The ladies of St. James's!

They have their fits and freaks; They smile on you - for seconds, They frown on you for weeks: But Phyllida, my Phyllida!

Come either storm or shine, From Shrove-tide unto Shrove-tide, Is always true—and mine.

My Phyllida! my Phyllida!

I care not though they heap
The hearts of all St. James's,
And give me all to keep;
I care not whose the beauties
Of all the world may be,
For Phyllida - for Phyllida
Is all the world to me!

That Age of Folly and of Cards,
Of Hackney Chairs and Hackney Bards;
- No H-LTS, no K-G-N P-LS were then
Dispensing Competence to Men;
The gentle Trade was left to Churls,
Your frowsy TONSONS and your CURLLS;
Mere Wolves in Ambush to attack
The AUTHOR in a Sheep-skin Back;
Then SAVAGE and his Brother-Sinners
In Porridge Island div❜d for Dinners;
Or doz'd on Covent Garden Bulks,
And liken'd Letters to the Hulks ;-
You know that by-gone Time, I say,
That aimless easy-moral'd Day,
When rosy Morn found MADAM still
Wrangling at Ombre or Quadrille,
When good SIR JOHN reel'd Home to
Bed,

From Pontack's or the Shakespear's Head;
When TRIP convey'd his Master's Cloaths,
And took his Titles and his Oaths;
While BETTY, in a cast Brocade,
Ogled MY LORD at Masquerade ;
When GARRICK play'd the guilty Richard,
Or mouth'd Macbeth with Mrs. PRITCHARD;
When FOOTE grimaced his snarling Wit;
When CHURCHILL bullied in the Pit;
When the CUZZONI sang -

But there!
The further Catalogue I spare,
Having no Purpose to eclipse
That tedious Tale of HOMER's Ships ;-
This is the MAN that drew it all
From Pannier Alley to the Mall,
Then turn'd and drew it once again