diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/67815-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/67815-0.txt | 3499 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 3499 deletions
diff --git a/old/67815-0.txt b/old/67815-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e55601d..0000000 --- a/old/67815-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3499 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hilaria. The Festive Board, by -Anonymous - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Hilaria. The Festive Board - -Author: Anonymous - -Release Date: April 11, 2022 [eBook #67815] - -Language: English - -Produced by: deaurider and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HILARIA. THE FESTIVE -BOARD *** - - - - - - -HILARIA. - - - - - HILARIA. - - THE - FESTIVE BOARD. - - “Mirth, admit me of thy crew.” - - MILTON. - - ——“Vino pellite curas.” - - HOR. - - London: - _PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR._ - - 1798. - - - - -PRELIMINARY. - - _Tres mihi convivæ prope dissentire videntur,_ - _Poscentes vario multum diversa palato._ - - HOR. - - -We, for the most part, differ in our notions of pleasure; one man’s -delight is another’s aversion: but felicity is the aim of all. Where -then shall we find it? a celebrated poet observes, “’tis no where to be -found, or everywhere.” I say with an air of triumph, which the experience -of a laughing life has imparted, the delights of love and joys of wine, -happily blended, will enable us to attain the summit of human enjoyment. -Would you meliorate the condition of the mind, and give to the body -its best energies; fly to the circle of convivial gaiety for the one, -and to the arms of indulgent beauty for the other—Life without this -charming union, is like wine without fermentation, perfectly insipid—for -the vinosity of wine, as well as the libidinosity of carnal nature, is -produced (as Doctor Johnson, that leviathan of literature would have -said) by the same exquisite process—_fermentation_.——So much in ancient -as well as modern times has been said and sung of love and wine, that -novelty on these topics cannot be expected. I am an enemy to every -species of innovation; but more particularly to that lately broached -by the celebrated original four-legg’d, long-tail’d, philosopher, Lord -Monboddo, Who is full of regret because we do not mix water with our wine. - -Read with sober attention what his lordship says on this subject. - -“As, by Isis, a plant was discovered, which furnished bread to man; so -by Osiris, her husband and brother, an art was invented of making drink -for man: this art is what is called fermentation, which he applied to the -use of the grape; and so first made wine: which, though it has been very -much abused, as almost every production of nature and art has been by -man, and, therefore, is very properly styled by Milton, _The sweet poison -of misused wine_. It may be applied to the most useful purposes, for it -is the best cordial of old age: and at all times of life it enlivens -the spirits; and, therefore, Bacchus is called _Lætitiæ Dator_; and it -cherishes the stomach: _but it is a great abuse of this liquor, in modern -times_, to drink it pure, without mixture of water, _which, I am sorry to -observe so much practised in Britain_.”—Horace says this ironically. - -Notwithstanding this opinion, the gentlemen of Britain, whose fondness -for pure, unadulterated, wine, cannot be doubted, will continue the old -custom of drinking a bumper of wine with the first toast after dinner, to -the first thing that ever was created for the enjoyment of their sex. - -Solomon, who was at least as wise as the author in question, says, “_Give -strong drink to him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be -of heavy hearts_:” “Let him drink and forget his poverty, and remember -his misery no more.” - -Burns, the admirable Scots bard, agreed with Solomon, and agreed with -himself also, to versify these doctrines: - - “Give him strong drink until he wink, - That’s sinking in despair; - And liquor good to fire his blood, - That’s prest with grief and care: - There let him bouse, and deep carouse, - With bumpers flowing o’er, - Till he forgets—his loves or debts, - And minds his griefs no more.” - -But what are the vital elixirs, gold tinctures, wonder-working essences, -electricity, and animal magnetism, compared to the properties of wine? -Dr. Franklin, a name dear to political liberty, has recorded a curious -fact concerning the effects of wine. When in France he received a -quantity of Madeira, that had been bottled in Virginia: in some of the -bottles he found a few dead flies, which he exposed to the warm sun in -the month of July, and, in less than three hours, these apparently dead -animals recovered life, which had been so long suspended. The philosopher -then asks whether such a process might not be employed with regard to -man? if that be the case, I can imagine, adds he, no greater pleasure, -than to cause myself to be immersed along with a few friends in Madeira -wine, (not wine and water,) and to again called to life, at the end of -fifty, or more years, by the genial solar rays of my native country; only -that I may see what improvement the state has made, and what changes time -has brought along with it. - -I cannot conclude these few observations on the virtues of wine, without -introducing the sentiment of another philosophical gentleman. A modern -practitioner of considerable medical skill, has given an opinion worthy -the attention of the convivial world: he tells us, if our vital sensation -require to be much exalted, neither alembics nor crucibles are necessary -for that purpose; Nature herself has provided for us that most excellent -spirit—wine, which exceeds all those prepared by the art of man: if there -be any thing in the world which one can call the _prima materia_, that -contains the spirit of the earth in an incorporated form, it is certainly -this noble production: - - “With genial joy to warm the soul, - “Bright Helen mix’d a mirth-inspiring bowl.” - - ODYSSEY. - -To promote hilarity, to keep up the good humour of life, to help -digestion by the salutary exercise of the risible faculty, the -compositions that follow were chiefly written;—the cynic, the sanctified -hypocrite, and the misanthrope, will eagerly condemn many of them, but -the man of the world, who thinks liberally, and acts up to his feelings, -the _bon vivant_, the friend of the fair sex, the bottle and song, -will, it is hoped and presumed, place them under their private care and -protection. - - - - -PAT-RIOT, A REVOLUTIONARY SONG. - - - I. - - Och! my name is Pat Riot, - And I’m never easy; - For when all is quiet, - It turns my head crazy; - So to kick up a dust, - By my soul is delighting; - Then to lay it again, - I fall to without fighting. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, row, row, row, row. - - II. - - Nought but times topsy turvy - Suit my constitution; - And all that I want, is - A snug Revolution: - Then in rank and in riches - I’ll equal my betters; - And a long list of creditors - Change into debtors. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - III. - - I dare not be loyal, - For this loyal reason; - My tutor, Tom Paine, - Tells me loyalty’s treason: - And Priestley my Faith has - Shook to its foundation; - So I’ve no prospect on earth - But eternal damnation. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - IV. - - In this plight I’ve a plan, - Tho’ it’s not ripe for broaching; - But between you and me, - ’Tis a little encroaching; - By a stroke—slight of hand— - To surprize all beholders: - Why I mean to take off - The king’s head from his shoulders. