ABSTRACT
She went, to plain-work, and to purling brooks, Old-fashion'd halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks, She went from Op'ra, park, assembly, play, To morning walks, and pray'rs three hours a day; To pass her time 'twixt reading and Bohea, 15 To muse, and spill her solitary Tea, Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon, Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon; Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire, Hum half a tune, tell stories to the squire; 20 Up to her godly garret after sev'n, There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n,
Some Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack; Whose game is Whisk, whose treat a toast in sack, Who visits with a gun, presents you birds, 25 Then gives a smacking buss, and cries-No words! Or with his hound comes hollowing from the stable, Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table; Whose laughs are hearty, tho' his jests are coarse, And loves you best of all things-but his horse. 30
In some fair evening, on your elbow laid, You dream of triumphs in the rural shade; In pensive thought recall the fancy'd scene, See Coronations rise on ev'ry green; Before you pass th' imaginary sights 35 Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd Knights;
While the spread Fan o'ershades your closing eyes; Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies. Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls, And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls. 40
So when your slave, at some dear, idle time, (Not plagu'd with headachs, or the want of rhime) Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew, And while he seems to study, thinks of you: Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes, 45 Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise, Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite; Streets, chairs, and coxcombs rush upon my sight; Vext to be still in town, I knit my brow, Look sow'r, and hum a tune-as you may now. 50
