The revels ended, she put off,
Because her Grace was warm;
She fann'd her with a lady's scoff,
And so she took no harm.
Mrs. Barbauld wrote the following lines on a scroll within a kind of wreath, which hung over the chimney, the whole parlour being decorated with branches of ivy, which were made to run down the walls and hang down every pannel in festoons, at a country place called Palgrave:
Surly Winter, come not here,
Bluster in thy proper sphere;
Howl along the naked plain;
There exert they joyless reign.
Triumph o'er the wither'd flow'r,