Sent to a lady with a paper of sticking plaister
In former times, when rich brocade
And blond, and tissue, decked each maid,
I held a most distinguished station,
At every toilette in the nation,
And gave the last bewitching grace
To many a lovely British face.
My willing aid I always lent,
Whene’er with mischievous intent
Some roguish fair her skill would try
To add new archness to the eyes,
Just at the corner was my post,
Whence numerous conquests I could boast.
And when with taper finger’s tip
She placed me on her rosy lip,
The smiles and loves, quick thither flew,
And there in ambuscade they slew.
Alas no longer ’tis my lot
To shine an envied beauty-spot,
No hearts I help to wound or steal
Now all my business is, to heal!
for many years of the
May 30th 1813