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And shuffles round to bear her tale to all,

Like some old Ruin, ‘nodding to its fall!'

Thus Woman makes her entrance and her exit,

Not least an actress when she least suspects it.

Yet Nature oft peeps out and mars the plot,

Each lesson lost, each poor pretence forgot;

Full oft, with energy that scorns controul,

At once lights up the features of the soul;

Unlocks each thought chain'd down by coward Art,

And to full day the latent passions start!

-And she, whose first, best wish is your applause,

Herself exemplifies the truth she draws.

Born on the stage-thro' every shifting scene,

Obscure or bright, tempestuous or serene,

Still has your smile her trembling spirit fir’d!

And can she act, with thoughts like these inspird?

Thus from her mind all artifice she flings,

All skill, all practice, now unmeaning things!

To you, uncheck’d, each genuine feeling flows,

For all that life endears—to you she owes.

[graphic]

T. BENSLEY, PRINTER,

BOLT-COURT, FLEET-STREET, LONDON.

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