Loud mirth is theirs, and pleasing praise, To beauty’s shrine address’d: The sprightly songs, the melting lays, Which charm the soften’d breast! Theirs lively wit, invention free, The sharp _bon mot_, keen repartee, And ev’ry art coquets employ! The thoughtless day, the jocund night, The spirits brisk, the sorrows light, That fly th’ approach of joy. Alas! regardless of their doom The lovely victims rove; No sense of sufferings yet to come Can now their prudence move: But see! where all around them wait The ministers of female fate, An artful, perjur’d, cruel train; Ah! show them where in ambush stand To seize their prey, the faithless band Of false, deceitful men! These shall the lust of gaming wear That harpy of the mind, With all the troop of rage and fear, That follows close behind: Or pining love shall waste their youth, Or jealousy, with rankling tooth, That gnaws bright Hymen’s golden chain, Who opens wide the fatal gate, For sad distrust and ruthless hate, And sorrow’s pallid train. Ambition this shall tempt to fix Her hopes on something high, To barter for a coach and six Her peace and liberty. The stings of scandal these shall try, And affectation’s haughty eye That scowls on those it us’d to greet, The cutting sneer, the abusive song And false report that glides along, With never-resting feet. And lo! when in the vale of years A grisly tribe are seen; Fancy’s pale family of fears, More hideous than their queen: Struck with th’ imaginary crew Which artless nature never knew, These aid from quacks, and cordials beg, While this, transform’d by folly’s hand, Remains awhile at her command A tea-pot, or an egg. To each her suff’rings: all must grieve, And pour a silent groan, At homage others charms receive, Or slights that meet their own: But all the voice of truth severe Will suit the gay, regardless ear, Whose joy in mirth and revels lies! Thought would destroy this paradise. No more!――Where ignorance is bliss, ’Tis folly to be wise. ANONYMOUS. 1775. ―――― The eminent, but eccentric architect, Sir John Soane, was satirised in _Knight’s Quarterly Magazine_ (No. 4, 1824), in an article by a witty critic, who, speaking of Dulwich College, said, “It is a fine specimen of Soane’s own original and best style,” and thus addresses it, in a parody of Gray:―― “Ye vases five, ye antic towers, That crown the turnpike glade, Where art, in dingy light adores Her _Bourgeois’_ ochrey shade;” The poet then apostrophises the Superior of the College, who, by the will of its founder, Allen, must always bear the same name as himself:――