Admonished by the sun's inclining ray,
And swift approaches of the thievish day,
The white-armed Fresca blinks, and yawns, and gapes,
Aroused from dreams of love and pleasant rapes.
Electric summons of the busy bell
Brings brisk Amanda to destroy the spell;
With coarsened hand, and hard plebeian tread,
Who draws the curtain round the lacquered bed,
Depositing thereby a polished tray
Of soothing chocolate, or stimulating tea.

Leaving the bubbling beverage to cool,
Fresca slips softly to the needful stool,
Where the pathetic tale of Richardson
Eases her labour till the deed is done.
Then slipping back between the conscious sheets,
Explores a page of Gibbon as she eats.
Her hands caress the egg's well-rounded dome,
She sinks in revery, till the letters come.
Their scribbled contents at a glance devours,
Then to reply devotes her practic'd powers.

"My dear, how are you? I'm unwell today,
And have been, since I saw you at the play.
I hope that nothing mars your gaity,
And things go better with you, than with me.
I went last night--More out of dull despair--
To Lady Kleinwurm's party--who was there?
Oh, Lady Kleinwurm's monde--no one that mattered--
Somebody sang, and Lady Kleinwurm chattered.
What are you reading? anything that's new?
I have a clever book by Giraudoux.
Clever, I think, is all, I've much to say--
But cannot say it--that is just my way--
When shall we meet--tell me all your manowuvers:
And all about yourself and your new lovers--
and when to Paris? I must make an end,
My dear, believe me, your devoted
friend".

This ended, to the steaming bath she moves,
Her tresses fanned by little flutt'ring Loves;
Odours, confected by the cunning French,
Disguise the good old female stench.