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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!