A New Simile for the Ladies with Useful Annotations, by Dr. Sheridan 1733

To make a writer miss his end,
You've nothing else to do but mend.

I often tried in vain to find
A simile for womankind,
A simile, I mean, to fit 'em,
In every circumstance to hit 'em.
Through every beast and bird I went,
I ransack'd every element;
And, after peeping through all nature,
To find so whimsical a creature,
A cloud presented to my view,
And straight this parallel I drew:
Clouds turn with every wind about,
They keep us in suspense and doubt,
Yet, oft perverse, like womankind,
Are seen to scud against the wind:
And are not women just the same?
For who can tell at what they aim?
Clouds keep the stoutest mortals under,
When, bellowing, they discharge their thunder:
So, when the alarum-bell is rung,
Of Xanti's everlasting tongue,
The husband dreads its loudness more
Than lightning's flash, or thunder's roar.
Clouds weep, as they do, without pain;
And what are tears but women's rain?
The clouds about the welkin roam:
And ladies never stay at home.
The clouds build castles in the air,
A thing peculiar to the fair:
For all the schemes of their forecasting,
Are not more solid nor more lasting.
A cloud is light by turns, and dark,
Such is a lady with her spark;
Now with a sudden pouting gloom
She seems to darken all the room;
Again she's pleased, his fear's beguiled,
And all is clear when she has smiled.
In this they're wondrously alike,
(I hope the simile will strike,)
Though in the darkest dumps you view them,
Stay but a moment, you'll see through them.
The clouds are apt to make reflection,
And frequently produce infection;
So Celia, with small provocation,
Blasts every neighbour's reputation.
The clouds delight in gaudy show,
(For they, like ladies, have their bow;)
The gravest matron will confess,
That she herself is fond of dress.
Observe the clouds in pomp array'd,
What various colours are display'd;
The pink, the rose, the violet's dye,
In that great drawing-room the sky;
How do these differ from our Graces,
In garden-silks, brocades, and laces?
Are they not such another sight,
When met upon a birth-day night?
The clouds delight to change their fashion:
(Dear ladies, be not in a passion!)
Nor let this whim to you seem strange,
Who every hour delight in change.
In them and you alike are seen
The sullen symptoms of the spleen;
The moment that your vapours rise,
We see them dropping from your eyes.
In evening fair you may behold
The clouds are fringed with borrow'd gold;
And this is many a lady's case,
Who flaunts about in borrow'd lace.
Grave matrons are like clouds of snow,
Their words fall thick, and soft, and slow;
While brisk coquettes, like rattling hail,
Our ears on every side assail.
Clouds, when they intercept our sight,
Deprive us of celestial light:
So when my Chloe I pursue,
No heaven besides I have in view.
Thus, on comparison, you see,
In every instance they agree;
So like, so very much the same,
That one may go by t'other's name.
Let me proclaim it then aloud,
That every woman is a cloud.

[Footnote 1: The following foot-notes, which appear to be Dr. Sheridan's,
are replaced from the Irish edition:]

[Footnote 2: Most ladies, in reading, call this word a smile; but they
are to note, it consists of three syllables, si-mi-le. In English, a
likeness.]

[Footnote 3: Not to hurt them.]

[Footnote 4: Not like a gun or pistol.]

[Footnote 5: This is not meant as to shooting, but resolving.]

[Footnote 6: This word is not here to be understood of a bull, but a
cloud, which makes a noise like a bull, when it thunders.]

[Footnote 7: Xanti, a nick-name for Xantippe, that scold of glorious
memory, who never let poor Socrates have one moment's peace of mind; yet
with unexampled patience, he bore her pestilential tongue. I shall beg
the ladies' pardon if I insert a few passages concerning her; and at the
same time I assure them, it is not to lessen those of the present age,
who are possessed of the like laudable talents; for I will confess, that
I know three in the city of Dublin, no way inferior to Xantippe, but that
they have not as great men to work upon.

When a friend asked Socrates, how he could bear the scolding of his
wife Xantippe? he retorted, and asked him, how he could bear the
gaggling of his geese? Ay, but my geese lay eggs for me, replied his
friend; so doth my wife bear children, said Socrates.—Diog. Laert.
Being asked at another time, by a friend, how he could bear her tongue?
he said, she was of this use to him, that she taught him to bear the
impertinences of others with more ease when he went abroad.—Plat. De
Capiend. ex host. utilit.
Socrates invited his friend Euthymedus to supper. Xantippe, in great
rage, went in to them, and overset the table. Euthymedus, rising in a
passion to go off, My dear friend, stay, said Socrates, did not a hen do
the same thing at your house the other day, and did I show any
resentment?—Plat. de ira cohibenda.
I could give many more instances of her termagancy, and his philosophy,
if such a proceeding might not look as if I were glad of an opportunity
to expose the fair sex; but, to show that I have no such design, I
declare solemnly, that I had much worse stories to tell of her behaviour
to her husband, which I rather passed over, on account of the great
esteem which I bear the ladies, especially those in the honourable
station of matrimony.]

[Footnote 8: Ramble.]

[Footnote 9: Not vomiting.]

[Footnote 10: Thrusting out the lip.]

[Footnote 11: This is to be understood not in the sense of wort, when
brewers put yeast or harm in it; but its true meaning is, deceived or
cheated.]

[Footnote 12: Hit your fancy.]

[Footnote 13: Sullen fits. We have a merry jig, called Dumpty-Deary,
invented to rouse ladies from the dumps.]

[Footnote 14: Reflection of the sun.]

[Footnote 15: Motherly woman.]
[Footnote 16: Not grace before and after meat, nor their graces the
duchesses, but the Graces which attended on Venus.]

[Footnote 17: Not Flanders-lace, but gold and silver lace. By borrowed, I
mean such as run into honest tradesmen's debts, for which they were not
able to pay, as many of them did for French silver lace, against the last
birth-day.—Vid. the shopkeepers' books.]

[Footnote 18: Girls who love to hear themselves prate, and put on a
number of monkey-airs to catch men.]

[Footnote 19: I hope none will be so uncomplaisant to the ladies as to
think these comparisons are odious.]

[Footnote 20: Tell the whole world; not to proclaim them as robbers and
rapparees.]