The New Hampshire Gazette And Historical Chronicle

FORTY FIVE. A Ballad.

O the Worthies of Britain my song I addreß.

My theme is a Husband, I freely confess;

In that hope how my spirits begin to revive,

When I think I'm a maiden just Forty and five.

Me, a number so charming, will surely befriend.

What a train of admirers my smiles shall attend!

Since you'll scarce find a woman, as I am alive.

If single he is, will own Forty and five.

When my Lovers advance to three score from twenty,

Each pressing my hand (to be sure they'll be plenty;)

By merit alone for my heart they must strive.

So prudent are women at Forty and five.

But if merit must win me, perhaps you will say.

Give a list of your own—Be not hasty, Sir, pray;

I was never conceited, till now I arrive

To the age that in number makes Forty and five.

My features no painter did ever disturb,

I keep o'er my passions a moderate curb;

To gloss o'er my forehead why should I contrive.

Sure wrinkles are graces at Forty and five.

If, plac'd at the toilet, I see I grow grey,

Yet, trust me, it shall not my spirits dismay

Being fully persuaded you will not connive

At ought that's imprudent at Forty and five.

With my husband on party I will not dispute,

So he honour his King, I know nothing of Bute:

But hope that each wish of his heart may still thrive.

If charming he thinks me at Forty and five.

And should he speak high for the grand Bill of rights

I promise to read him no lecture at nights;

But attentively hear him, as I am alive,

And be deaf to all whispers at Forty and five.

While thus I oblige, I expect him to be,

Gentle Sirs, oftentimes as indulgent to me;

My humour is such, he may lead but not drive,

The temper of her who is Forty and five.

Should his bounty adorn me with jewels and silks,

I should not be concern'd if the devil had Wilkes.

Sure a true son of liberty would' not deprive

His dearest of freedom at Forty and five.

These being premis'd, my faults I would show,

Which I mean not to hide, I'm a mortal you know;

And, my Husband a pardon to write me must strive.

Should my faults like his own mount to Forty and five.

BUCKRAM.