IN these bold times, when Learning's sons explore
The distant climate and the savage shore;
When wise Astronomers to India steer,
WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age!
Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word,—
From those who spoke her praise.
THERE is a place, so Ariosto sings,
A treasury for lost and missing things;
HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense;
I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience.
My pride forbids it ever should be said,
But where to find that happiest spot below
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
'Enter' MRS. BULKLEY,
'who curtsies very low as beginning to speak.
Then enter' MISS CATLEY,
WHERE the Red Lion flaring o'er the way,
Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?