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - V. - - Then the crown, d’ye see, - I wou’d lay on a shelf, Sir; - Tho’ it fits me as if it - Was made for myself, Sir: - Och! good luck to the sound, - How the dumb bells will ring, Sir, - When I’ve made all men equal, - And made myself king, Sir! - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - VI. - - Just to guard off th’effect - Of fell lightning and thunder, - That together split churches - And steeples asunder, - I mean to pull down - All old orthodox structures; - ’Cause Priestley says chapels - Are Heaven’s conductors. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - VII. - - To see chapels, from churches, - Like Phœnixes rising, - Good souls, the dissenters - Wou’d deem it surprising, - And, grateful to me, - They wou’d down on their knees too, - Who hate both a church - And a chapel of ease too. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - VIII. - - Now the lands of the church, - That feed fat and lean preachers, - By their leaves, I’ll bestow - On the puritan teachers: - Of their tithes, and their off’rings, - And gifts, I’ll bereave ’em; - And nought but their stomachs - And consciences leave ’em. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - IX. - - The law long establish’d - No longer shall bind me; - With my father before, - Or my father behind me, - I’ve nothing to do: - Then your bother pray cease, Sir; - I’ll lay down the law - By a breach of the peace, Sir. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - X. - - Since the law and the gospel - I’ve taken by storm, Sir, - Physicians shall swallow - My pills of reform, Sir; - I’ll take off their wigs, - Canes, fees, and degrees; - And poison the rogues - With their own recipes. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - XI. - - Since the Commons are cyphers, - The Lords but nick-names, Sir, - I mean to prorogue ’em - All into the Thames, Sir; - And, lest folks should say - I don’t humanely treat ’em, - Doctor Hawes and cork jackets - At Gravesend shall meet ’em. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - XII. - - I’ll abolish all titles - Mankind may inherit; - From the fountain of honour, - Worth, virtue, and merit: - I’m a naked reformer: - The doctrine I preach, is - To take coats of arms off - Shirts, waistcoats, and breeches. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - XIII. - - Thus age, youth, and beauty, - Miss, master, and madam, - All decently figg’d - By the taylor of Adam: - Why this is not new; - Because high and low station, - Were all in confusion - Before the creation. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - XIV. - - By Jasus, to think how - ’Twou’d tickle the devil, - To see from a mountain, - All things on a level; - For the devil’s a patriot - Not over nice, Sir, - And he hates all distinctions - ’Twixt virtue and vice, Sir. - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - XV. - - Here’s long life after death - To all hot-headed fellows, - Who night and day work at - The devil’s big bellows: - What charming confusion, - What fine botheration, - To blow up the coals, - And extinguish the nation! - - _Chorus_—Row, row, &c. - - - - -THE MARRIAGE MORN. - -Tune, _The Merry Dance_. - - - The marriage morn I can’t forget, - My senses teem’d with _new delight_; - Time, cry’d I, haste the coming night, - And Hymen, give me sweet Lisette: - I whisper’d softly in her ear, - And said, the GOD of NIGHT draws near. - Oh, how she look’d! Oh, how she smil’d! Oh, how she sigh’d! - She sigh’d—then spent a joyful tear. - - Now nuptial Night her curtain drew, - And Cupid’s mandate was, “Commence - “With ardour, break the virgin fence;” - Then to the bed sweet Lisette flew— - ’Twas heav’n to view her when she lay, - And hear her cry, Come to me, pray; - Oh, how I feel! Oh, how I pant! Oh, I shall die!— - Shall die before the break of day! - - Soon Manhood rose with furious gust; - And Mars, when he lewd Venus view’d, - Ne’er felt his pow’r so closely screw’d - Up to the standing post of Lust: - But when the stranger to her sight - Sweet Lisette saw in rampant plight, - Oh, how she scream’d! Oh, how she scream’d! Oh, how she scream’d! - She scream’d—then grasp’d the dear delight. - - Now lustful Nature eager grew, - And longer could not wanton toy; - So rushing up the path of joy, - Quick from the fount Love’s liquor flew: - At morn, she cry’d, full three times three - The vivid stream I’ve felt from thee; - Oh, how I’m eas’d! Oh, how I’m pleas’d! Oh, how I’m charm’d! - I’m charm’d with rapt’rous three times three! - - - - -CONVIVIAL. - -Tune, _Mrs. Casey_. - - - When round reflection foggy Care - His dreary damp disperses, - And Prudence, with _didactic_ air, - Her cautious code rehearses; - Then grant us, gods, some glowing wine, - Such foes of glee to banish; - ’Twill make our heart’s _horizon_ shine, - And ev’ry vapour vanish. - - CHORUS. - - Then laugh and drink, - And never think; - Each frisky festive fellow - Will seize the time, - The season’s prime, - T’ enjoy the fruit while mellow. - - The heights of love we can’t attain, - Till wine’s electric potion - Reach the summit of the brain, - To quicken Fancy’s motion: - Then Nature’s _still_, with rapid flow, - In _am’rous fermentation_, - Fills thro’ THE WORM the _vat_ below - With _luscious distillation_. - - When safe arriv’d our LATTER END, - And time to dust shall grind us, - Our _atoms_ can’t the eyes offend - Of neighbours left behind us: - If with the heart-expanding bowl, - Inspiring love and laughter, - We soak the body and the soul, - ’Twill _lay_ the dust _hereafter_. - - The hardy tars more valiant fight, - The soldiers sally quicker, - The poets with more _spirit_ write, - When charg’d with _conqu’ring liquor_: - And to sorrow-sinking hearts - Wine’s the true salvation; - For, take enough, and soon departs - _Suspended animation_. - - His journey soon must end, they say, - Who drives thro’ life so quickly; - And, ere in years his hair turn gray, - His body will be sickly: - If _Velnos’ Syrup_ he pursue, - ’Twill strengthen trunk and twig, Sir; - And if his hair should change its hue, - He can but mount a wig, Sir. - - Kind Fortune, fix the jolly soul - On Plenty’s full-plum’d pinion, - To soar beyond the sad control - Of Poverty’s dominion; - And when, with eager fatal claw, - You take him by the _throttle_, - His precious cork of life to draw, - O Death! don’t _shake_ the _bottle_. - - - - -THE HIGH-METTLED P⸺O. - -Tune, _The Race Horse_. - - - View the lass lewd and lovely, of high sporting race, - Prepar’d to encounter the lustful embrace; - Her t—s wide extended, her tempting breasts bare, - The lustful receiver conceal’d by black hair: - While ruddy and rampant, erecting his crest, - With ardour rebounding from knee to the breast, - The signal observ’d, firmly fix’d on his seat, - The high-mettled P⸺o first starts for the heat. - Full stretch’d, crossing, justling, see onward they rush, - And o’er the same ground three times speedily push; - Till weary’d, worn out, we behold P⸺o tame, - As he crawls off the course lifeless, jaded, and lame. - A short time elaps’d, when examin’d his case, - He’s found sorely injur’d by running the race; - And the high mettl’d P⸺o, erst proud and elate, - Is pronounc’d by the knowing ones in for the plate. - - Confin’d to the stable, shut out from the stud, - Restrain’d in his diet, and oft losing blood, - He’s plaister’d and poultic’d, in linen rags rob’d, - Fir’d, purg’d, and bolus’d, cut, syring’d, and prob’d; - Till burning like stones that are turn’d into lime, - Alas! luckless P⸺o’s cut off in his prime. - Lament the hard fate this sad story informs, - The high-mettl’d P⸺o’s made food for the worms. - - - - -BOTANY BAY. - -Tune, _Liberty Hall_. - - - Britannia, fair guardian of this favour’d land, - Lately sanction’d a scheme, in full Cabinet plann’d, - For transporting her sons who from honour dare stray, - To that sweet spot terrestrial, term’d BOTANY BAY. - Toll de roll, &c. - - Now this BAY, by some blockheads we’ve sagely been told, - Was unknown to the fam’d navigators of old; - But this I deny, in terms homely and