Lights for the ladies! Hark, the bar-bells sound!
Shew to the club-room-See the glass goes round-
Hail happy meeting of the good and fair,
Soft relaxation from domestic care,
Where virgin minds are early train'd to loo,
And all Newmarket opens to the view.
In these gay scenes shall I affect to move,
Or pass my hours in dull domestic love?
Shall I to rural solitudes descend,
With Tyrrel my protector, guardian, friend;
Or to the rich Pantheon's round repair,
And blaze the brightest heathen goddess there?
Where shall i fix? Determine ye who know,
Shall i renounce my husband, or Soho?
With eyes half open'd and an aching head,
And ev'n the artificial roses dead,
When to my toilette's morning task resign'd,
What visitations then may seize my mind!
Save me, just Heaven, from such a painful life, And make me an unfashionable wife!