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The YOUNG LADY and LOOKING-GLASS.
YE deep philosophers, who can
To bid your friend his errors mend,
Though you in softest terms advise;
Must all that shall attempt to teach,
Yes, there is one, an ancient art,
The TALE which follows makes it out.
There was a little stubborn dame, Whom no authority could tame, Restive by long indulgence grown, No will she minded but her own: At trifles oft she'd scold and fret, Then in a corner take a seat, And, sourly moping all the day, Disdain alike to work or play. Papa all softer arts had tried, And sharper remedies applied; But both were vain, for every course He took still made her worse and worse. 'Tis strange to think how female wit So oft should make a lucky hit, When man, with all his high pretence To deeper judgment, sounder sense, Will err, and measures false pursue'Tis very strange, I own, but true.Mamma observ'd the rising lass By stealth retiring to the glass, To practise little airs, unseen, In the true genius of thirteen: On this a deep design she laid To tame the humour of the maid; Contriving, like a prudent mother, To make one folly cure another.