50 



Vain of the robes by wanton Wealth supplied, 

 Here pampered FASHION, in ignoble pride, 

 False in her face, as treacherous at heart, 

 With Nature warring, hugs delusive Art, 

 No genial glow her narrow bosom warms, 

 No modest virtues lend their softening charms, 

 No kindly feeling for another s good 

 Dims the cold eye, or stirs the sluggish blood. 

 In selfishness she sits enwrapped alone 

 Careless of joy or sorrow not her own. 

 Her fawning minions on the Goddess wait, 

 In trifles judges; and minutely great 

 To them no treasures Contemplation brings, 

 They cull no fruit that from Experience springs, 

 From Reason s fount no sage conclusions draw, 

 No lofty purpose know, save self no law. 

 Deaf to the rustling wings of fleeting time, 

 Eager they turn where jingles Folly s chime ; 

 And Wisdom mocked, and disregarded Fame 

 Fulfill an insect s mission round a flame. 

 Constant in change, they trifle to the end, 

 Live but to please and die without a friend. 

 Their life hypocrisy their death a play ! 

 Where falsehood flatters, a.nd where mummers 

 pray 



