Poem by Mary Wortley Montagu

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. The Fourth Ode of the First Book of Horace Imitated
2. Epigram, 1734
3. Melinda's Complaint
4. Epistle to Lord Hervey on the King's Birthday from the Country
5. Ballad, on a Late Occurrence

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