“Soon as the morn in crimson robes array’d
  With chearful beams dispels the flying shade,
  While fragrant odours waft the air along,
  And birds melodious chant their heavenly song,
  And all the waste of heav’n with glory spread,
  Wakes up the world, in sleep’s embraces dead. 
  Then those whose dreams were on th’ approaching day,
  Prepare in splendid garbs to make their way
  To that admired solemnity, whose date,
  Tho’ late begun, will last as long as fate. 
  And now the sprightly Fair approach the glass
  To heighten every feature of the face. 
  They view the roses flush their glowing cheeks,
  The snowy lillies towering round their necks,
  Their rustling manteaus huddled on in haste,
  They clasp with shining girdles round their waist. 
  Nor less the speed and care of every beau,
  To shine in dress and swell the solemn show. 
  Thus clad, in careless order mixed by chance,
  In haste they both along the streets advance: 
  ’Till near the brink of Charles’s beauteous stream,
  They stop, and think the lingering boat to blame. 
  Soon as the empty skiff salutes the shore,
  In with impetuous haste they clustering pour,
  The men the head, the stern the ladies grace,
  And neighing horses fill the middle space. 
  Sunk deep, the boat floats slow the waves along,
  And scarce contains the thickly crowded throng;
  A gen’ral horror seizes on the fair,
  While white-look’d cowards only not despair. 
  ‘Till rowed with care they reach th’ opposing side,
  Leap on the shore, and leave the threat’ning tide. 
  While to receive the pay the boatman stands,
  And chinking pennys jingle in his hands. 
  Eager the sparks assault the waiting cars,
  Fops meet with fops, and clash in civil wars. 
  Off fly the wigs, as mount their kicking heels,
  The rudely bouncing head with anguish swells,
  A crimson torrent gushes from the nose,
  Adown the cheeks, and wanders o’er the cloaths. 
  Taunting, the victor’s strait the chariots leap,
  While the poor batter’d beau’s for madness weep.

 “Now in calashes shine the blooming maids,
  Bright’ning the day which blazes o’er their heads;
  The seats with nimble steps they swift ascend,
  And moving on the crowd, their waste of beauties spend. 
  So bearing thro’ the boundless breadth of heav’n,
  The twinkling lamps of light are graceful driv’n;
  While on the world they shed their glorious rays,
  And set the face of nature in a blaze.

 “Now smoak the burning wheels along the ground,
  While rapid hoofs of flying steeds resound,
  The drivers by no vulgar flame inspir’d,
  But with the sparks of love and glory fir’d,
  With furious swiftness sweep along the way,
  And from the foremost chariot snatch the day. 
  So at Olympick games when heros strove,
  In rapid cars to gain the goal of love. 
  If on her fav’rite youth the goddess shone
  He left his rival and the winds out-run.