blunt, - For BOTANY BAY is the spot we call ⸺. - Toll de roll, &c. - - Our ancestor Adam, ’tis past any doubt, - Was the famous Columbus that found the spot out; - He brav’d ev’ry billow, rock, quicksand, and shore, - To steer thro’ THE PASSAGE none ere steer’d before. - Toll de roll, &c. - - Kind Nature, ere Adam had push’d off to sea, - Bid him be of good cheer, for his pilot she’d be: - Then his cables he slipp’d, and STOOD STRAIGHT for the BAY, - But was stopp’d in his passage about THE MIDWAY. - Toll de roll, &c. - - Avast! Adam cry’d, I’m dismasted, I doubt, - If I don’t tack the HEAD of my VESSEL about; - Take courage, cry’d Nature, and leave it to me, - For ’tis only THE LINE that divides THE RED SEA. - Toll de roll, &c. - - Tho’ shook by the STROKE, Adam’s MAST stood upright, - His BALLAST was steady, his TACKLING quite tight; - Then a breeze springing up, down the RED STRAITS he ran, - And, o’erjoy’d with his voyage, he fir’d off a GREAT GUN. - Toll de roll, &c. - - High from the MAST HEAD, by the help of ONE EYE, - The HEART of the BAY did old Adam espy; - And, alarm’d at a noise—to him Nature did say, - That it was the TRADE WIND, which blows always ONE WAY. - Toll de roll, &c. - - So transported was Adam in BOTANY BAY, - He dame Nature implor’d to SPEND there night and day, - And curious he try’d the BAY’S bottom to sound, - But his LINE was too short by a YARD from the ground. - Toll de roll, &c. - - The time being out, Nature’s sentence had pass’d, - Adam humbly a favour of her bounty ask’d, - That when stock’d with provisions, and ev’ry thing sound, - To BOTANY BAY he again might be bound. - Toll de roll, &c. - - Nature granted the boon both to him and his race, - And said, oft I’ll transport you to that charming place; - But never, cry’d she, as you honour my word, - Set sail with a Clap, Pox, or Famine on board. - Toll de roll, &c. - - Then this BOTANY BAY, or whate’er be the name, - I have prov’d is the spot from whence all of us came; - May we there be transported, like Adam our sire, - And never _return ’fore the time shall expire_. - Toll de roll, &c. - - - - -THE NEWLY-DUBB’D JEW. - -Tune, _Derry Down_. - - - My muse, t’other day, having laughter in view, - Selected George Gordon, the now no more Jew, - Resolving to state, with Mosaic precision, - What befel poor Crop’s P⸺ on the late circumcision. - - The Rabbi appear’d, and the Christian’s foreskin - Was about to be banish’d, to cleanse Crop of sin; - But Gentiles and Jews, mark the cream of the joke, - By Prometheus inspir’d, his P⸺ suddenly spoke. - - Tho’ with fear first poor P⸺o had prudently shrunk, - And, like snail in its shell, snugly hid lay his trunk; - To the Priest then he cry’d, put your knife in its case, - Or, you terrible Cut P⸺k, I’ll piss in your face. - - My Lord stood amaz’d, and the Rabbi was mum, - To hear a thing talk that had ever been dumb; - Tho’ Crop said his P⸺ ne’er obey’d his command, - But always _lay down_ when he wish’d him to _stand_. - - This damnable riot in Crop’s private part, - Baffl’d the Priest and resisted his art, - So he swore, if P⸺ did not cease making a route, - He’d pull out his c—d—m, and muffle his snout. - - Not a crab-louse car’d P⸺ for the Priest and his laws; - He stood up for his _prepuce_, and spoke to the cause; - His language was nervous, his reasoning clear, - And he spoke full as well as the _Members_ elsewhere. - - Your life, cry’d he, Crop’s a mere mock of devotion; - Well spoken, said Cods, who was backing each motion; - Such conduct, he said, combin’d madness and sin; - And Cods swore his friend P⸺ should sleep in a whole skin. - - Now in Akerman’s synagogue Crop’s got a place, - A beard like a Jew doth his pious front grace; - In time ’tis to grow so enormously big, - As to make TOMMY ERSKINE a full-bottom’d wig. - - Mr. P⸺, said Crop, to turn Turk I intend, - And ’mongst smack and smooth eunuchs my days will I end; - Poor P⸺ took the hint, and did woefully weep, - Till his _flesh cap_ flipp’d o’er him, then he fell asleep. - - - - -_The FLATS and the SHARPS of the NATION._ - - - Of Handel’s fam’d Commemoration, - And what was let loose there, I sing, - When the Flats and the Sharps of our nation - Assembled along with their King. - Madam Mara (now mark what will follow) - Her ravishing sounds was imparting; - Momus play’d off a trick on Apollo, - And set the sweet lady a f—t—g. - - At Sowgelders’ Hall, rural scene, - The seat of a Knight and his swine, - The musical Madam had been - Invited by Mawbey to dine: - So the cause of this windy commotion - Was owing, if we’re not mistaken, - To her bolting too great a proportion - Of pease-pudding and gammon of bacon. - - Sir John Hawky, the musical Knight, - Who in wit all the Quorum surpasses, - And to whom, if we judge of him right, - The wise men of Greece were mere asses, - Has defin’d Antient Music to be - What sprung from the bottom of Madam, - And that under the wisdom-fraught tree - Eve f—t—d in concert with Adam. - - Now those sages renown’d in our nation, - The fam’d F.R.S.es, do tell us, - That to blow up the coals of creation, - The bum is a species of bellows. - But Priestley, who loves to oppose, - Doth a different system insist on, - And swears that he’s led by the nose - To pronounce it a Cask of Phlogiston. - - The moment the Lady let fly, - Billington, Storacci, and Kelly, - With laughter were ready to die - At the pickle of poor Rubinelli; - For Rubi, the father of screeches, - In laughing at Mara, so strain’d it, - That his PIPE let the piss in his breeches, - For no CISTERN has he to retain it. - - Hurlowe Thrumbo, your wonder ’twill raise, - Is of catgut so charming a scraper, - That, old Orpheus-like, when he plays, - The trees and the brutes round him caper. - He blasted the Thing I won’t name, - Hop’d she’d burst on the rock of damnation; - But he stopp’d when the Bishop cry’d “Shame, - “Brother, think of the late proclamation.” - - That famous reformist, Jack Wilkes, - Martin Luther the Second now deem’d, - Sat in converse with Lawn Sleeves and Silks, - And declar’d Sacred Music blasphem’d; - But Jack turning round to Jem Twitch, - Swore ’twas like the affair on the Terrace, - When Bethsheba, impudent bitch, - Shew’d bollocking David her bare arse. - - Now Sir Watkin ap Williams ap Wynne, - Who came from whence came John ap Morgan, - Roar’d out to the band-leading Bates, - To drown the FOUL NOISE with _bur_ organ: - So Bates, by a blast of the bellows, - Made peace and sweet sounds rule the roast; - Then drink about, laughing fellows— - For f⸺g and fiddling’s my toast. - - - - -RUNNYMEDE PILLAR. - -Air, _I can’t for my Life guess the Cause of this Fuss_. - - - To celebrate deeds of renown, ’tis agreed - That a pillar on fam’d Runnymede be erected: - MEN of PARTS of all parties then here may proceed, - To relate how this wonderful work is effected. - The pillar’s to stand in Middlesex land, - BUSHY PARK’S CENTRE’S the sweet pleasure ground; - A strong-fenc’d retreat, well water’d and sweet, - Where Adam first FELL, Runnymede’s to be found. - - CHORUS. - - Rare Runnymede such pleasures producing, - No language of mortals is equal to tell; - Tho’ Moses declines it, my Muse thus defines it: - The paradise where our progenitors FELL. - - When the midwife, our welcome deliverer, came, - Runnymede witness’d a great revolution; - From bondage she brought us, and Nature, dear dame, - To Britain’s brave sons gave their good Constitution: - For blessings like these, let gratitude seize - The CRITICAL MINUTE its ardour to shew; - The STONES first prepare the PILLAR to rear, - Then DISCHARGE in this MEDE the just debt that we owe. - Rare Runnymede, &c. - - When Eve, with a mixture of fear and surprise, - Beheld the HUGE PILLAR of Adam erected, - Her bare bosom heav’d, and gave vent to soft sighs, - While with curious eye she the structure inspected. - O’erjoy’d did she trace the MOSS round its base, - But its altitude did her chaste