Of all the maids in London town
I wot there's none so fair!

From Mayfair down along the Strand
To Covent Garden's light,
Where Master David Garrick acts
In a new rôle to-night,

The swinging sedan takes its way,
And with expectant air
Belinda fans, and wonders who
To-night there will be there.

Sir Charles, perhaps, or, happy thought,
Flushing thro' her powder,
He might come in--beneath her stays
She feels her heart beat louder.

The place, at last! The flunkies set
Their dainty burden down,
"Lud, what a crowd!" My Lady frowns
And gathers up her gown.

ENVOY.

Alack for human loveliness
And for its little span!
Where's Belinda? Here, quite fresh,
Are still her gown and fan!