Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю)

Song - Rondeau

Finish these langours! Oh! I'm sick
Of dying airs, I know the trick;
Long since I've learn'd to well explain
Th'unmeaning cant of fire and pain,
And see through all the senseless lies
Of burning darts from killing eyes;
I'm tir'd with this continual rout
Of bowing low and leading out.
Finish, &c.
Finish this tedious dangling trade,
By which so many fools are made;
For fools they are, whom you can please
By such affected airs as these:
At opera near my box to stand,
And slyly press the given hand,
Thus may you wait whole years in vain;
But sure you would, were you in pain.

1. Addressed to ------, 1736
2. Epistle from Arthur Grey, the Footman, to Mrs. Murray, after His Condemnation for Attempting to Comm
3. Epilogue to Mary Queen of Scots
4. To a Friend on His Travels
5. Epilogue to the Tragedy of Cato

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1377

Последние стихотворения

To English version