senses appal; - Eve fainted away, and Moses doth say, - That her apron of fig-leaves flew up in the fall. - Rare Runnymede, &c. - - Adam’s instinct divine display’d powers that prove, - Mighty man most sagacious of Nature’s creation; - Eve’s distress he beheld, and, in pity, Love - His COLUMN convey’d to its dear destination. - What follow’d, you’ll find, is wisely design’d, - And the Hercules’ Pillar of Pagan renown - Ne’er long could stand in Middlesex land, - Adam’s BASIS gave way, so the Pillar fell down. - Rare Runnymede, &c. - - By the magical touch of his heaven-tun’d lyre, - Amphion, the Theban King, wonders effected; - Stones erst in confusion his sounds did inspire, - They danc’d, and we’re told tow’ring walls were erected. - Such harmonic sway this Mede doth display, - And from chaos, thus transient, can order restore; - A quick resurrection succeeds the defection, - To meet the same fate that befel it before. - Rare Runnymede, &c. - - That architect, old Mother Phillips I mean, - Doth cases prepare of a curious constructure, - From the fury of fire _standing Pillars_ to screen, - As light’ning’s disarm’d by th’ _attractive Conductor_: - But curst be her traffic for THINGS POLYGRAPHIC; - To vend for original, Pillars she plann’d; - Monuments base usurping the place, - Where alone the PROUD PILLAR of Nature should stand. - Rare Runnymede, &c. - - Tho’ partisans differ, in this all agree, - From Reason’s clear light, and from Nature’s dictation, - That THE MEDE, at this moment, my mind’s eye doth see, - Is alone the sweet spot for the PROUD PILLAR’S station. - There stout may it stand, resisting Time’s hand: - And, Nature, great architect, as thee we prize! - From fire protect it, when down don’t neglect it, - Let it RISE but to FALL, let it FALL but to RISE. - Rare Runnymede, &c. - - - - -THE BANKRUPT BAWD. - -Tune, _Vicar of Bray_. - - - Near Jermyn-street a BAWD did trade, - In credit, style, and splendor, - Well known to ev’ry _high-bred_ blade, - And those of _doubtful_ gender: - How Nature once, in _marring_ mood, - Her body form’d, I’ll tell ye, - Upon her back a _swelling stood_, - To mock her _barren belly_. - - CHORUS. - - For some succeed, and others fail, - That into commerce enter, - So sew are chaste, and many frail, - In this _great trading Center_. - - In _coney skins_ her _commerce_ lay, - A charming stock she’d laid in; - She ne’er to _smugglers_ fell a prey, - Her practice was _fair trading_: - These skins when _dress’d_ were _red_ and _white_, - The _fur_ of each _fair creature_, - Of diff’rent hues, hath day and night - Kept warm man’s _naked nature_. - For some succeed, &c. - - The trading stock of this OLD BAWD - A _vital stab_ sustain’d, sir; - The news like _wild-fire_ flew abroad, - Each customer _complain’d_, sir; - Some _coney-skins_ lay with a lot, - By caution uninspected; - So _quarantine_, alas! forgot, - _Foul plague_ the whole infected. - For some succeed, &c. - - Now OLD and YOUNG her shop forsook, - Insolvent was her plight, sir, - When _Habeas Corpus_ Catchpole took - Her body off by night, sir; - From _Banco Regis_ civil law, - To liquidate her debt, sir, - Between _the sheets_ this OLD BAWD saw - _Of London’s fam’d Gazette_, sir. - For some succeed, &c. - - To give each creditor his due, - Three men, _the Lord’s Anointed_, - JACK WILKES, LORD SANDWICH, and OLD Q., - Were Assignees appointed: - But, luckless Bawd! the after day - Her stock _on fire_ they found, sir; - So ’twas agreed she could not pay - A _cundum_ in the pound, sir. - For some succeed, &c. - - The skin (_her own_) this Bawd had left, - Each Assignee did handle; - ’Twas found of all its _fur bereft_, - By singing flame of candle: - Some _butter’d bunns_ conceal’d within, - Old Q.’s keen eye beset, sir; - So Wilkes defin’d this coney skin - A _fund for floating debt_, sir. - For some succeed, &c. - - By _headlong lust_ her claimants led, - They seiz’d her _mortal treasure_; - The _furless_ coney skin was spread, - A _dividend_ past measure. - Now all _came in_, not one _stood out_; - THE BAWD was set at large, sir; - Her coney skin (of _worth_, no doubt) - Did ev’ry MAN _discharge_, sir. - For some succeed, &c. - - - - -MEDLEY. - -Air, _Bow Wow_. - - - Silence, humbugs all, and I’ll sing you a merry song; - Like our lives, ’tis a medley, neither short nor very long; - I mean plainly to prove, that in high and low station, - Hub, bub, bub, bub, boo, is the business of the nation. - Hub, bub, boo, fal, lal, &c. - - As late from the hall Hurlow Thrumbo came growling, - A carman’s great dog at his coach set up howling; - Enrag’d with the brute, Hurlow let down the glass, sir, - Cry’d, “whose dog is that?” quoth the carman, “ask his a—, sir.” - - The coachman drove on; but ere he’d driven very far, - Two wheels were left behind, and snap went the splinter bar; - Hurlow roar’d out aloud (tho’ no doubt he did wrong to’t), - For he blasted the bar, and all that _belong’d_ to’t. - - ’Tis not long ago, since poor Jack, the Brighton taylor, - For stitching well a _button-hole_, was pinn’d up by the jailor: - The trial tells us, by surprise, snip seiz’d an artless lass, sir, - And cabbag’d her virginity, the best piece of her a—, sir. - - The maiden scream’d, and snip teem’d with love’s delicious liquor; - O there never was a taylor that could stitch it nine times quicker; - Twas ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, - Till he work’d up all the thread, then he ripp’d up the slit O. - - “R⸺,” dames cry, “what a ravishing creature! - “His pipe! and his shake! and each delicate feature!” - But la! what a pity, divine R⸺! - Your pipe can but carry the p— from your belly! - Bow, wow, wow, &c. - - If wedlock’s your plan, ere you scheme to open trenches, - Humbugs pray take heed of our modern made-up wenches: - Fore and aft they are plump to view, but feel, and you will find, sir, - They’ve bubbies like blown bladders, and all is hum behind, sir. - - Oh poverty! our purses spare, and pains, do not perplex us, - Still the cheerful song we’ll chaunt, nor shall trifles ever vex us; - But leave to dreary dull dogs their cheerless hours to spend, sir, - Whilst we, in mirthful mood, meet our bottles, c⸺s, and friends, sir. - - Now the sequel of my song mark well each humbug brother, - Tho’ here we laugh, drink and joke, and humbug one another; - When out of wind, Death hums us, and we’re sent the Lord knows where, - sir, - If we’ve humbugg’d the Devil, I’ll be d⸺d if we need fear, sir. - - - - -HUMBUG CLUB CONSTITUTIONAL SONG. - -Air, _The Roast Beef of Old England_. - - - This tastey gay town’s grown of humbug so full, - That ev’ry new day starts new matter to gull, - Credulity’s known by the name of John Bull. - O the humbugs of Old England; - How finely Old England’s humbugg’d! - - Sham patriots profess, with a plausible grace, - The nerves of the nation they shortly could brace, - But _pro bono publico_ means a good place. - O the humbugs, &c. - - Here clergy the minister flatter and fawn, - Stick close to his skirts to secure sleeves of lawn, - And the curate’s old cassock goes weekly to pawn. - O the humbugs, &c. - - The dunce is dubb’d doctor, _sans_ sense in his head, - And fame unacquir’d is thro’ quackery spread, - With cures that are cureless credulity’s fed. - O the humbugs, &c. - - The captain’s a compound of flash and cockade, - Cosmetics, pink powder, with curl carronade, - And his feats are confin’d to box-lobby parade. - O the humbugs, &c. - - Now lawyers are licens’d their clients to cheat, - Trading justices equity tread under feet, - And rascally runners all rogu’ry greet. - O the humbugs, &c. - - The stage, to amuse us, sings “Fal de Ral Tit,” - With “Che chow cherry chow, and cherry chow chit;” - And then, to humbug us, they puff it as wit. - O the humbugs, &c. - - So now, brother humbugs, you all plainly see, - That few modern modes from humbugging are free; - Let’s distinguish _our humbug_ with wine, wit, and