Upon a Young Lady's Breaking a Looking Glass


As round the room,  with tentless speed,
           Young Delia tripped it  finely,
A looking-glass, so Fate  decreed,
	She broke, but not  design'dly.

A looking-glass of ancient  date,
	Its fall the belles  lamented;
But all their sorrow prov'd too late,
	Its ruin none prevented.

When Anne the British sceptre  sway'd,
	'Twas plac'd in firm position;
Nor did a forward  chamber-maid
	E'er alter its condition.

No mirror better could  descry
	Th'embrio of a pimple;
The rheum on a neglected  eye;
	The hoary hair or  wrinkle.

Long time it did the chimney  grace,
	So awkward now and empty;
Its with a vengeance chang'd its place,
	And broke in pieces  twenty.

O Delia! mourn thy direful  fate,
	A thousand ills  portending!
Black omens now thy stars  await,
	'Gainst which there's no defending.

Poor Delia now, bedew'd with tears
	And piti'd by  acquaintance,
Resolv'd to spend full fifteen  years,
	In doleful, deep  repentance.

Do tears these lovely cheeks  distain,
	By thousand charms surrounded!
These eyes from weeping do  refrain;
	Their glance have many wounded.

T'adorn thy more accomplish'd  mind,
	Each adient grace  conspires:
Hence dread thou not their dark design,
	Though rage each demon  fires.

Let hope diffuse a gentle  ray,
	These magic spells  defying:
Let prudence Delia's footsteps sway,
	On virtue still relying.

But know the rake's alluring  smile,
	The heedless fair  bewitches:
Let no fond youth your heart  beguile,
	By soft enticing  speeches.

And if good counsel aught  avail,
	Attend Diana's classes:
For mind our sex is ever  frail,
	And brittle as our  glasses.


Back to Janet Little Main Page