Classic Poem

On a Lady newly come out of France, &c.
To the Tune of — —

1

As F — at her Toilet sat
Her beauty to renew
Ah fy, Sayd she, I'm grown so fat
I know not what to do:

2

She sigh'd and cry'd, I must be leane
Or I shall perdre taille
The finest shape that 'ere was seene,
Said her Mother ÔÇá Missrael

3

But Miss'raell, what shall I do
An Earle for to obtaine?
None else ta chere Maistresse shuld woo
None else her Coeur shall gaine:

4

But if I shoud this Conquest make
Then I must bid adieu
Too all those hearts that lie as sleeke
And follow now ma queue :

5

La bouche si belle, les yeux si doulx
Le tour de mon visage,
Enough to send a Soul to Hell
Et faire un sot d'un sage:

6

No more your Mistris you shall see
Attentive un douceure
But I an English Wife must be
Subjet a les douleurs:

7

But when of Evils there are two,
'Tis great to choose the least
For this Appartement with you
Missrael I love best

8

My Glasse, my Thoilet and my Bed,
Si propre a la francaise
That I had rather much be dead
Than Vivre al'Anglois.