19
Madam Pomeroy:
...And mask to keep the coaches dust at bay.
A rarity in this outlandish place,
But years agone in London well I mind
That every woman mask'd her to the play,
To veil the shame she feign'd, but did not feel,
The blush, tho' due, that tarry'd yet to rise
At Sedley or Centlivre's ribaldry.
Sure hoop and pannier, fardingale and fan,
With patches, deftly this or that way set,
Will pass away and come again in time.
The fashion still is like a turning wheel,
What under was, next moment's uppermost;
Tho' yellow ruffs with Mistress Turner died,
I wager we shall see them spring again.
Avis:
I go to lay the supper against to-night
Who knows what guests may gather round the board?
