Linen of various shapes and sexes, Hung out to dry, my vision vexes,
By wind inflated. With slattern dress and unkempt hair, The matron, dawdling in her chair, O'er novel weeps. With pipe in mouth and hod on shoulder, The flunky, who in front was bolder, Up ladder creeps. A girl with hair in pins — oh, shocking! — Is darning on a thin-legged stocking: I 'm sure she 's thirty. Without a cap, the bonne from Cork Over the coals is hard at work, And very dirty. The dude, with suffering grimace, And razor scraping beardless face, Long time has stood. The youth who cantered on the course Is on another kind of horse, — He s sawing wood. The smug-faced broker, I 'm afraid, Is flirting with his nursery-maid, — He chucks her chin; He little dreams his jealous wife, Ready to take the hussy's life, Is peeping in!
And so the scene kaleidoscopic Shows forth the never-failing topic, Humanity, And gives to satirist and preacher A text for every humble creature On vanity. The proverb says all would deride Him who should " plane the underside Of a barn floor;" But in society, as in war, 'T is well to watch with constant care The postern door.
