That one luckless glance was sufficient to throw

My romancing into provoking confusion.

My ardor was short-lived, my ecstasy brief,

And cooled soon my fire to misogyny icy;

My feminine model of laudable grief

Proved true to her trivial sex, me judice.

On the street-merchant's table a Looking-glass stood,

Too plain now the cause of the lady's dejection;

For the sorrowful eyes of this creature so good

Were solely intent on her own vain reflection.

For poverty's woes she had never a thought;

In weightier matter her sorrow existed.

Some kind of mysterious hook had uncaught,

And that marvel of rigging, her bustle, was twisted.

Since then, this opinion, I sadly confess,

I find it incumbent upon me to stick to;

To think in the street of a thing save her dress

Would be, for a woman, mirabile dictu.

CELEBS.