Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses! Statesmen with bridles on; and, close beside 'em, Patriots in party-colour'd suits that ride 'em. To raise a flame in Cupids of threescore. Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, Flings down her sampler, and takes up the woman; And tries to kill, ere she's got power to cure. Yon broad, bold, angry spark, I fix my eye on, Who seems t'have robb'd his vizor from the lion; Who frowns, and talks, and swears, with round parade, Looking, as who should say, Dam'me! who's afraid? [Mimicking. Strip but this vizor off and sure I am You'll find his lionship a very lamb. Yon politician, famous in debate, Perhaps, to vulgar eyes, bestrides the state; If with a bribe his candour you attack, He bows, turns round, and whip....the man's in black! Yon critic, too....but whither do I run? If I proceed, our bard will be undone! Well then, a truce, since she requests it too: Do you spare her, and I'll for once spare you. THE END. |