Classic Poem

La vertu de Lisette.

What! ye venture, Court-ladies, of Liz
 And her virtuous fame to make sport?
Granted, she's a grisette—ye but quiz
 What's a patent of rank at Love's Court
With the flash of her eye, men-at arms,
 And the Bar, and the Church are aflame:
Lizzy says not a word of your charms—
 Never trouble yourselves with her fame!

What, if some of her conquests may be
 'Mongst the rich! must ye taunt her? 'tis bold,
When the Jews at their parties can see
 How ye worship their calf set in gold
Certain services done by good looks
 On the State may secure you a claim:
The police may have Liz on their books—
 Never trouble yourselves with her fame!

Embers seldom are wholly put out;
 There's a spark in them yet that will shoot:
An old Marquis, whose life is devout,
 Would imperil at Court his repute
Over Dukes he will precedence take,
 All his merits enhanced by her name:
What a favorite Lizzy will make!—
 Never trouble yourselves with her fame!

And, my lady-disparagers now,
 If this honor she chance to achieve,
At her levee, pray, will ye not bow?
 What relationship make us believe!
Why, if priests chuckle o'er her success,
 If at profiting by it they aim;
To the Jesuits should she confess—
 Never trouble yourselves with her fame!

Ay, believe me, monarchical Dames,
 That you babble of virtue, as though
It were one of those ancestral names
 That your lacqueys announce, where you go
Mounted high on her stilts, Etiquette
 Raises souls that should grovel in shame:
Heaven guard thee from Court, O Lisette!—
 Never trouble yourselves with her fame!