THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. ECLUDED from domestic strife, Made him the happiest man alive; Such pleasures unallay'd with care, Could any accident impair? Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then was married. The honey-moon like lightning flew, Jack found his goddess made of clay; Skill'd in no other arts was she, But dressing, patching, repartee; And, just as humour rose or fell, By turns a slattern or a belle. "Tis true she dress'd with modern grace, Half naked at a ball or race; But when at home, at board or bed, Five greasy night-caps wrap'd her head. To be a dull domestic friend? In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting; And twenty other near relations. Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke A sigh in suffocating smoke; While all their hours were pass'd between Insulting repartee or spleen. Thus as her faults each day were known, He thinks her features coarser grown ; He fancies every vice she shews, Or thins her lips, or points her nose: Whenever rage or envy rise How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes! He knows not how, but so it is, Her face is grown a knowing phiz; And though her fops are wondrous civil, He thinks her ugly as the devil. Now to perplex the revel❜d noose, The glass grown hateful to her sight, Reflected now a perfect fright: Each former art she vainly tries To bring back lustre to her eyes. In vain she tries her paste and creams, To smooth her skin, or hide its seams; Her country beaux and city cousins, Lovers no more, flew off by dozens : The 'squire himself was seen to yield, And e'en the captain quit the field. Poor madam now, condemn'd to hack For tawdry finery is seen No more presuming on her sway, FT in danger, yet alive, Could philosophers contrive Life to stop at thirty-five, Time his hours should never drive O'er the bounds of thirty-five. High to soar, and deep to dive, Ladies, stock and tend your hive, Trifle not at thirty-five; For, howe'er we boast and strive, Life declines from thirty-five. He that ever hopes to thrive Must begin by thirty-five; And all who wisely wish to wive Must look on Thrale at thirty-five. Addressed to Mrs. Thrale, on her completing her thirty-fifth year. |