For in the very torrent of your passion,
Remember modesty is still in fashion.
Oh, there be ladies whom I’ve seen hold stalls—
Ladies of rank, my dears, to whom befalls
Neither the accent nor the gait of ladies;
So clumsily “made up” with Bloom of Cadiz,
Powder, rouge, lip-salve—that I’ve fancied then
They were the work of Nature’s journeymen!
Let her, whose hair is black with lustre mellow,
Not dream of using dye to turn it yellow—