Thesupper o’er, our couple left alone,
          What fairer field could truly have been shown? 
          The belle now wore a smart becoming dress,
          Designed, in ev’ry view, to prepossess. 
          ’Twas negligence, so requisite to please
          And fascinate, with airy, careless ease,
          According to the taste which I pursue,
          That made her charms so exquisite to view. 
          No gaudy tinsel:  all was flowing light;
          Though not superb, yet pleasing to the sight;
          A neckerchief, where much should be concealed,
          Was made so narrow,—­beauties half revealed;
          Beneath is shade—­what words can ne’er express;
          And Reynold saw enough the rest to guess. 
          No more I say; the belle indeed was fair,
          Possessed of youth and all engaging air;
          Tall, nicely formed; each grace, that hearts could win;
          Not much of fat, nor yet appeared too thin. 
          Emotion, at the view, who would not feel? 
          To soft delight what bosom proves of steel? 
          No marble bust, philosopher, nor stone,
          But similar sensation would have shown.

          Thesilence first was broken by the dame;
          Who spoke so freely, Reynold bolder came. 
          He knew not well, howe’er, discourse to find;
          To help him out the widow was inclined;
          Said she, you much remind me of a friend,
          Whose ev’ry wish I sought with mine to blend
          My husband (rest his soul!) had just those eyes,
          That look, air, mouth:—­the very height and size: 
          You greatly honour me, the spark replied: 
          Your charms howe’er might well have been his pride;
          I ne’er beheld such soft engaging mien: 
          On earth, like beauty never yet was seen. 
          But, in extremes to be, appears my lot;
          Just now I felt quite chilled:—­at present hot;
          Pray tell me which is best?  The fair looked down,
          And humbly seemed to wave the proffered crown,
          That she might still more flattery receive
          Address not small, if we’ll our eyes believe. 
          The swain now praised each charm within his view,
          And whatsoe’er his wishes could pursue;
          Where hope was strong, and expectation high,
          She would not long be cruel and deny. 
          To give the praise, your due, the lover cried,
          And note the beauties that my heart divide,
          ’Twould take an age, and I’ve a single night,
          Which surely might be passed with more delight. 
          The widow smiled; enough it seems was said;
          And Reynold shortened—­what to nothing led. 
          In war or love, time equally is dear;