Then comes that sober character—the Wife,
With all the dear distracting cares of life;
A thousand cards a thousand joys extend,
For what may not upon a card depend?
Now she’ll snatch half a glance at opera, ball,
A meteor traced by none, though seen by all;
’Till “spousy” finds, while anxious to immure her,
A patent coffin only can secure her.
At last the Dowager, in ancient flounces,
With snuff and spectacles, she folly trounces,