The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from ev’ry eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom――is to die. ―――― A PARAPHRASE. “When Woman,” as Goldsmith declares, “stoops to folly,” And finds out too late that false man can “betray,” She is apt to look dismal, and grow “melan-choly,” And, in short, to be anything rather than gay. He goes on to remark that “to punish her lover, Wring his bosom, and draw the tear into his eye, There is but one method” which he can discover That’s likely to answer――that one is “to die!” He’s wrong――the wan and withering cheek; The thin lips, pale, and drawn apart; The dim yet tearless eyes, that speak The misery of the breaking heart; The wasted form, th’enfeebled tone That whispering mocks the pitying ear; Th’ imploring glances heaven-ward thrown As heedless, helpless, hopeless here; These wring the false one’s heart enough If made of penetrable stuff. From _The Black Mousquetaire_ (The Ingoldsby Legends.) ―――― A SONG FOR THE MILLION. When Harry Brougham turns a Tory, Too late convinc’d that Whigs betray, What can revive his tarnish’d glory? What his desertion best repay? The only robe his shame to cover, To hide the brand upon his back, And best reward this faithless lover―― That Peel can give him is――_the sack_. _Punch_ February, 1844. ―――― “WHEN LOVELY WOMAN.” When lovely woman wants a favour, And finds, too late, that man won’t bend, What earthly circumstance can save her From disappointment in the end? The only way to bring him over, The last experiment to try, Whether a husband or a lover, If he have feeling, is――to cry! From _Poems and Parodies_, by Phœbe Carey. Boston, 1854. ―――― A SONG. When lovely woman, prone to folly, Finds that e’en ROWLAND’S oils betray; What charm can soothe her melancholy? What art can turn gray hairs away? The only art gray hairs to cover, To hide their tint from every eye, To win fresh praises from her lover, And make him offer――is to dye. _Punch_, April, 1854. ―――― A REMEDY. When lovely woman stoops to poli- Tics, and finds it doesn’t pay, What charm can wean her from her folly, And put her in the proper way? The only plan we can discover, Is the one we now propose; That she should obtain a lover, Marry him, and mend his hose. _Diogenes_, 1853. ―――― CANZONET ON CRINOLINE. _By a Wretch._