But is he yet from any free,
Except what now he can’t commit?
ON A PALE LADY WITH A RED-NOSED HUSBAND.
Whence comes it that in Clara’s face
The lily only has its place?
Is it because the absent rose
Has gone to paint her husband’s nose?
ON SOME SNOW THAT MELTED ON A LADY’S BREAST.
Those envious flakes came down in haste,
To prove her breast less fair,