For your Cupid, you have clipped him,
Rouged and patched him, nipped and snipped him,
And with _chapeau-bras_ equipped him,
"_Belle Marquise!_"
Just to arm you through your wife-time,
And the languors of your lifetime,
"_Belle Marquise!_"
Say, to trim your toilet tapers
Or--to twist your hair in papers,
Or--to wean you from the vapors;--
As for these,
You are worth the love they give you,
Till a fairer face outlive you,
Or a younger grace shall please;
Till the coming of the crows'-feet,
And the backward turn of beaux' feet,
"_Belle Marquise!_"
Till your frothed-out life's commotion
Settles down to Ennui's ocean,
Or a dainty sham devotion,
"_Belle Marquise!_"
V
No: we neither like nor love you,
"_Belle Marquise!_"
Lesser lights we place above you,--
Milder merits better please.
We have passed from _Philosophe_-dom
Into plainer modern days,--
Grown contented in our oafdom,
Giving grace not all the praise;
And, _en partant, Arsinoe_,--
Without malice whatsoever,--
We shall counsel to our Chloe
To be rather good than clever;
For we find it hard to smother
Just one little thought, Marquise!
Wittier perhaps than any other,--
You were neither Wife nor Mother.
"_Belle Marquise!_"