WE had a sprightly nymph--in every town Are some such sprights, who wander up and down; She had her useful arts, and could contrive, In Time's despite, to stay at twenty-five; - "Here will I rest; move on, thou lying year, This is mine age, and I will rest me here." Arch was her look, and she had pleasant ways Your good opinion of her heart to raise; Her speech was lively, and with ease express'd, And well she judged the tempers she address'd: If some soft stripling had her keenness felt, She knew the way to make his anger melt; Wit was allow'd her, though but few could bring Direct example of a witty thing; 'Twas that gay, pleasant, smart, engaging speech, Her beaux admired, and just within their reach; Not indiscreet, perhaps, but yet more free Than prudish nymphs allow their wit to be. Novels and plays, with poems old and new, Were all the books our nymph attended to; Yet from the press no treatise issued forth, But she would speak precisely of its worth. She with the London stage familiar grew, And every actor's name and merit knew; She told how this or that their part mistook, And of the rival Romeos gave the look; Of either house 'twas hers the strength to see, Then judge with candour--"Drury Lane for me." What made this knowledge, what this skill complete? A fortnight's visit in Whitechapel Street. Her place in life was rich and poor between, With those a favourite, and with these a queen; She could her parts assume, and condescend To friends more humble while an humble friend; And thus a welcome, lively guest could pass, Threading her pleasant way from class to class. "Her reputation?"--That was like her wit, And seem'd her manner and her state to fit; Sometking there was--what, none presumed to say; Clouds lightly passing on a smiling day, - Whispers and hints which went from ear to ear, And mix'd reports no judge on earth could clear. But of each sex a friendly number press'd To joyous banquets this alluring guest: There, if indulging mirth, and freed from awe, If pleasing all, and pleased with all she saw, Her speech was free, and such as freely dwelt On the same feelings all around her felt; Or if some fond presuming favourite tried To come so near as once to be denied; Yet not with brow so stern or speech so nice, But that he ventured on denial twice: - If these have been, and so has Scandal taught, Yet Malice never found the proof she sought. But then came one, the Lovelace of his day, Rich, proud, and crafty, handsome, brave, and gay; Yet loved he not those labour'd plans and arts, But left the business to the ladies' hearts, And when he found them in a proper train He thought all else superfluous and vain: But in that training he was deeply taught, And rarely fail'd of gaining all he sought; He knew how far directly on to go, How to recede and dally to and fro; How to make all the passions his allies, And, when he saw them in contention rise, To watch the wrought-up heart, and conquer by surprise.