237#

Seven Apophthegms for Women

How the longest ennui flees,When a man comes to our knees!

Age, alas! and science staid,Furnish even weak virtue aid.

Sombre garb and silence meet:Dress for every dame—discreet.

Whom I thank when in my bliss?God!—and my good tailoress!

Young, a flower-decked cavern home;Old, a dragon thence doth roam.

Noble title, leg that’s fine,Man as well: Oh, were he mine!

Speech in brief and sense in mass—Slippery for the jenny-ass!