They praised her falls, as well as her walk, Flatterers made cream cheese of chalk, They praised--how they praised--her very small talk, As if it fell from a Solon; Or the girl who at each pretty phrase let drop A ruby comma, or pearl full-stop, Or an emerald semi-colon. They praised her spirit, and now and then The Nurse brought her own little “nevy” Ben, To play with the future May’ress, And when he got raps, and taps, and slaps, Scratches, and pinches, snips, and snaps, As if from a Tigress, or Bearess, They told him how Lords would court that hand, And always gave him to understand While he rubb’d, poor soul, His carroty poll, That his hair had been pull’d by “a _Hairess_.” Such were the lessons from maid and nurse, A Governess help’d to make still worse, Giving an appetite so perverse Fresh diet whereon to batten-- Beginning with A B C to hold Like a royal playbill printed in gold On a square of pearl-white satin. The books to teach the verbs and nouns, And those about countries, cities, and towns, Instead of their sober drabs and browns, Were in crimson silk, with gilt edges;-- Her Butler, and Enfield, and Entick--in short Her “Early Lessons” of every sort, Look’d like Souvenirs, Keepsakes, and Pledges. Old Johnson shone out in as fine array As he did one night when he went to the play; Chambaud like a beau of King Charles’s day-- Lindley Murray in like conditions-- Each weary, unwelcome, irksome task, Appear’d in a fancy dress and a mask;-- If you wish for similar copies, ask For Howell and James’s Editions. Novels she read to amuse her mind, But always the affluent match-making kind That ends with Promessi Sposi, And a father-in-law so wealthy and grand, He could give cheque-mate to Coutts in the Strand; So, along with a ring and posy, He endows the Bride with Golconda off-hand, And gives the Groom Potosi. Plays she perused--but she liked the best Those comedy gentlefolks always possess’d Of fortunes so truly romantic-- Of money so ready that right or wrong It always is ready to go for a song, Throwing it, going it, pitching it strong-- They ought to have purses as green and long As the cucumber call’d the Gigantic. Then Eastern Tales she loved for the sake Of the Purse of Oriental make, And the thousand pieces they put in it-- But Pastoral scenes on her heart fell cold, For Nature with her had lost its hold, No field but the Field of the Cloth of Gold Would ever have caught her foot in it.