Good people all, with one accord,
Lament for madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word, . . . .
From those who spoke her praise. 

The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor . . . .
Who left a pledge behind. 

She strove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wond'rous winning; 
And never follow'd wicked ways, . . . .
Unless when she was sinning.     

At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size, 
She never slumber'd in her pew, . . . . 
But when she shut her eyes.  

Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;   
The king himself has followed her, . . . .  
When she has walk'd before. 

But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead, . . . .  
Her last disorder mortal. 

Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
For Kent-Street well may say,
That had she lived a twelve-month more, . . . .   
She had not died today.