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. Irregular Verses to Truth
2. Impromptu, to a Young Lady Singing
3. Town Eclogues: Saturday; the Small-Pox
4. On Seeing a Portrait of Sir Robert Walpole
5. An Epistle from Pope to Lord Bolingbroke

Print

1719 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version