The glass, grown hateful to her sight, Reflected now a--perfect fright. Each former art she vainly tries, To bring back lustre to her eyes; In vain she tries her pastes and creams, To smooth her skin, or hide its seams: Her country beaux and city cousins, Lovers no more, flew off by dozens; The ’squire himself was seen to yield, And even the captain quit the field. Poor madam, now condemn’d to hack The rest of life with anxious Jack, Perceiving others fairly flown, Attempted pleasing him alone. Jack soon was dazzled to behold Her present face surpass the old. With modesty her cheeks are dy’d; Humility displaces pride: For tawdry finery is seen, A person ever neatly clean: No more presuming on her sway, She learns good-nature every day: Serenely gay, and strict in duty, Jack finds his wife a--perfect beauty. [Illustration] [Illustration: THE GIFT TO IRIS] IN BOW STREET, COVENT GARDEN. Say, cruel Iris, pretty rake, Dear mercenary beauty, What annual offering shall I make, Expressive of my duty? My heart, a victim to thine eyes, Should I at once deliver-- Say, would the angry fair-one prize The gift, who slights the giver? A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, My rivals give; and let them: If gems or gold impart a joy, I’ll give them--when I get them. I’ll give--but not the full-blown rose, Or rose-bud, more in fashion-- Such short-liv’d offerings but disclose A transitory passion-- I’ll give thee something yet unpaid, Not less sincere than civil: I’ll give thee--ah! too charming maid, I’ll give thee to the devil! [Illustration: THE LOGICIANS REFUTED] IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT.