Seven Apophthegms for Women
How the longest ennui flees, When a man comes to our knees!
Age, alas! and science staid, Furnish even weak virtue aid.
Sombre garb and silence meet: Dress for every dame—discreet.
Whom I thank when in my bliss? God!—and my good tailoress!
Young, a flower-decked cavern home; Old, a dragon thence doth roam.
Noble title, leg that’s fine, Man as well: Oh, were he mine!
Speech in brief and sense in mass— Slippery for the jenny-ass!