With envy, then, her bosom warms,
For she was feminine and mortal.
She all but wept to think her feet
Trod not that most select retreat.
“How lucky!” thought she, “aye, past compare,
Are the happy houris who wander there,
Where the feet of real princes fall.
If the Royal Enclosure’s not for me,
The joys of the season cease to be;
A ticket from Hardwicke exceeds them all.”