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Thomas Parnell (Томас Парнелл)


* * *


A Beavy of the fair & Gay,
Such as are daily Smoakt in tea,
& toasted over wine,
Vext to be made so long the Jeast
Of tongues & pens, to go in quest
Of reputation Joyn.
To K---d's house they first repair,
But scarce find any footsteps there,
to keep them off cold scent;
Long had she fled his slavery,
Her gallants stabbd him first, & she
Woud bury him in paint.
To O---y's they next advance,
But he was vanishd on a glance
to Make some conquest shott;
One who so many loves as she,
& one who loves fooles company,
Must love for you know what.
Of T---n newes in vain they sought,
Scarce M---ws covets to be thought
So ignorant in dressing;
For scandall had like Cr---fts appeard,
He urgd his suit, the God retird,
& left the Nymph unlacing.
No longer on your search remain,
For since your labour must be vain,
What need you make it long:
Believe me fairs, that every one
preserves him for her self alone,
Upon her proper tongue.



Thomas Parnell's other poems:
  1. Concerning Resolution
  2. On Happiness In This Life
  3. In Biddy's Cheeks Ye Roses Blow
  4. An Allegory on Man
  5. On the Death of Mr. Viner


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