And unreflecting graces,
I scintillate o'er STREPHON's head
At gala, rout or races;
Mine is the black but comely blend,
And mine the crowning touches
That so demurely recommend
The dandy to the duchess.

Out on thee, cruel Parasol,
Of lace, the pearl, and satin;
And glinting like a fairy doll
With many a burnished patin;
Cool, charming as the dainty dame
Who twirls thy coromandel;
Thou flauntest proudly since thy name,
Like hers, can boast its handle!

The cynosure of wondering _beaux_,
I boast a soul above thee;
No fate can mar my calm repose,
Or make me cease to love thee;
Supreme above the common tile,
My own affronts unheeding,
I bow and compliment and smile,
The Chesterfield of breeding.

Out on thee, trinket idly swayed!
Could any courtier dare see,
Through such perfections so displayed,
The mere "_Belle Dame sans merci_"?