6
Learn, that the rose that Virtue blows,
Though dead, will-bloom for ever!
MRS. RUNNINGTON'S WIG.
MISTRESS Runnington wore a wig,
Contrived to peep at a man,
And every feature to twig,
As commode as the sticks of a fan.
For the book of her labour and cares,
Now drew pretty near the last page;
And this wig had a few grizly hairs,
That escap'd from the avarice of age,
Mister Doddington-Oh, a nice man,
Rather old, and a little a prig,
Fell in ecstacy, stark staring mad,
With sweet Mistress Runnington's wig.
Mr. Doddington wore a wig,
To hide his poor head so crazy;
'Twas neither too little nor big,
Nor so much a wig as a jasey;
But he wheezed pretty much with a cough,
And, being long since past his prime,
He looked, when the jasey was off,
Exactly the figure of Time.
