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

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 66

66

Reine," and " Mère d'Amour";

You were " Vénus à Cythère";

'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,

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 ;
your Naiads and your trees;
Just as near the old ideal

As

Calm and ease,

As the Venus there, by Coustou,

That a fan would make quite flighty,

VOL. I.- 3

33

1

Is to her the gods were used to,
Is to grand Greek Aphrodite,

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,

Just to arm you through your wife-time,

And the languors of your life-time,

"Belle Marquise!"

"Belle Marquise !"

Or,

Say, to trim your toilet tapers,
to twist your hair in papers,