A PORTRAIT.

Sketched in the year of the world, 5831; and, of my bachelorship, 24.

(For the Mirror.)

Chaste, as the icicle,

That's curded by the frost from purer snow,

And hangs on Dian's temple; Dear—old maid.

SHAKSPEARE'S Coriolanus.

Sed mihi vel tellus optem prius ima dehiscat,

Vel Pater omnipotens adigat me fulmine ad umbras,

Pallentes umbras Erebi, noctemque profundum,

Ante, pudor, quam te violem, aut tua jure resolvam.

VIRGIL.

I have years on my back forty-eight,

SHAKSPEARE'S King Lear.

Four-and-twenty lap-dogs, all of a row,

Four-and-twenty monkeys, kits, and cats, dit-to;

Four-and-twenty colours in her tawdry dress,

(A rainbow she in all—but its loveliness!)

Four-and-twenty tempers, in the four-and-twenty hours;

Four-and-twenty dreams of suppos'd vanquished pow'rs,

To wit of four-and-twenty swains—more or less;

Who have four-and-twenty times, curs'd her ugliness!

Four-and-twenty trials, ere as many hours are o'er,

Of four-and-twenty genera of rival Kalydor;

Four-and-twenty scentings with her dear bergamot,

Four-and-twenty daubs of her dear paint-pot;

Four-and-twenty visitings to four-and-twenty friends,

And four-and-twenty tales of 'em, before the day ends;

Of these said four-and-twenty tales just four-and-twenty versions,

And all of them of all the facts most farcica perversions.

Four-and-twenty false curls, * *

Four-and-twenty false teeth, and quite as false a tongue,

Which tells how virtuous was the world when—she and it were young.

Or rather for these thirty years has moralizing told,

How this good deed and that she'll do, before she grows old:

Four-and-twenty sighs a-day, that our rude English sky

Is not precise as she—and may wash off the dye

Meretricious of her cheeks, which are then like gold,

(Though less tempting;) sweet and yellow as a marigold![²]

Four-and-twenty wailings o'er the wedded state,

Yet twice as many every day 'tis not her fate;

Pretending to the world 'tis mere choice that has led

To singleness—yet choosing all the while to be wed,

If any doting fool could be doting fool enough

To bid for such a breaking down piece of stuff;

For any such a winter, that has shed the flowers of spring,

Whose autumn too is flown; nor left its fruit or any thing!

Yes, such are the marks deep branded on a class

Of busy blanks, non-entities, creation's very farce;

In these scales then be every piece of Eve's flesh weighed,

Find these criteria, and be sure you've found an—Ancient Maid!