The Rose and Butterfly: A Fable

At day's early dawn a gay Butterfly spied,
A budding young Rose, and he wish'd her his bride:
She blush'd when she heard him his passion declare,
And tenderly told him—he need not despair.

Their faith was soon plighted; as lovers will do,
He swore to be constant, she vow'd to be true.

It had not been prudent to deal with delay,
The bloom of a rose passes quickly away,
And the pride of a butterfly dies in a day.

When wedded, away the wing'd gentleman hies,
From flow'ret to flow'ret he wantonly flies;
Nor did he revisit his bride, till the sun
Had less than one-fourth of his journey to run.
The Rose thus reproach'd him—'Already so cold!
'How feign'd, O you false one, that passion you told!
''Tis an age since you left me:' (She meant a few hours;
But such we'll suppose the fond language of flowers)
'I saw when you gave the base vi'let a kiss:
'How—how could you stoop to a meanness like this?
'Shall a low, little wretch, whom we roses despise,
'Find favour, O love! in my butterfly's eyes?
'On a tulip, quite tawdry, I saw your fond rape,
'Nor yet could the pitiful primrose escape:
'Dull daffodils too, were with ardour address'd,
'And poppies, ill-scented, you kindly caress'd.'

The coxcomb was piqu'd, and reply'd with a sneer,
'That you're first to complain, I commend you, my dear!
'But know from your conduct my maxims I drew,
'And if I'm inconstant, I copy from you.
'I saw the boy Zephirus rifle your charms,
'I saw how you simper'd and smil'd in his arms;
'The honey-bee kiss'd you, you cannot disown,
'You favour'd besides—O dishonour!—a drone;
'Yet worse—'tis a crime that you must not deny,
'Your sweets were made common, false rose, to a fly.

This law long ago did Love's providence make,
That ev'ry coquet should be curs'd with a rake,