So, 'twixt some thirty loves I'm wavering,
To each the same unstable vows I fling,
Reading the first glad gleam of love's surprise
In thirty pair of brown and azure eyes,
Finding in all the same thought answering;
A fickle heart.
GUY WETMORE CARRYL. Columbia Spectator.
~My Lady goes to the Play.~
With the link-boys running on before
To light her on her way,
A-lounging in her sedan goes
Belinda to the play.
In patch and powder, puff and frill,
From satin shoe to hair,
Of all the maids in London town
I wot there's none so fair!
From Mayfair down along the Strand
To Covent Garden's light,
Where Master David Garrick acts
In a new rôle to-night,
The swinging sedan takes its way,
And with expectant air
Belinda fans, and wonders who
To-night there will be there.
Sir Charles, perhaps, or, happy thought,
Flushing thro' her powder,
He might come in—beneath her stays
She feels her heart beat louder.
The place, at last! The flunkies set
Their dainty burden down,
"Lud, what a crowd!" My Lady frowns
And gathers up her gown.