The cup of life just to her lip she press’d,
Found the taste bitter, and declind’d the rest;
Averse, then turning from the face of day,
She gently sigh’d her little soul away.
* * * * *
_ON A BEE_
Having Stung the Thigh of an Old Maid.
On the annals of fame with Columbus you stand,
Who sought the American shore;
Advent’rous like him, you explore a new land,
Where none ever travell’d before.
* * * * *
_EPIGRAM._
Women were born, so fate declares,
To SMOOTH our linen and our cares;
And ’tis but just, for, by my troth,
They’re very apt to RUFFLE both.
* * * * *
* * * *