by: Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774)
On the Glory of her Sex,
Mrs. Mary Blaize
people all, with one accord,
- Lament for Madam Blaize,
- Who never wanted a good word--
- From those who spoke her praise.
- The needy seldom pass'd her door,
- And always found her kind;
- She freely lent to all the poor--
- Who left a pledge behind.
- She strove the neighborhood to please
- With manners wondrous winning;
- And never follow'd wicked ways--
- Unless when she was sinning.
- At church, in silks and satins new,
- With hoop of monstrous size,
- She never slumber'd in her pew--
- But when she shut her eyes.
- Her love was sought, I do aver,
- By twenty beaux and more;
- The King himself has follow'd her--
- When she has walk'd before.
- But now, her wealth and finery fled,
- Her hangers-on cut short all;
- The doctors found, when she was dead--
- Her last disorder mortal.
- Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
- For Kent Street well may say,
- That had she lived a twelvemonth more--
- She had not died today.
POEMS BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH
"An Elegy" is reprinted
from A Nonsense Anthology. Ed. Carolyn Wells. New York:
Charles Scribner's Sons, 1915.