LXV.

Now Laura moves along the joyous crowd,
Smiles in her eyes, and simpers on her lips;
To some she whispers, others speaks aloud;
To some she curtsies, and to some she dips,
Complains of warmth, and this complaint avow'd,
Her lover brings the lemonade, she sips;
She then surveys, condemns, but pities still
Her dearest friends for being drest so ill.

LXVI.

One has false curls, another too much paint,
A third-where did she buy that frightful tur-

ban?

A fourth's so pale she fears she's going to faint,
A fifth's look's vulgar, dowdyish, and suburban,

A sixth's white silk has got a yellow taint,

A seventh's thin muslin surely will be her bane, And lo! an eighth appears,-,,I'll see no more!" For fear, like Banquo's kings, they reach a score.

LXVII.

Mean time, while she was thus at others gazing, Others were levelling their looks at her ;

She heard the men's half-whisper'd mode of prai

sing,

And, till 'twas done, determined not to stir; The women only thought it quite amazing That at her time of life so many were Admirers still,-but men are so debased, Those brazen creatures always suit their taste.

LXVIII.

For my part',''now, I ne'er could understand
Why naughty women-but I won't discuss

A thing which is a scandal to the land,
I only don't see why it should be thus;
And if I were but in a gown and band,

Just to entitle me to make a fuss,

I'd preach on this till Wilberforce and Romilly Should quote in their next speeches from my ho

mily.

LXIX.

While Laura thus was seen and seeing, smiling,
Talking, she knew not why and cared not what,
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,

And passing bow'd and mingled with her chat; More than the rest one person seem'd to stare With pertinacity that's rather rare.

LXX.

He was a Turk', the colour of mahogany;
And Laura saw him, and at first was glad,
Because the Turks so much admire philogyny,
Although their usage of their wives is sad;
'Tis said they use no better than a dog any
Poor woman, whom they purchase like a pad:
They have a number, though they ne'er exhibit 'em,
Four wives by law, and concubines,,ad libitum.“

LXXI.

They lock them up, and veil, and guard them daily, They scarcely can behold their male relations, So that their moments do not pass so gaily

As is supposed the case with northern nations; Confinement, too, must make them look quite

palely:

And as the Turks abhor long conversations, Their days are either past in doing nothing, Or bathing, nursing, making love, and clothing.

LXXII.

They cannot read, and so don't lisp in criticism;

.

Nor write, and so they don't affect the muse; Were never caught in epigram or witticism,

Have no romances, sermons, plays, reviews,— In harams learning soon would make a pretty schism!

But luckily these beauties are no ,,blues," No bustling Botherbys have they to show'em ,,That charming passage in the last new poem."

LXXIII.

No solemn, antique gentleman of rhyme,
Who having angled all his life for fame,
And getting but a nibble at a time,

Still fussily keeps fishing on, the same
Small,,Triton of the minnows," the sublime
Of mediocrity, the furious tame,

The echo's echo, usher of the school
Of female wits, boy bards—in short, a fool!

LXXIV.

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 c'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 sweating plays so middling, bad were better.