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Now the majestic wife of Jove,
And now the Queen of Grace and Love:
Her fairy Cupide hovering round,
With tiny shaft prepar'd to wound,
Sportive o'er all her person straying,
Now on her check or besom playing,
Now in her beamy eyes they meet,
Ambrosial hands or silver feet.
'Twas at a miser's cold abode,
Two crystal urns survey'd the road:
This shone (while that was void and damp)
Conscious of oil and fire— a lamp
For shew he plae'd them, nothing loth,
But ah! th' expence to light them both,
He saw by calculation clear,
At this per day, was that per year.
The beamless vase, when night prevail'd,
Her unimportance this bewail'd;
"Too partial Fate! why doom to me
"This odious, dull obscurity?
"Here many a tedious night I've hung,
"Nor bless'd by old, nor praised by young:
"To me scarce one kind glance is given,
"While like the moon, that lamp of heaven,
"My sister of congenial glass,
"Wins all the hearts of all that pass.
"Suppose her station they revere,
"I boat the same exalted sphere;
"Do they with awe her crown behold,
"Her dress of blue, distinct with gold?
"These gave her not superior fame,
"Her ornaments and mine the same.
