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like the women too (forgive my folly), | Our trifling bankruptcies in the Gazette, From the rich peasant-cheek of ruddy Our cloudy climate, and our chilly women, bronze, All these I can forgive, and those forget, And greatly venerate our recent glories, And wish they were not owing to the Tories.

large black eyes that flash on you a
volley

Of rays that say a thousand things at once,
To the high dama's brow, more melancholy,
But clear, and with a wild and liquid
glance,

Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes,
Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.

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The rest are but a vulgar set, the bore
Of public places, where they basely brave
The fashionable stare of twenty score
Of well-bred persons, called "the World; "
but 1,

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Although I know them, really don't know Something shall leave it half an ho

why.

behind.)

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So that her female friends, with envy broiling, Beheld her airs and triumph, and all that; And well drest males still kept before her filing,

chat;

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A stalking oracle of awful phrase, The approving "Good!" (by no means GOOD in law) Humming like flies around the newest blaze, The bluest of bluebottles you e'er saw, Teasing with blame, excruciating with praise,

Gorging the little fame he gets all raw, Translating tongues he knows not even by

letter,

And passing bow'd and mingled with her
More than the rest one person seem'd to stare And sweating plays so middling, bad were
With pertinacity that's rather rare.

better.

One hates an author, that's all author, Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk a Water!

fellows

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I've seen some balls and revels in my tim
And staid them over for some silly reaso
And then I look'd (I hope it was no crime
To see what lady best stood out the seaso
And though I've seen some thousands

their prime,

No chemistry for them unfolds her gasses,
No metaphysics are let loose in lectures,
No circulating library amasses
Religious novels, moral tales, and strictures
Upon the living manners as they pass us;
No exhibition glares with annual pictures ;
They stare not on the stars from out their I never saw but one (the stars withdrawn
attics,
Whose bloom could after dancing da
the dawn.

Nor deal (thank God for that!) in mathe-
matics.

Lovely and pleasing, and who still mi please on,

The name of this Aurora
Although I might, for

I'll not mention she was noug

to me

Why I thank God for that is no great matter,
I have my reasons, you no doubt suppose,
And as, perhaps, they would not highly More than that patent-work of God's in

flatter,

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vention,

A charming woman, whom we like to set
But writing names would merit reprehen
sion,

Yet if you like to find out this fair she,
At the next London or Parisian ball
You still may mark her cheek, out-bloom
ing all.

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Which saves much hartshorn, salts, and sprinkling faces,

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became

And cutting stays, as usual in such cases. ¡ A renegado of indifferent fame.

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