glee. - O the humbugs, &c. - - - - -The celebrated patroness of the young Chimney Sweepers, whose hard fate -was so often deplored by the late Jonas Hanway, has had fitted up an -elegant apartment in her town residence, decorated with Feathers; here -follows a description of what is termed “THE FEATHER’D ROOM.” - - - I. - - The blue-stocking club, when abandon’d by fame, - On a project resolv’d to revive a lost name, - So for each member’s comfort in life’s chilling gloom, - Old mother M⸺tague feather’d her room. - - CHORUS. - - Sing a Ballynamona oro, - A fine feather’d chamber for me. - - II. - - Like old mother Philips, tho’ doubtless her betters, - These blue-stocking ladies are _ladies of letters_; - Not in love, but in learning, their passions prevail, - And they _feather the head_ whilst they _moult at the tail_. - - III. - - An Irish upholsterer Murphy’s the man, - Who furnished my muse with a sketch of this plan; - To guard off the wind that hard by the spot gathers, - He told me she’d _paper’d_ her front room with _feathers_. - - IV. - - By the hair-broom of Nature this room was neglected, - Here lay dust undisturbed, and there cobweb collected; - Till a lewd son of Adam, a son of a whore, - To get into the room had _burst open the door_. - - V. - - Then wicked wit W⸺ and old lolly-pop Q⸺, - This fine feather’d drawing-room hasten’d to view; - Old Q⸺ first got in, but he soon turn’d about, - For the feathers flew round him and _tickl’d his snout_. - - VI. - - W⸺ stood undismay’d at old Q⸺’s queer mishap, - And swore, tho’ the devil should stand in the gap, - Into it he’d wriggle; when in it he got, - He turn’d pale and fell sick, and dropt dead on the spot. - - VII. - - Birds of passage, alas! all us mortals are here, - Exclaim’d Johnny W⸺ when he spent his last tear; - In his last dying speech, he declar’d with dejection, - He’d not the least hope of a flesh resurrection. - - VIII. - - Now ere like Johnny W⸺ my muse gives up the ghost, - She leaves, as a legacy, Nature’s first toast; - The front room of Eve Adam fill’d full of sin, - _Well feather’d_ without, and _well furnish’d within_. - - - - -LITTLE PERU, OR THE WICKLOW GOLD-MINE. - - - I. - - My sweet native land, the first place of my birth there, - Good luck to you dear if the story be true, - In your bowels I’m told on the face of the earth there, - Lies Mexico’s wealth, a snug little Peru; - Back to Ireland I’ll trot and fall digging for riches, - These two eyes no longer shall pewter behold, - For a pair I’ll get measur’d of ready-made breeches, - And copper both pockets with pure virgin gold. - - II. - - Come then brother Pats and pack up your odd matters, - Leave nothing behind you but what you can take, - ’Tis your turn to laugh at John Bull’s rags and tatters, - No longer at Pat can he fun and game make. - No more with sweet butter-milk whitewash your bodies, - No more with potatoes your full stomachs cram, - As Plutus, not Patrick, old Ireland’s rich God is, - Drink champaign and venison, with rasberry jam. - - III. - - You chairmen from Ireland, big blackguards call’d ponies, - Case you up and down, fan away tabbies in chairs, - You’ll soon be all jontlemen and macaronies, - If your prize in Peru only comes up in shares. - I think I now see you all swell, strut, and swagger, - With big lumps of nature’s coin’d gold in your hand, - When by whiskey tight-laced up St. James’s you stagger, - Bid tabbies go carry themselves and be d⸺d. - - IV. - - And you flashy captains who oft go recruiting, - ’Mongst England’s brisk widows, fond daughters and wives, - Leave war for a peace, and don’t be after shooting - Of Frenchmen, to frighten them out of their lives. - What’s honour and glory to flush ready rhino, - Without which no captain can keep up the ball, - Quick march to Peru, the sweet spot you and I know, - Fill your bellies with full pay and half-pay and all. - - V. - - Oh! you my Bath Bobadils hunting for acres, - And shaking your elbows, cry seven’s the main, - For the bodies of belles you’re the live undertakers, - But you take them, it’s true, for no prospect of gain. - It’s not for a gold-mine you Bobadils marry, - ’Tis all for pure love, beauty, temper, and grace! - ’Tis for kindness and tenderness said Captain Larry, - Who kill’d his last wife by too tight an embrace. - - VI. - - Ye limbs of the law living on little pittances, - Fertile in quibbles, tho’ barren in fees, - Yet pregnant with bother ’bout Irish remittances, - Which you mighty well know never cross the salt seas; - Leave the law’s crooked path for the straight path of pleasure, - The road to Peru is the turnpike to wealth; - And when you walk thro’ it pursuing your treasure, - Pay as you come back, when your purse is in health. - - VII. - - You gentlemen all in St. Giles’s gay quarter, - To carry a hod, make you shoulder an ass, - My tight peep of day boys, leave stones, bricks, and mortar, - Come one after t’other, rise all in a mass. - Go taste but the water of Wicklow’s clear fountain, - And then, in a moment, you’ll miracles find; - By the stream that runs up to the top of the mountain, - Like a watch case of gold will your bodies be lin’d. - - VIII. - - And you L⸺M⸺M like penny-post walking, - All up and down London to bother the stones, - In a pair of jack boots there no longer be stalking, - But to Ireland convey yourself, body, and bones. - As an absentee go and dwell on your estate then, - “Lay the root to the axe” of your tenants distress, - A slice of Peru for old Pompey the great then, - Will make him look bigger sure never the less. - - IX. - - And you father O’Burke, first of Irish defenders, - Of war and corruption, of tyrants and slaves, - Protector of kings, not of humbug pretenders, - So you pray for their lives, and keep digging their graves. - As their old priest and sexton you’ve got a snug pension, - The gift of our king, wealthy, worthy, and wise; - ’Twas to make you see clearer, ah! lucky invention, - He threw the gold dust of Peru in your eyes. - - X. - - Jew Aaron of old, in the absence of Moses, - Set up a gold calf, a strange fancy I think; - When Moses came back, they pull’d each others noses, - Burnt the gold calf, and mixt it with water to drink. - To be sure for pure gold with some silver alloy now, - I shan’t be of worship and gratitude full; - But I make a calf when you know my dear joy now, - For half the expence I can make a nate bull. - - XI. - - While planning prosperity for brother paddies dear, - I took up the news, called the National Star; - I read it aloud, and was mightily vex’d to hear - Peru had been seiz’d for the king, not the war. - So said I to myself, talking to a bye-stander, - I hate all damn’d wars and their consequent ills; - But Peru for the king, sedition and slander, - ’Tis to pay future ministers’ blunders and bills. - - - - -THE BLUE VEIN, A TRUE WELCH STORY. - - - I. - - Ye fun-loving fellows for comical tales, - Match this if you can, truly current in Wales; - The bible so old, and the testament new, - Have none more authentic, more faithful, or true. - Four frisky maidens, young, handsome, and plump, - Who cou’d each crack a flea on their bubbies or rump, - Took it into their heads, just to bother the tail - Of Ned Natty, a groom, so they jalap’d his ale. - - II. - - Now Ned on red herrings that ev’ning did sup, - So he drank ev’ry drop of the gripe-giving cup, - Soon his guts ’gan to grumble, and shortly Ned found - His bowels give way, and his body unbound: - The buckskin’s gay leather, by gallows confin’d, - Could not be cut down ’till indecently lin’d, - This made Neddy’s P⸺o, accustom’d to sprout, - Shrink into his belly, and turn up his snout. - - III. - - The time this damn’d jalap in Ned’s belly lurk’d, - No post-horse like Neddy was ever so work’d, - Three nights and three days he lay squirting in bed, - And neither could hold up his tail nor his head: - The storm, at length, ceasing, purg’d Ned ’gan to think - On