STANZAS ON WOMAN. _By a modern Goldsmith._ When lovely woman reads _Le Follet_, And tries her best to men betray; She makes herself a pretty dolly, But fritters all her soul away. When she grows old, and charms decay, And crow’s-feet come beneath each eye; When skin is wrinkled――hair is grey―― Her only chance is then――to dye! _The Figaro_, January 1, 1873. ―――― STANZAS ON MAN. _By Dr. Silversmith._ When foolish man consents to marry, And finds, too late, his wife a shrew, When she her point in all must carry, ’Tis hard to say what’s best to do! In hopes the breeches to recover, To hide his shame from every eye. To be as free as when her lover His only method is――to fly. ―――― A BIT OF GOLDSMITH’S WORK NEW GILT. When lovely woman once so jolly, Finds, late in life, that hair grows grey, How make her case less melancholy, How hide Time’s step that none can stay? The only way his track to cover, To mask her age from every eye, And if she have a spoon for lover To keep him still “spoons,” is――to dye! ―――― ON A BREACH OF PROMISE. When lovely woman finds that breaches Of promise are her suitor’s wear, What is it the black record bleaches, And comforts the deserted fair? To punish the unfaithful lover, Where only he’ll his falsehood rue, Substantial damages recover―― Pursue _him_ not, but his purse _sue_! ―――― VENUS IMITATRIX. [Another Ladies Club is starting at the West-end.――See _Society Journals_.] (_Sung by a Clubbess_). When lovely woman’s melancholy Because her husband stays away From home, pursuing some mad folly, (“’Tis business, love,” they always say). The only plan to teach him manners, And cure the midnight latchkey hub, Is, dears, to march beneath our banners―― So, ladies, come and join our club. ―――― STANZAS ON WOMAN. When lovely woman longs to marry, And snatch a victim from the beaux, What charms the soft design will carry? What art will make the men propose? The only art her schemes to cover, To give her wishes sure success, To gain, to fix a captive lover, And “wring his bosom,” is TO DRESS. ―――― ON MR. ODGER. (_Formerly Candidate for Southwark._) When stupid Odger stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What thought can make him once more jolly? What hope can drive his spite away?