Classic Poem

RECITATIVE .

Old Chaucer once to this re-echoing grove
Sung " of the sweet bewitching tricks of love; "
But soon he found, he'd sullied his renown,
And arm'd each charming hearer with a frown;
Then self-condemn'd anew his lyre he strung,
And in repentant strains this recantation sung.

AIR .

Long since unto her native sky
Fled heav'n-descended Constancy;
Nought now that's stable's to be had,
The world's grown mutable and mad:
Save WOMEN — they, we must confess,
Are miracles of stedfastness,
And every witty, pretty dame
Bears for her motto — Still the same .

The flow'rs that in the vale are seen,
The white, the yellow, blue and green,
In brief complexion idly gay
Still set with every setting day,
Dispers'd by wind, or chill'd by frost,
Their odours gone, their colour lost:
But what is true, tho' passing strange,
The WOMEN never — fade or change.

The wise man said that all was vain,
And folly's universal reign;
Wisdom its vot'ries oft enthralls,
Riches torment, and pleasure palls;
And 'tis, good lack, a general rule,
That each man soon or late's a fool:
In WOMEN 'tis th' exception lies,
For they are wond'rous, wond'rous wise.

This earthly ball with noise abounds,
And from its emptiness it sounds,
Fame's deafening din, the hum of men,
The lawyer's plea, and poet's pen:
But WOMEN here no one suspects,
Silence distinguishes that sex;
For, poor dumb things! so meek's their mould,
You scarce can hear them — when they scold.

CHORUS .

An hundred mouths, an hundred tongues,
An hundred pair of iron lungs,
Five heralds, and five thousand cryers,
With throats whose accent never tires,
Ten speaking trumpets of a size
Would deafness with their din surprize,
Your praise, sweet nymphs, shall sing and say,
And those that will believe it — may