Fine Sights; or, the Countess of C—y, in Elysium

On the banks of the Styx, as a beautiful ghost,
In resemblance the shade of the Goddess of Love,
Was revolving the days, when a countess and toast
She flaunted about in the regions above.

News arriv'd, which soon made all Elysium to ring,
That the Fates a great monarch had summon'd to rest,
In calling Old England's late father and king
To a crown of reward in the realms of the blest.

My lady was vex'd to be robb'd of th' occasion,
By dying before him so mal-a-propos,
Of seeing his royal young heir's coronation;
And making a party herself in the show.

She therefore in haste skipt away to the ferry,—
"Here, Charon, you're empty, come take over me;
"I'm resolv'd to go back to the world in your wherry,
"The only fine sight I e'er miss'd of, to see."

Old Charon most civilly bow'd to my lady;
Stept out of his wherry and handed her in;
But, finding she wanted a pass, was as ready,
Her ladyship roughly to turn out again.

Then skudding away to the court in a hurry,
Direct, for a passport, to Pluto she ran;
And put madam Proserpine into a flurry,
Who thought she was come to seduce her good man.

Gloomy Dis grimly smil'd at the lady's request,
But more at her whimsical motive and reason;
And, having malignly a mind for a jest,
Represented her suit as a thing out of season.

I cannot, said he, lady fair, with a frown,
Indulge ev'ry ghost in it's wanton desire,
But if for their sakes, wife or husband come down,
I then might restore the fond souls they require.

Since Orpheus, however, in risk of his life,
Long ago made us stare with his musick and passion,
Not a soul hath come down, or for husband or wife;
So that journies of this kind are quite out of fashion.

Yet, as you're a beauty, the favour I grant ye;
But wherefore again should you covet on earth,
To mix with a crowd, that perhaps only want ye
To make you the theme of impertinent mirth?

Besides, pretty lady, you're greatly mistaken,
If pleasure you promise yourself in the sight;
For, unseen by your friends, by admirers forsaken,
There's none will regard an impalpable spright.

Nay, nay, quoth the countess, if that be the case,
Take your passport again; I'll have no more chagrin;
A fig for fine sights, if unseen one's fine face;
What signifies seeing if one is not seen?