A luncheon next the Stand supplies, Where chickens, _pâtés_, lamb, cold pies, Tongues, lobster-salads, hams, are all Devoured, till appetite doth pall; And soda-water, and champagne, Restore the losers’ nerves again. Those who, less favoured, find no place In the Grand Stand to see the race, Feast on their dickeys, or in carriage; And hungry gazers can’t disparage Their appetites, when e’en the fair Lay in a meal to make one stare; And sparkling eye, and deep-flushed cheek, Thy influence, brisk champagne! bespeak. How glad was Mary, when, all over, Seated beside her ardent lover, She heard her mother, with remorse, Regret the hours lost at the Course; And soon forgetting all around Her mind its native quiet found. Time flew on gay and airy wing, And Summer had replaced the Spring; No more in the street and square were seen, The trees beclad in mantle green, For now exhausted, dusty, brown, They wore the livery of the town. The grass, wherever grass was seen, Resembled nought save washed nankeen; The shrubs, in spite of gardener’s care, Hung their limp boughs with dying air; No more the sickly window-roses Had strength to charm the inmates’ noses; And balconies in every street With mignonette so lately sweet, (A melancholy sight indeed!) Shewed their whole treasure run to seed. Now to the plague of mortal eyes Began the carnival of flies; All London, still of Fashion full, Sent up one groan—“How hot and dull!” Now maidens bright begin to fear They needs must wait another year For that dear thing—establishment, On which their eager hearts were bent; “So fleet to chase—so hard to find, What ails the men? they grow so blind!” And pretty lips, with smiles that shone, Pout as their owners sit alone, Viewing with dread the time approach, When, packed in the ancestral coach, To London’s joys they bid adieu, With long and dreary months in view! Autumn and Winter spent at home, Where but old stupid neighbours come— The Rector and his prosy madam, Whose pedigree dates back to Adam; The Doctor, with his gossip small, So fond of luncheon at the Hall; The noisy, dull, and sporting Squire, Splashed to his waist in horrid mire; And then his loud, red-elbowed girls, What feet! what scarlet ears! what curls! Poor things! devoured with earnest passion To know and ape the newest fashion— What wonder maids would rather bear } With dusty streets, and blazing air, } Than bid adieu to dear May Fair? } Now mothers, too, with _soirées_ sated, Who hoped to see their daughters mated, And deemed their prey each sauntering beau, Who, passing, notice, chanced to shew; Whose talk, however slow and _fade_, } Betwixt _quadrille_ and _gallopade_ } No cold repulse from them forbade; } Are left—(the beaux all fled away), With milliners’ long bills to pay, Which now come pouring in a number