Just twenty years she counted at the time,
And now a widow was, though in her prime,
(Her spouse, an aged dotard, worth a plum:—
Of those whose loss to mourn no tears e'er come.)
OUR seraph fair, such loveliness possessed,
In num'rous ways a Gascon could have blessed;
Above, below, appeared angelic charms;
'Twas Paradise, 'twas Heav'n, within her arms!
THE Gascon was—a Gascon;—would you more?
Who knows a Gascon knows at least a score.