Good people all, with one accord <br />Lament for Madam Blaize, <br />Who never wanted a good word,— <br />From those who spoke her praise. <br /> <br />The needy seldom passed her door, <br />And always found her kind; <br />She freely lent to all the poor,— <br />Who left a pledge behind. <br /> <br />She strove the neighbourhood to please <br />With manners wondrous winning; <br />And never followed wicked ways,— <br />Unless when she was sinning. <br /> <br />At church, in silks and satins new, <br />With hoop of monstrous size, <br />She never slumbered in her pew,— <br />But when she shut her eyes. <br /> <br />Her love was sought, I do aver, <br />By twenty beaux and more; <br />The king himself has followed her,— <br />When she has walked before. <br /> <br />But now her wealth and finery fled, <br />Her hangers-on cut short all; <br />The doctors found, when she was dead,— <br />Her last disorder mortal. <br /> <br />Let us lament in sorrow sore, <br />For Kent Street well may say <br />That had she lived a twelvemonth more,— <br />She had not died today.<br /><br />Oliver Goldsmith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-elegy-on-the-glory-of-her-sex-mrs-mary-blaize/
