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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.



Mary Wortley Montagu


Mary Wortley Montagu's other poems:
  1. Town Eclogues: Monday; Roxana, or the Drawing-Room
  2. Addressed to ------, 1736
  3. To a Friend on His Travels
  4. Epilogue to the Tragedy of Cato
  5. Melinda's Complaint


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