CHAPTER I.
DEPLORES THE SCARCITY OF MEN.
To deny that I am an absurdly handsome being
would be an affectation. Besides, if I did deny it,
my face and shape are always present to reprove
me. Some women I know—we call each other
friends—who happen to possess an eyebrow, an
elbow, an impertinence, a simper, or any other
thing that is observable, I have seen to cast their
eyes down at the compliment, and try to look so
modest too, that one could tell quite easily that
this missish diffidence was a piece of art since it
sat so consciously upon 'em, it could not possibly
be nature. But furnished as I am with a whole
artillery of charms, sure they need no adventitious
blushes for their advertisement; indeed, they are
so greatly and variously sung that it is quite a
common thing for the poets to make an ode or
sonnet of 'em every night, and a ballad every morning.
The late poor little Mr. Pope was so occupied
at times in comparing my eyes to Jupiter,
or the evening star that I was fain to correct him
