Every privilege rank confers :-
Bouquet of pinks at St. Sepulchre's;

Flagon of ale at Holborn Bar;
Friends (in mourning) to follow his Car-
(“t” is omitted where HEROES are !)

Every one knows the speech he made ;
Swore that he “rather admired the Jade !"-

Waved to the crowd with his gold-laced hat ;
Talked to the Chaplain after that ;

Turned to the Topsman undismayed ...
This was the finish of “ BEAU BROCADE”!

And this is the Ballad that seemed to hide
In the leaves of a dusty “ LONDONER'S GUIDE";

" Humbly Inscribd” (with curls and tails) By the Author to FREDERICK, Prince of WALES:

“ Published by FRANCIS and OLIVER PINE; Ludgate-Hill, at the Blackmoor Sign. Seventeen-Hundred-and-Thirty-Nine.”

UNE MARQUISE.

A RHYMED MONOLOGUE IN THE LOUVRE.

As you sit there at your ease

“ Belle Marquise, vos beaux yeux me font mourir d'amour."

MOLIÈRE.
I.
S

O Marquise !
And the men ilock round your knees

Thick as bees,
Mute at every word you utter,
Servants to your least frill flutter,

* Belle Marquise!"-
As you sit there growing prouder,

And your ringed hands glance and go,
And your fan's frou-frou sounds louder,

And your“ beaux yeux" flash and glow ;-
Ah, you used them on the Painter,

As you know,
For the Sieur Larose spoke fainter,

Bowing low,
Thanked Madame and Heaven for Mercy
That each sitter was not Circe,

Or at least he told you so ;

Growing proud, I say, and prouder

To the crowd that come and go, Dainty Deity of Powder,

Fickle Queen of Fop and Beau, As you sit where lustres strike you,

Sure to please, Do we love you most or like you,

“Belle Marquise !"

II.
You are fair ; O yes, we know it

Well, Marquise ;
For he swore it, your last poet,

On his knees; And he called all heaven to witness Of his ballad and its fitness,

“ Belle Marquise !"You were everything in ère (With'exception of sévère), You were cruelle and rebelle, With the rest of rhymes as well ; You were

“ Reine,” and “ Mère d'Amour"; You were

“ Vénus à Cythere" ; “ Sappho mise en Pompadour,

And “ Minerve en Parabère"; You had every grace of heaven

In your most angelic face,

With the nameless finer leaven

Lent of blood and courtly race ; And he added, too, in duty, Ninon's wit and Boufflers' beauty; And La Vallière's yeux veloutés

Followed these ; And you liked it, when he said it

(On his knees), And you kept it, and you read it,

“ Belle Marquise ! ”

III.

Yet with us your toilet graces

Fail to please,
And the last of your last faces,

And your mise ;
For we hold you just as real,

“ Belle Marquise ! ”
As your Bergers and Bergères,
Iles d'Amour and Batelières ;
As your parcs, and your Versailles,
Gardens, grottoes, and rocailles ;
As your Naiads and your trees ;-
Just as near the old ideal

Calm and ease, As the Venus there, by Coustou,

That a fan would make quite flighty,

Is to her the gods were used to,-
Is to grand Greek Aphroditè,

Sprung from seas.
You are just a porcelain trifle,

“Belle Marquise!”
Just a thing of puffs and patches,
Made for madrigals and catches,
Not for heart-wounds, but for scratches,

O Marquise !
Just a pinky porcelain trifle,

“ Belle Marquise !"
Wrought in rarest rose-Dubarry,
Quick at verbal point and parry,
Clever, doubtless ;—but to marry,

No, Marquise !

IV.

For your Cupid, you have clipped him,
Rouged and patched him, nipped and snipped him,
And with chapeau-bras equipped him,

“ Belle Marquise !” Just to arm you through your wife-time, And the languors of your life-time,

“Belle Marquise!” Say, to trim

your Or,-to twist your hair in papers,

toilet tapers,

D