The smutty wainscot full of cracks;
And half the chairs with broken backs:
Her quarter's out at Ladyday;
She vows she will no longer stay
In lodgings like a poor Grizette,
While there are houses to be let.
Howe'er, to keep her spirits up,
She sent for company to sup:
When all the while you might remark,
She strove in vain to ape Wood Park.
Two bottles call'd for (half her store
The cupboard could contain but four)
A supper worthy of herself,
Five nothings in five plates of delf.
Thus for a week the farce went on;
When, all her country savings gone,
She fell into her former scene,
Small beer, a herring, and the Dean.
Thus far in jest: though now, I fear,
You think my jesting too severe;
But poets, when a hint is new,
Regard not whether false or true:
Yet raillery gives no offence,
Where truth has not the least pretence;
Nor can be more securely plac'd
Than on a nymph of Stella's taste.
I must confess, your wine and vittle
I was too hard upon a little:
Your table neat, your linen fine;
And though in miniature, you shine:
Yet, when you sigh to leave Wood Park,
The scene, the welcome, and the spark.
To languish in this odious town,
And pull your haughty stomach down;
