’Tis so he digs your ribs!—The sixth niche shows
A meagre, mortified, warm-wrapp’d Old Maid;
With morning cap snug-drawn, and muff up-held,
Her curving nose and chin, seeking approach,
The sole good points she shews, and her shrill voice
Pour’d forth against the boldness of the age,
Full oft repeats the theme!—Last plac’d of all,
Which ends this “Worshipful Society,”
Sits a young Nymph, in ev’ry thing reverse,
Sans sleeves, sans coats, sans cap, sans everything!