beset her, Was rather given to saying "yes," Because as yet she knew no better! Each night they held a coterie, Where every fear to slumber charm'd, Lovers were all they ought to be, And husbands not the least alarm'd! They call'd up all their school-day pranks, And lords show'd wit, and ladies teeth. As-" Why are husbands like the Mint?" 66 That give a currency to beauty. 'Why is a garden's wilder'd maze Like a young widow, fresh and fair?" Because it wants some hand to raise The weeds, which "have no business there!" And thus they miss'd, and thus they hit, And now they struck, and now they parried, And some lay in of full-grown wit, While others of a pun miscarried. 'Twas one of those facetious nights 1 From whence it can be fairly traced The snowy hand that wears it now. All this I'll prove, and then-to you, Let no pedantic fools be there, For ever be those fops abolish'd, But still receive the mild, the gay, ΤΟ NEVER mind how the pedagogue proses, Old Chloe, whose withering kisses Young Sappho, for want of employments, But for you to be buried in books- Astronomy finds in your eye Better light than she studies above, And Music must borrow your sigh As the melody dearest to love. In Ethics-'tis you that can check, In a minute, their doubts and their quarrels; Oh! show but that mole on your neck, And 'twill soon put an end to their morals. Your Arithmetic only can trip When to kiss and to count you endeavour; But Eloquence glows on your lip When you swear that you'll love me for ever. Thus you see what a brilliant alliance A course of more exquisite science And, oh! if a fellow like me May confer a diploma of hearts, With my lip thus I seal your degree, My divine little Mistress of Arts! IRISH MELODIES. GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE. Go where glory waits thee, Oh! then remember me. Oft as summer closes, Once so loved by thee, When, around thee dying, Oh! then remember me. |