ALL travellers at first incline Where'er they see the fairest sign; And, if they find the chamber neat, And like the liquor and the meat, Will call again, and recommend The Angel Inn to every friend. What though the painting grows decayed, The House will never lose its trade; Nay, though the treacherous tapster, Thomas, Hangs a new angel two doors from as, As fine as dauber's hands can make it, In hopes that strangers may mistake it, We think it both a shame and sin To quit the true old Angel Inn. Now this is Stella's case in fact; An angel's face, a little cracked; (Could poets, or could painters fix How angels look at first to find In such a form an angel's mind; And every virtue now supplies The fainting rays of Stella's eyes, See at her levee crowding swains, Whom Stella freely entertains With breeding, humour, wit, and sense, And puts them but to small expense; Their mind so plentifully fills, And makes such reasonable bills, So little gets for what she gives, We really wonder how she lives! And had her stock been less, no doubt She must have long ago run out. Then who can think we'll quit the place, When Doll hangs out a newer face; Or stop and light at Chloe's Head, With scraps and leavings to be fed? Then, Chloe, still go on to prate Of thirty-six, and thirty-eight; Pursue your trade of scandal-picking, Your hints, that Stella is no chicken; Your innuendoes, when you tell us That Stella loves to talk with fellows: And let me warn you to believe A truth, for which your soul should grieve; That should you live to see the day When Stella's locks must all be grey, When age must print a furrowed trace On every feature of her face; That you, and all your senseless tribe, Could art, or time, or nature bribe To make you look like beauty's queen, And hold for ever at fifteen; No bloom of youth can ever blind The cracks and wrinkles of your mind; All men of sense will pass your door, And crowd to Stella's at four score. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON THE LADY MARY VILLIERS [OR VILLERS] (1) by THOMAS CAREW TO CHLOE WHO FOR HIS SAKE WISHED HERSELF YOUNGER by WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT POST-MORTEM by EMILY DICKINSON GREEK SONG: 1. THE STORM OF DELPHI by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS TO SIR HENRY CARY by BEN JONSON SUMMER. THE SECOND PASTORAL, OR ALEXIS by ALEXANDER POPE WHEN I PERUSE THE CONQUER'D FAME by WALT WHITMAN |