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At thy first summons finds her bosom swell,
And bids her crabbed gouvernantes farewel;
While, fired by thee with spirit not her own,
She grows a toast, and rises into ton.
The faded beauty who with secret pain,
Sees younger charms usurp her envied reign,
By thee assisted, can with smiles behold
The record where her conquests are enroll'd;
And dwelling yet on scenes by Memory nursed,
When George the Second reign'd, or George the First;
She sees the shades of ancient beaux arise,
Who swear her eyes exceeded modern eyes,
When poets sung for her, and lovers bled,
And giddy fashion follow'd as she led.
Departed modes appear in long array,
The flowers and flounces of her happier day;
Again her locks the decent fillets bind,
The waving lappet flutters in the wind,
And then comparing with a proud disdain
The more fantastic tastes that now obtain,