|
|
|
who was drowned for listening to one of the first calls of nature - supposed to be written by the above ladies. |
If ever 'twas proper and lawful and decent To mourn for a death both untimely & recent, It certain is now -- |
Each grace and each muse In the dear little creature a spice did infuse. |
Like a sweet pretty lady she bridled her chin |
And trip'd o'er the floor like another Miss Prim |
And when the dear animal open'd its throat |
Urania herself might have mother'd the note: |
No coxcomb that pats o'er the rough-pebbled street Or Beaux-ling self pleased so smooth & so sweet |
Could meet with a smile or even a simper If Belle dearer Belle was observed to whimper. |
But if in sweet blandishment Belle frisk'd around E'en wits with the beaux in despair left the ground. |
But she's gone, lovely creature! the sweetest of curs To weep is our LOT, but to slumber is hers. |
|
Copyright © 2014, InterMedia Enterprises