FROM this 'tis easy, it should seem to guess: What by the youth was tied in this distress The end of lace that by the men was left, When nature ordered them to close the cleft: With thread he fastened it so very well, That all was flat as any nun or belle; But thread or silk, you cannot find a string To hold, what soon I fear will give a spring, And get away, in spite of all you do; Bring saints or angels such a scene to view, As twenty nuns in similar array, Strange creatures I should think them:--merely clay, If they should at the sight unmoved remain; I speak of nuns, howe'er, whose charms maintain Superior rank, and like the Graces seem, Delightful sisters! ev'ry way supreme. THE prioress, this secret to disclose, Appeared with spectacles upon her nose; And twenty nuns around a dress displayed; That convent mantua-makers never made, Imagine to yourself what felt the youth, 'Mid this examination of the truth. The nice proportions and the lily charms Soon raised within his bosom dire alarms; Like magick operated on the string, And from it, what was tied, soon gave a spring; Broke loose at once, just like a mettled steed, That, having slipt its halter, flies with speed; Against the abbess' nose with force it flew, And spectacles from her proboscis threw.