Thus love-sick Lydia rav'd; her maid appears,
And in her faithful hand the band-box bears;
(The Cestos that reform'd inconstant JOVE
Not better fill'd with what allur'd to love)
"How well this ribband's gloss becomes your face!"
She cries in rapture; "then, so sweet a lace!
"How charmingly you look! so bright! so fair!
"'Tis to your eyes the head-dress owes its air!"
Strait LYDIA smil'd; the comb adjusts her locks;
And at the play-house, HARRY keeps her box.