On the Countess of Burlington Cutting Paper
Pallas
grew
vapourish
once,
and
odd,
She
would
not
do
the
least
right
thing,
Either
for
goddess,
or
for
god,
Nor
work,
nor
play,
nor
paint,
nor
sing.
Jove
frown'd,
and,
"Use,"
he
cried,
"those
eyes
So
skilful,
and
those
hands
so
taper;
Do
something
exquisite
and
wise
—"
She
bow'd,
obey'd
him,
—
and
cut
paper.
This
vexing
him
who
gave
her
birth,
Thought
by
all
heaven
a
burning
shame;
What
does
she
next,
but
bids,
on
earth,
Her
Burlington
do
just
the
same.
Pallas,
you
give
yourself
strange
airs;
But
sure
you'll
find
it
hard
to
spoil
The
sense
and
taste
of
one
that
bears
The
name
of
Saville
and
of
Boyle.
Alas!
one
bad
example
shown;
How
quickly
all
the
sex
pursue!
See,
madam,
see
the
arts
o'erthrown,
Between
John
Overton
and
you!
