And, rifling ev'ry youthful grace, Left but the remnant of a face. 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. In vain she tries her pastes 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 Her present face surpass the old; No more presuming on her sway, Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty. THE GIFT, ΤΟ IRIS, IN BOW-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN. SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake, Dear mercenary beauty, What annual off'ring shall I make My heart, a victim to thine eyes, Say, would the angry fair one prize A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, I'll give but not the full-blown rose, Or rose-bud more in fashion; Such short-liv'd off'rings but disclose A transitory passion. I'll give thee something yet unpaid, I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid, THE LOGICIANS REFUTED. IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT. LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd By ratiocinations specious, Have strove to prove with great precision, With definition and division, Homo est ratione preditum ; But for my soul I cannot credit 'em : That man and all his ways are vain; Than reason, boasting mortals' pride; |