Stella's Birth-Day. 1719-20

All travellers at first inclineWhere'er they see the fairest signAnd if they find the chambers neat,And like the liquor and the meat,Will call again, and recommendThe Angel Inn to every friend.And though the painting grows decay'd,The house will never lose its trade:Nay, though the treach'rous tapster, Thomas,Hangs a new Angel two doors from us,As fine as daubers' hands can make it,In hopes that strangers may mistake it,We think it both a shame and sinTo quit the true old Angel Inn.Now this is Stella's case in fact,An angel's face a little crack'd.(Could poets or could painters fixHow angels look at thirty-six:)This drew us in at first to findIn such a form an angel's mind;And every virtue now suppliesThe fainting rays of Stella's eyes.See, at her levee crowding swains,Whom Stella freely entertainsWith breeding, humour, wit, and sense,And puts them to so small expense;Their minds so plentifully fills,And makes such reasonable bills,So little gets for what she gives,We really wonder how she lives!And had her stock been less, no doubtShe must have long ago run out.Then, who can think we'll quit the place,When Doll hangs out a newer face?Nail'd to her window full in sightAll Christian people to invite.Or stop and light at Chloe's head,With scraps and leavings to be fed?Then, Chloe, still go on to prateOf thirty-six and thirty-eight;Pursue your trade of scandal-picking,Your hints that Stella is no chicken;Your innuendoes, when you tell us,That Stella loves to talk with fellows:But let me warn you to believeA truth, for which your soul should grieve;That should you live to see the day,When Stella's locks must all be gray,When age must print a furrow'd traceOn every feature of her face;Though you, and all your senseless tribe,Could Art, or Time, or Nature bribe,To make you look like Beauty's Queen,And hold for ever at fifteen;No bloom of youth can ever blindThe cracks and wrinkles of your mind:All men of sense will pass your door,And crowd to Stella's at four-score.