Page:Turkish lady (3).pdf/6

 Learn, that the rose that Virtue blows, Though dead, will-bloom for ever!

MISTRESS Runnington wore a wig, Contrived to peep at a man, And every feature to twig, As commode as the sticks of a fan. For the book of her labour and cares, Now drew pretty near the last page; And this wig had a few grizly hairs, That escap'd from the avarice of age, Mister Doddington-Oh, a nice man, Rather old, and a little a prig, Fell in ecstacy, stark staring mad, With sweet Mistress Runnington's wig.

Mr. Doddington wore a wig, To hide his poor head so crazy; 'Twas neither too little nor big, Nor so much a wig as a jasey; But he wheezed pretty much with a cough, And, being long since past his prime, He looked, when the jasey was off, Exactly the figure of Time.