An Elegy On The Glory Of Her Sex, Mrs Mary Blaize by Oliver Goldsmith
Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word,â€”
From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor,â€”
Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways,â€”
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her pew,â€”
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has followed her,â€”
When she has walked before.
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead,â€”
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament in sorrow sore,
For Kent Street well may say
That had she lived a twelvemonth more,â€”
She had not died today.