some revenge sweet for this damnable stink, - “For I’m damn’d,” exclaim’d Ned, “if these bitches shan’t find - “That I’m cabbag’d before, tho’ I’m loosen’d behind.” - - IV. - - ’Twas early one morn, exercising his steed, - Ned saw an old gipsey hag crossing the mead, - Straight he hail’d her, and said, “Woman, where do you hie?” - She replied, “to tell fortunes of females hard by”: - Now these females Ned found were his jalapping friends, - So he thought it the season to make them amends, - Then he brib’d for the cant, and the gipsey’s old cloaths; - Thus equipp’d, said Ned, trick for trick, damn me, here goes. - - V. - - First Molly, the cook-maid, he took by the hand, - From her greasy palm, told her what fortune had plann’d, - She was soon to be married, each year have a brat, - “Indeed,” cried the cooky, “how can you tell that?” - “I’ll tell you the number,” said Ned, “let me see - The blue vein that’s low plac’d ’twixt the navel and knee,” - When she pull’d up her cloaths, Ned exclaim’d, “I declare - Your blue vein I can’t see, ’tis so cover’d with hair.” - - VI. - - Next dairy-maid Dolly, of letchery full, - Swore she was then breeding, for she’d had the bull; - To the gipsey, said Doll, “can you, old woman, tell - Whether bull or cow calf make my belly so swell?” - When he view’d her blue vein, he said, “Doll, by my troth, - You must find out two fathers, for you will have both,” - For the squire and the curate, when heated with ale, - Doll Dairy had milk’d in her amorous pail. - - VII. - - Now Kitty, the house-maid, so frisky and fair, - Who smelt none the sweeter for carrotty hair, - Presenting her palm to the gipsey so shrewd, - Was candidly told that her nature was lewd: - While feeling the vein near her gold-girted nick, - Kate play’d the old gipsey a slippery trick, - So Kate, that had ne’er been consider’d a whore, - Was told she’d miscarried the morning before. - - VIII. - - Then came Peggy the prude, who no bawdy could bear, - Yet wou’d tickle the lap-dog while combing his hair; - “Is the butler, my sweetheart,” said Peggy, “sincere, - “And shall we be married, pray, gipsey, this year?” - Quoth the gipsey, “you’ll have him for better or worse, - “But you’ll find that his corkscrew is not worth a curse; - “So when you are wed, ’twill be o’er the town talk’d, - “There goes Peggy, a bottle, most damnably cork’d.” - - IX. - - Now Ned, thus reveng’d, bid the maidens good day, - But, curious, they ask’d him a moment to stay, - For said Molly, the cook-maid, “we all long to see - “If you’ve a blue vein ’twixt the navel and knee:” - Ned pull’d up his cloaths, Sir, when to their surprise, - They beheld his blue vein of a wonderful size, - The sight Kate the carrotty couldn’t withstand, - She grasp’d the blue vein ’till it burst in her hand. - - X. - - So alarm’d, the prude Peggy fell into strong fits, - Frighten’d cook and Doll dairy went out of their wits; - Then carrotty Kitty to gipsey Ned spoke, - “We’ll each give a guinea to stifle the joke:” - But Ned swore that no money should silence his tongue, - That the tale should be told in a mirth-moving song; - “As a caution,” cry’d Ned, “to all Abigails frail, - “That there’s more fun in f⸺g than jalapping ale.” - - XI. - - The story like wildfire o’er Cambria was spread, - From the borders of Chester, to fam’d Holyhead, - In a vein of good humour, the vein that is blue, - Will long be remember’d by me and by you: - Then fill a bright bumper to honour this vein, - A bumper of pleasure to badger all pain; - So hear us, celestials, gay mortals below! - Drink c—t, the blue vein, wherein floods of joy flow. - - - - -COUNTRY LIFE. - -_Written by CAPTAIN MORRIS._ - -WITH ADDITIONAL STANZAS BY MR. HEWERDINE, MARKED BY INVERTED COMMAS. - -Captain Morris’s song is here inserted, for the sake of the answer that -follows. - - - In LONDON I never know what to be at— - Enraptur’d with this, and transported with that; - I’m wild with the sweets of variety’s plan— - And life seems a blessing too happy for man! - - But the COUNTRY (Lord bless us!) sets all matters right— - So calm and composing from morning to night: - Oh, it settles the stomach, when nothing is seen - But an ass on a common—a goose on a green! - - In LONDON how easy we visit and meet!— - Gay pleasure’s the theme, and sweet smiles are our treat; - Our mornings a round of good humour delight— - And we rattle in comfort and pleasure all night! - - In the COUNTRY how pleasant our visits to make, - Thro’ ten miles of mud, for formality’s sake; - With the coachman in drink, and the moon in a fog, - And no thought in our head—but a ditch or a bog! - - In LONDON, if folks ill together are put, - A _bore_ may be roasted, a _quiz_ may be cut. - “In the COUNTRY your friends would feel angry and sore, - “Call an old maid a _quiz_, or a parson a _bore_.” - - In the COUNTRY you’re nail’d like a pale in your park, - To some stick of a neighbour cramm’d into the ark; - Or, if you are sick, or in fits tumble down, - You reach death, ere the doctor can reach you from town. - - I’ve heard that how love in a cottage is sweet, - When two hearts in one link of soft sympathy meet:— - I know nothing of that; for, alas, I’m a swain - Who requires (I own it) more links to MY chain! - - Your jays and your magpies may chatter on trees, - And whisper soft nonsense in groves if they please: - But a house is much more to my mind than a tree; - And, for groves—oh, a fine grove of chimneys for me! - - “In the ev’ning you’re screw’d to your chairs fist to fist, - “All stupidly yawning at sixpenny whist; - “And, tho’ win or lose, ’tis as true as ’tis strange, - “You’ve nothing to pay—the good folks _have no change!_ - - “But, for singing and piping, your time to engage, - “You’ve cock and hen bullfinches coop’d in a cage; - “And what music in nature can make you so feel, - “As a pig in a gate stuck, or knife-grinder’s wheel! - - “I grant, if in fishing you take much delight, - “In a punt you may shiver from morning to night; - “And, tho’ blest with the patience that JOB had of old, - “The devil a thing do you catch—but a _cold_! - - “Yet ’tis charming to hear, just from boarding-school come, - “A Tit-up tune up an old family strum: - “Play _God save the King_ in an excellent tone, - “With the sweet variation of _Old Bob and Joan_! - - “But, what tho’ your appetite’s in a weak state, - “A pound at a time they will push on your plate:— - “’Tis true, as to health, you’ve no cause to complain; - “For they’ll drink it, GOD bless ’em, _again and again_!” - - Then in TOWN let me live, and in TOWN let me die; - For, in truth, I can’t relish the COUNTRY—not I. - If I must have a villa in LONDON to dwell, - Oh, give me the sweet shady side of Pall-mall! - - - - -THE ANSWER TO CAPTAIN MORRIS’S SONG, “_The COUNTRY LIFE_.” - - - I. - - As town-bitten bards, bred in fashion and noise, - The country decry, and its health yielding joys; - Let us fairly examine the preference due - To the smoak-smother’d town, o’er the villa’s clear view. - - II. - - At ev’ry town tavern you turn in to dine, - Tho’ your dinner’s half cold, smoaking hot is your wine; - Then how pleasant and wholesome while picking your bone, - The mix’d odour of other folks food and your own. - - III. - - Then noisy and drunk, scarcely feeling their legs, - Bucks sup at the M⸺, on hash’d duck, oysters, eggs, - Eggs pregnant with chick, oysters sp—d up before, - The duck dainty fed in the streets common sewer. - - IV. - - Yet, how charming Vauxhall in a cold rainy night, - To hear dull-hacknied ditties to music so trite; - You’ve a thin slice of ham, town-made wine thick and flat: - View a tinman’s cascade, and a fidler’s cock’d hat! - - V. - - See Ranelagh! folly and fashion’s resort, - And vapid masqued balls, where Intrigue holds her court; - There girls are “loose fishes,” pull’d up in their turns; - There wives are harpoon’d, and dull husbands get horns. - - VI. - - The dance is _bon ton_—and in hot sultry