Come then, Nymph of various Mien,
Vot'ry true of Beauty's Queen,
Whom the young and ag'd adore,
And thy diff'rent Arts explore,
FASHION, come. — On me a-while
Deign fantastic Nymph to smile.
MORIA Thee, in Times of Yore,
To the motley PROTEUS bore;
He, in Bishop's Robes array'd,
Went one Night to Masquerade,
Where thy simple Mother stray'd.
She was clad like harmless Quaker,
And was pleas'd my Lord should take her
By the Waist, and kindly shake her;
And, with Look demure, said she,
"Pray my Lord, —
He with soothing flatt'ring Arts,
Such as win all female Hearts,
Much extoll'd her Wit and Beauty,
And declar'd it was his Duty,
As she was a Maid of Honour,
To confer his Blessing on her.
There mid Dress of various Hue,
Crimson, yellow, green, and blue,
All on Furbelows and Laces,
Slipt into her chaste Embraces;
Then, like fainted Rogue, cry'd He,
" Little Quaker, —