MISS P H, Or the Sighing Wanton

O Great Apollo lend thy godly ear, My candid story and my plea to hear: From early life I wish'd to be a toast, The female envy and the female boast; At beauty's shrine I dally homage pay, Sigh for a charm or some allurement pray— I have no aim, believe me judge 'tis true, But man and pleasure, real life to view: The men are shy they scarcely kiss my lips, Which oft' infects me with-the woeful hips; I try each new temptation to ensnare, The new-formed cushion and the well-curl'd hair, The low-cut stays, the French attracting shoe, And yet I find that all my arts won't do. At balls and 'semblies, parties and the like, I shew my charms where charms are apt to strike But all in vain—the men have hearts like lead, They sit unmoved at all the charms I spread, Now great Apollo hear my earnest prayer, Let other maids be fairest of the fair,— Give me a man—I care not for their charms O great Apollo fill my longing arms!

Apollo blush'd to hear her strange request, And with a smile the fervent maid address'd " Your suit is very common with the fair, Charms are their pride, but men are all their care; Where'er they sparkle or where'er they go, 'Tis but for men their tempting charms they shew; And were this court for such awards design'd I'd grant a husband to compose thy mind; But beauty only is my province here— Go to the city where the bucks appear, There coquette like expose delusive charms, And then perhaps you'll fill some lovers arms.'

A maid came next that charm'd the wond'ring throng. But blasting envy said she was not young, " Grace in her steps and heaven in her eye," That aw'd the crowd as softly she passed by.