weather - Sticks the sexes like two pats of butter together! - And when you get into the heart of the hop, - You’re pinion’d like fowls in a poulterer’s shop. - - VII. - - But routes for fine fellows, fine feathers to see, - Strong _liqueurs_ for ladies, who love to make free; - Old tabbies at cards, over old fashion’d fans, - Peeping, cheating, and squinting in each others hands. - - VIII. - - Then at dinners and concerts see fidlers so fine, - Bolt hot macaroni, drink rare foreign wine; - There musical dames, at each shift and each shake, - Die away, “_amoroso_,” for fiddle-stick’s sake. - - IX. - - In a vortex of dust, thro’ the sun’s scorching ray, - A rotten-row ride on a Sunday how gay; - Thro’ a long lane of lacqueys you meet your hard fate, - Screw’d in and screw’d out of a damn’d narrow gate. - - X. - - Then how cursedly civil when folks in town roam, - To leave cards with their friends, when they know they’re _from home_; - In the country, glad welcome our visits attends, - We’ve no humbugging, card-dropping, shy-fighting friends. - - XI. - - In London, while day-light, not long are you clean; - At night you’re bug bitten, scarce fit to be seen; - Thus amusement and exercise fall in your way, - For you’re scratching all night, and you’re scrubbing all day. - - XII. - - In the streets oft you meet a queer stick of a fellow, - Who pokes in your eye his sharp-pointed umbrella; - But the measure of danger is scarcely half full, - When a flow’r-pot dropt down, breaks itself and your scull. - - XIII. - - If in London the doctors should shorten life’s date, - To lie long in the grave’s, not the dead bodies fate; - For surgeon, clerk, sexton, and coachman conspire, - To mangle the corpse, and the bones join with wire. - - XIV. - - In the country we’re healthy, all vigour and spunk, - No doctor we want, but to make him dead drunk; - Nor yet patent-coffins; for, once in the ground, - Our bodies are snug, till the trumpet’s last sound. - - XV. - - Now suppose you a flat, and addicted to play, - In London a sharp will seize on you as prey; - He’ll the passion promote, make you drink, though not dry, - And filch your fair prospects by _loading the die_. - - XVI. - - Then the sports of the field, a fine view of the sea, - Friend and bottle, girl, Cutter, and cottage give me; - At smoak’d _rus in urbe_ let other bards dwell, - Keep me from Pall Mall, Piccadilly, and _Hell_![1] - -[1] A famous gambling-house so called in the vicinity of S. James’s. - - - - -ADDITIONAL STANZAS. - - - I. - - At the play among loungers and doxies you’re cramm’d, - To hear wretched stuff that has just not been damn’d; - Take cold with your back ’gainst an open door box, - Get a crick in the neck, and a c⸺ full of p—x! - - II. - - Sublime your sensations, arise, when you hear - The codless Italian, with pipe shrill and clear; - But we in the country, whom cocknies call clods, - All glory in raising our pipes with our—c⸺ds. - - III. - - At night, half seas over, returning from club, - You run foul of a nightman, and his nose-gay tub; - And a jordan perhaps, on your noddle may split, - So before you get home, you’re bepiss’d or be-s—t! - - IV. - - In the country to see us would do your hearts good, - Such pieces we push at, of pure flesh and blood; - Take a flyer in town, ’tis a hot butter’d bun, - And you’re certain to pay thro’ your nose for the fun. - - V. - - At the playhouse or opera when you approach, - How sweet to be stuck in a stinking hack-coach; - And when you alight, still your patience to try, - A strange hand’s in your pocket, a link’s in your eye. - - - - -GOODY BURTON’s ALE. - -Tune, _The Dusty Miller_. - - - Goody Burton’s ale - Gets into my noddle, - ’Tis so stout and pale, - It makes me widdle waddle; - When I came to ask, - Who the brewing taught her, - I found out each cask - Was brew’d by—Goody’s daughter. - - Now I long’d to see - Goody’s buxom brewer, - Hoping I should be - The only one to woe her; - When I spoke her soft, - I meant not to fool her, - So I went aloft, - And warm’d her in the _cooler_. - - Oh! what flesh and blood! - Malt, and hop, and water, - Are not near so good - As Goody Burton’s daughter; - I made her heart right glad, - For till I came across it, - She had never had - A _spigot_ in her _fauset_. - - Nightly at my door - Comes a gentle rapping, - ’Tis Miss Burton sure, - Who wants her barrel _tapping_; - When her barrel’s tapp’d, - She with art and cunning, - Turns the patent cock, - And sets the _liquor running_. - - Other folks I hear, - Pant for Betsy Burton, - But I’ve nought to fear, - So I let her flirt on; - If her cask runs low, - Slowly comes the liquor, - Betsy tilts it _so_, - And makes it come the _quicker_. - - Mellow up and ripe, - I and Parson Cottle, - Sit behind a pipe, - And quaff the ale in bottle; - Goody Burton bye, - Sings to please the parson, - While Miss B. and I - Carry Nature’s—_farce on_. - - By the yeast I swear, - Yielding fermentation, - To the home-brew’d beer, - The neighbour’s admiration, - This the maid will tell, - The Bard’s no bragging talker, - Like ale, to keep her well, - Well, by Jove,—I _cork her_. - - - - -THE LADIES’ WIGS. - -Tune, _Moll in the Wad_. - - - You’ll pardon me, ma’am, I’m quite a gig, - Is it your hair, or is it a wig? - Upon my life, I mean no quiz, - But is’t your own, or the barber his friz? - Because if it is, ’tis a very neat friz, - Whether it’s yours—or whether it’s his; - But if it’s a wig, it’s a little too big, - And you’ll dance it off in a reel or a jig. - - Post-chaises, coaches, chairs, and gigs, - Are let as jobs like ladies’ light wigs; - And scandal gossips (madam) say - Yours is a jasey hir’d by the day. - Be that as it may, it’s a very cheap way, - Jaseys to lett of all colours but grey; - But, what do I see, that gives me such glee, - You’re cocking your cap and your caxon at me. - - Now into a scrape, by love, I’m led, - Your wig, dear ma’am, has twisted my head; - My heart, too, I feel, goes pitty pat, - But what care you or your jasey for that; - Yet I’m no flat—I know what I’m at, - I’ll soon mount a wig of my own to match that: - I care not a fig—the woman I twig - I’ll marry, by jasey, in spite of her wig. - - The light or dark, brown, black, or flax, - No jasey pays Pitt’s hair-powder tax; - And when with men, maids romp and play, - How cool to throw the wiggy away; - By night or by day, to frisk, romp, or play, - On carpet, bed, sopha, green grass, or new hay; - Whate’er it’s upon, a little crim. con., - With a lady’s rough jasey’s _expensive bon ton_. - - Pray, ma’am, does the colour of your scratch - With the hair of your _madgery_ match? - Perhaps as it is the kick and go, - You’ve mounted, ma’am, a merkin below! - But the merkin you’ll find, from water and wind, - Strong torrents before, and stiff breezes behind, - Will not stick at all; but with glue to the cawl, - ’Twill stick like a snug _swallow’s nest_ to the wall! - - Ah, happy, happy, happy hour, - When I get your wig in my pow’r; - Then we’ll count the coming joys, - Buxom girls, and prattling boys; - Dolls, trinkets, and toys to feast their young eyes, - And lullaby ditties to quiet their noise; - While sweet lolly-pob stops the sigh and the sob, - Sing higgledy, piggledy, jiggummy bob. - - CHORUS. - - So bibere bob, - Let’s all hob and nob, - To the ladies’ brown bob, - And sing plenty of money in ev’ry fob. - - - - -A GENTLEMAN’s WIG. - -Tune, _Derry Down_. - - - I sing not of despots, or slaves who submit, - Not of farmer GEORGE, JENKY, DUNDAS, FOX, or PITT! - My ballad’s the bantling of laughter and gig, - ’Tis of an old cock in a c—tified wig. - - ’Gainst the poll-tax of Pitt this old codger did rave, - Like a felon transported, it forc’d him to shave; - “Tho’ tried for my life,” said th’ old buck, I’ll rob - The tail of some DOLLY to build a brown bob. - - Near Somerset House he fell in with a tit, - And he thought, for his purpose, the c—tling was fit; - But, when