. The ballad of Beau Brocade, and other poems of the XVIIIth century. eeks unclaimed of care,With late-delayed faint roses there, And lingering dimples,Had spared to touch the fair old only kissed with Vauxhall graceThe soft white hand that stroked her lace, Or smoothed her wimples. So left her beautiful. Her ageWas comely as her youth was yet she once had been the rage;— It hath been hinted,Indeed, afiirmed by one or spark at Bath (as sparks will do)Inscribed a song to Lovely Prue, ?\^hich Urban printed. 40 A Gentlewoman of the Old School. I know she thought; I know
. The ballad of Beau Brocade, and other poems of the XVIIIth century. eeks unclaimed of care,With late-delayed faint roses there, And lingering dimples,Had spared to touch the fair old only kissed with Vauxhall graceThe soft white hand that stroked her lace, Or smoothed her wimples. So left her beautiful. Her ageWas comely as her youth was yet she once had been the rage;— It hath been hinted,Indeed, afiirmed by one or spark at Bath (as sparks will do)Inscribed a song to Lovely Prue, ?\^hich Urban printed. 40 A Gentlewoman of the Old School. I know she thought; I know she felt;Perchance could sum, I doubt she spelt;She knew as little of the Celt As of the Saxon;I know she played and sang, for yetWe keep the tumble-down spinetTo which she quavered ballads set By Arne or Jackson. Her tastes were not refined as ours;She liked plain food and homely to paint, kept early hours. Went clad demurely;Her art was sampler-work design,Fireworks for her were vastly fine,Her luxury was elder-wine,— She loved that (oarm uest-ioa^tn^ i«iwt/oW=-ift(rf7 A Gentlewoman of the Old School. 41 She was renowned, traditions say, For June conserves, for curds and whey. For finest tea (she called it tay ), And ratafia;She knew, for sprains, what bands to tell the sovereign wash to useFor freckles, and was learned in brews As erst Medea. Yet studied little. She would Sundays, Pearson on the Creed,Though, as I think, she could not heed His text profoundly;Seeing she chose for her retreatThe warm west-looking window-seat,Where, if you chanced to raise your feet, You slumbered soundly. 42 A Gentlewoman of the Old School. This, twixt ourselves. The dear old dame,In truth, was not so much to blame;The excellent divine I name Is scarcely stirring;Her plain-song piety preferredPure life to precept. If she erred,She knew her faults. Her softest word Was for the erring. If she had loved, or if she keptSome ancient memory green,
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Keywords: ., bookauthordobsonau, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookyear1892
