At two after noon for our Psyche inquire, Her tea-kettle's on, and her smock at the fire: So loitering, so active; so busy, so idle, Which hath she most need of, a spur or a bridle? Thus, a greyhound outruns the whole pack in a race, Yet would rather be hanged than he'd leave a warm place. She gives you such plenty, it puts you in pain; But ever with prudence takes care of the main. To please you, she knows how to choose a nice bit; For her taste is almost as refined as her wit. To oblige a good friend, she will trace every market, It would do your heart good, to see how she will cark it. Yet beware of her arts, for it plainly appears, She saves half her victuals, by feeding your ears. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHERE? by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE SCRUTINY; SONG by RICHARD LOVELACE THE GIRL OF ALL PERIODS; AN IDYLL by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE THE RECONCILEMENT by JOHN SHEFFIELD WRITTEN IN BUTLER'S SERMONS by MATTHEW ARNOLD DEATH AND THE MONK by ARTHUR E. BAKER UPON MY FATHERS SUDDEN & DANGEROUS SICKNESS by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |