Classic Poem

Say, dear Maria! is the modish life
With sense and reason ever found at strife?
Say, dear Maria! is the rural seat
Of Peace and Virtue the secure retreat?
Then form thy judgment, and declare thy choice,
Tho' inconsistent with the gen'ral voice.
Mark but the hist'ry of a modern day,
Compos'd of nonsense, foppery, and play.
Suppose a Lady in her easy chair,
Intent to fabricate and deck her harr;
A compound vile, of powder, paint, perfumes,
Adorn'd with Di'monds, and with lofty plumes.
View her at Almack's in the pomp of pride,
With Lord, or Captain, seated by her side;
If not in unison with Virtue's law,
Mod'rate the term, and call it—a faux pas!
This gaudy Trifler, or this haughty Belle,
In folly's lists is found—la plus fidelle!
Hence, dear Maria, bless the gracious star,
Which, from such scenes of folly guides thee far.
What, tho' on Pea-chicks thou dost never dine,
Or in Gold Goblets drink Falernian Wine!
What tho' no crowd of coxcombs grace thy gate,
The modern Female's idle, useless slate!
More blest thy lot, with meek and humble heart,
To seek the treasures that true joys impart;
The only blessings that can aught avail,
Which, like the Widow's oil, will never fail.