An Elegy on the Glory of Her Sex, Mrs Mary Blaize
by Oliver Goldsmith

Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word, -
From those who spoke her praise.

The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor, -
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways, -
Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her pew, -
But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has followed her, -
When she has walked before.

But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead, -
Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament in sorrow sore,
For Kent Street well may say
That had she lived a twelvemonth more, -
She had not died today.