Yet with us your toilet graces Fail to please, And the last of your last faces, And your _mise_; For we hold you just as real, "_Belle Marquise!_" As your _Bergers_ and _Bergères_, _Tes d' Amour_ and _Batelières_; As your _pares_, and your Versailles, Gardens, grottoes, and _socailles_; As your Naiads and your trees;-- Just as near the old ideal Calm and ease, As the Venus there by Coustou, That a fan would make quite flighty, Is to her the gods were used to,-- Is to grand Greek Aphroditè, Sprung from seas. You are just a porcelain trifle, "_Belle Marquise!_" Just a thing of puffs and patches Made for madrigals and catches, Not for heart wounds, but for scratches, O Marquise! Just a pinky porcelain trifle, "_Belle Marquise!_" Wrought in rarest _rose-Dubarry,_ Quick at verbal point and parry, Clever, doubtless;--but to marry, No, Marquise! IV For your Cupid, you have clipped him, Rouged and patched him, nipped and snipped him, And with _chapeau-bras_ equipped him, "_Belle Marquise!_" Just to arm you through your wife-time, And the languors of your lifetime, "_Belle Marquise!_" Say, to trim your toilet tapers Or--to twist your hair in papers, Or--to wean you from the vapors;-- As for these, You are worth the love they give you, Till a fairer face outlive you, Or a younger grace shall please; Till the coming of the crows'-feet, And the backward turn of beaux' feet, "_Belle Marquise!_" Till your frothed-out life's commotion Settles down to Ennui's ocean, Or a dainty sham devotion, "_Belle Marquise!_" V No: we neither like nor love you, "_Belle Marquise!_" Lesser lights we place above you,-- Milder merits better please. We have passed from _Philosophe_-dom Into plainer modern days,-- Grown contented in our oafdom, Giving grace not all the praise; And, _en partant, Arsinoé_,-- Without malice whatsoever,-- We shall counsel to our Chloë To be rather good than clever; For we find it hard to smother Just one little thought, Marquise! Wittier perhaps than any other,-- You were neither Wife nor Mother. "_Belle Marquise!_" A BALLAD TO QUEEN ELIZABETH OF THE SPANISH ARMADA King Philip had vaunted his claims; He had sworn for a year he would sack us; With an army of heathenish names He was coming to fagot and stack us; Like the thieves of the sea he would track us, And shatter our ships on the main; But we had bold Neptune to back us,-- And where are the galleons of Spain?