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Yes, 'tis the pulse of life! my fears were vain;
After a Tragedy, performed for her benefit, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane, April 27, 1795.
Blanching each honest cheek with deeds of night,
-To drop all metaphor, that little bell
But, Ladies, say, must I alone unmask?
First, how her little breast with triumph swells,
A school-girl next, she curls her hair in papers, And mimics father's gout, and mother's vapours; Discards her doll, bribes Betty for romances; Playful at church, and serious when she dances;
Tramples alike on customs and on toes,
Too soon a flirt, approach her and she flies !
Then comes that good old character, a Wife,
Last the grey Dowager, in ancient flounces,