With Bromwich to amuse and chear the mind;
Amid this Pomp of Cost, this Pride of Art,
What mean these sorrows in a Female Heart?
Ye crowded Walls, whose well enlighten’d Round
With Lover’s Sighs and Protestations sound,
Ye pictures flatter’d by the learn’d and wise,
Ye glasses, ogled by the brightest eyes,
Ye cards, whom Beauties by their touch have blest,
Ye chairs, which Peers and Ministers have prest,
How are ye chang’d! like you my fate I moan,