Volume 1 — ON PSYCHE[1]

At two afternoon for our Psyche inquire, Her tea-kettle's on, and her smock at the fire: So loitering, so active; so busy, so idle; Which has she most need of, a spur or a bridle? Thus a greyhound outruns the whole pack in a race, Yet would rather be hang'd than he'd leave a warm place. She gives you such plenty, it puts you in pain; But ever with prudence takes care of the main. To please you, she knows how to choose a nice bit; For her taste is almost as refined as her wit. To oblige a good friend, she will trace every market, It would do your heart good, to see how she will cark it. Yet beware of her arts; for, it plainly appears, She saves half her victuals, by feeding your ears.

[Footnote 1: Mrs. Sican, a very ingenious lady, mother to the author of the "Verses" with Pine's Horace; and a favourite with Swift and Stella.—W. E. B.]