V.
Thy face a rich fire-place displays:
The mantel-piece marble—thy brows;
Thine eyes are the bright beaming blaze;
Thy bib, which no trespass allows,
The fender’s tall barrier marks;
Thy tippet’s the fire-quelling rug,
Which serves to extinguish the sparks
Of Lady Elizabeth Mugg.
VI.
The Countess a lily appears,
Whose tresses the pearl-drops emboss;
The Marchioness, blooming in years,
A rose-bud enveloped in moss;
But thou art the sweet passion-flower,
For who would not slavery hug,
To pass but one exquisite hour
In the arms of Elizabeth Mugg?
VII.
When at Court, or some Dowager’s rout,
Her diamond aigrette meets our view,
She looks like a glow-worm dressed out,
Or tulips bespangled with dew.
Her two lips denied to man’s suit
Are shared with her favourite Pug;
What lord would not change with the brute,
To live with Elizabeth Mugg?
Could the stage be a large vis-à-vis,
Reserved for the polished and great,
Where each happy lover might see
The nymph he adores tête-à-tête;
No longer I’d gaze on the ground,
And the load of despondency lug,
For I’d book myself all the year round
To ride with the sweet Lady Mugg.
IX.
Yes, she in herself is a host,
And if she were here all alone,
Our house might nocturnally boast
A bumper of fashion and ton.
Again should it burst in a blaze,
In vain would they ply Congreve’s plug, [59]
For nought could extinguish the rays
From the glance of divine Lady Mugg.