Good people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize; Who never wanted a good word— From those who spoke her praise. The needy seldom passed her door, And always found her kind; She freely lent to all the poor— Who left a pledge behind. She strove the neighborhood to please, With manner wondrous winning; She never followed wicked ways— Unless when she was sinning. At church, in silk and satins new, With hoop of monstrous size, She never slumbered in her pew— But when she shut her eyes. Her love was sought, I do aver, By twenty beaux, or more; The king himself has followed her— When she has walked before. But now her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all, Her doctors found, when she was dead— Her last disorder mortal. Let us lament, in sorrow sore; For Kent Street well may say, That, had she lived a twelvemonth more— She had not died to-day.
Elegy on Madam Blaize
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