he examin’d her parts, d’ye see, - All the hair of her c—t would’nt make a toupee. - - The same night he pick’d up a merry-ars’d wench, - With hair quantum suff. for the wisdom-wig’d bench; - Whilst on her back sleeping as fast as a top, - He with keen-cutting scissars her c—t made _a crop_. - - Away went the thief, and the barber received - The booty, for which a fine cawl he had weav’d; - But strange! whilst old RAZOR the wig had in hand, - The _pole_ in his breeches did constantly stand. - - Well pleas’d with his plight, Razor laid by his work, - And lather’d the beard of his wife like a Turk; - Keep the wig, said she, Love, don’t expose it for sale, - ’Tis a _bob_ for your head, and a _bob_ for my _tail_. - - The wig frizz’d and curl’d, closely shav’d Codger’s nob; - Away went the barber to try on the bob; - But the bob waxing warm, Codger’s passions did rise, - Which brought _tears_ in his breeches, instead of his _eyes_. - - In rampant condition he flew to a fair, - And per chance met the Dolly he’d robb’d of her hair, - She whipp’d off the wig, cloath’d his parts with the cawl, - So in went his dry bob, and wet bob, and all. - - Now we know to be true what anatomists state, - That the fountain of love is supplied from the pate; - ’Twas the jasey provoking,—sirs, mark what I say,— - Made his fountain of love in love’s bason to play. - - Then take my advice, ye old cocks of the game, - Whenever you find your _wild_ passions grown _tame_; - Get a wig made of hair, from the spot ye all prize, - And in spite of your _prudence_ your p—o will _rise_. - - - - -AN IRISH DYING DITTY. - - - I am in my nature as brisk as a fly, - Resolving to live the day after I die; - And when I am dead, this live body to save, - Plant a peck of potatoes plump over my grave; - Then, hedge me well round with some big pebble stones, - Else father Mai’s pigs will soon root up my bones; - For sure foolish I’d look at the trumpet’s last sound, - When my body’s to rise, and no bones to be found. - - As I’ve nothing to leave, so I’ve made my last will, - Chalk’d up on a slate, without paper or quill; - And JUDAH my wife, the delight of my bed, - Swears she won’t open it till I am dead; - With tears in her eyes too, that did her face souse, - She vows she’ll keep single, tho’ I quit the house; - When I know that the moment my back’s to her face, - She’ll be flying to Paddy O’Blarney’s embrace. - - Good luck t’her, say I, for the comfort I’ve had, - For when I was merry, she always was sad; - Dead husbands, she tells me, are not worth a curse, - And live ones are often no better than worse. - When she sleeps all alone, she’s all night wide awake, - And dreams that the devil her conscience will take; - To drive him away from her head, my sweet bride - Must have a live spouse to lie by her backside. - - Well, let her be married again, what care I, - I’m off to my grave, other fish I’ve to fry; - I forgive her, God knows, sure without any bother, - Oh, she’ll think of Pat’s thing if she gets such another. - And now, as the breath in my body’s all gone, - A word or two more, and then Paddy has done; - But yet, when I think on’t, I’ve nothing to say, - For to-morrow we’re here, and are all gone to-day. - - - - -COFFIN CLUB. - -CONSTITUTIONAL DIRGE. - - -COSTUME.—Members to appear in black or faded crape cravats, tobacco-boxes -in the shape of patent coffins, the end of the pipes to be put in -mourning, with black sealing wax, white pocket handkerchiefs (if -convenient) to catch the tears. - -N. B. A heavy fine on persons indulging in that foolish practice, called -laughter.—“Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.”—Secretary. The president, -whoever he may be, for the evening, to be called—Mr. Undertaker; and -whoever takes the chair, _grave_ subjects will be expected from him. - -_To the Solemn Tune of_ “JACK RAN.” - - Ye giddy youth, in life’s gay spring, - Who wanton joke, laugh, drink, and sing; - Ah, look at us, and change your ways, - In sackcloth we spend all our days. - - CHORUS—WITH A GROAN. - - May fate bestow what’s good for you, - Horrors jet black, and devils dark blue. - - Did you but know how sweet is grief, - The flowing tears that yield relief; - Sweet sorrow’s sigh, heart-heaving moan, - Your life wou’d be one _grunt_ and _groan_. - - For life’s like bubbles made by rain, - No sooner come, but gone again; - So we must go, as ’tis our doom, - To make for other bubbles room. - - Then ne’er rejoice, or e’er look glad, - Keep cloudy front, and visage sad; - For life’s a flake of smoke at best, - And not as poet’s say, “_a jest_.” - - Away with idle hopes and fears, - Cut short your days, and nights, and years; - When desp’rate grown, and hating life - Go off by _water_, _rope_, or _knife_. - - _Coffins to be shewn._ - - Then comes this tight-screw’d patent case, - The undertaker’s last embrace; - - Fast lock’d in which, four feet in ground, - We’re safe until the trumpet’s sound. - But, hark! the sexton tolls the bell! - So coffin comrades fare ye well. - - - - -THE TOY. - - - At Hampton-court a mansion stands, - A tavern, called the Toy, sir, - A captain there and ensign came, - A seeming beardless boy, sir; - The waiter shew’d ’em both a room, - And as the story teaches, - He shortly saw the captain’s hand - Within the ensign’s breeches! - - The captain damn’d the waiter’s soul, - And bid him straight retire, sir, - The ensign swore, in bouncing tone, - He’d throw him on the fire, sir! - “I beg your pardon, sirs,” said he, - And thus express my sorrow, - “This is the Toy at Hampton-court, - “Not _Sodom_ and _Gomorrah_!” - - Away the waiter ran down stairs, - No waiter e’er ran faster, - Half out of breath he told the tale - To Boniface, his master; - A council at the _bar_ agreed, - That chambermaid and cook, sir, - To give proof of their dirty tricks, - Should thro’ the key-hole look, sir. - - So up went cooky first, and spied - The parties billing, cooing, - When to herself, she said, “God’s curse,” - “What nasty work’s a brewing;” - I’ll _spit_ ’em, _baste_ ’em, _roast_ ’em too, - I’ll clyster-pipe the fellows, - Then straight with water scalding hot, - She fill’d the kitchen bellows. - - Nell chambermaid next crept up stairs, - Saw th’ ensign on a table, - The captain charging ’twixt his legs, - With bayonet so able; - “I’ll tuck you up, I’ll warm your bed, - “And when warm in your places,” - Said Nell, “I’ll scorch your nasty scuts, - “Throw p—s in both your faces.” - - The laundress swore she’d mangle ’em, - The dairy-maid would skim ’em, - The bar-maid vow’d she’d squeeze ’em too, - The ostler swore he’d trim ’em; - The post-boy was for whipping them, - The boots, for brushing, beating, - The scullion was for scow’ring them, - The waiter was for cheating. - - The landlord up stairs led the way, - His servants follow’d after, - They found the captain full of play, - The ensign full of laughter; - The captain cry’d out, “Who’s afraid?” - But th’ ensign look’d disgrace, sir, - And carried, as the landlord said, - The _colours_ in his face, sir. - - Old Boniface said, “fie for shame! - “Sure, captain, you are no man, - “You lie,” said he, “and look ye here, - “My ensign is a woman;” - And when he ope’d her waistcoat wide, - The parties were struck dumb, sir, - For a pair of bubbies bolted out, - God Cupid’s kettle drums, sir. - - The cook said to the ensign gay, - “I’m quite up to the rig, sir, - “You _Sodomiters_, people say, - “Have breasts as dumplings big, sir; - “And ’till I feel I’ll not believe, - “For I knows dogs from bitches,” - And saying this, she thrust her hand - Into the ensign’s breeches! - - The captain, in a passion, flew - To his fair friend’s assistance, - He damn’d the cooky for a whore, - And bid her keep her distance; - She’d laid her hand upon the place, - That spreads the ensign’s p—s, sir, - Then looking humbly in his face, - Said, “beg your pardon MISS—SIR.” - - - - -CATASTROPHE. - - - The captain drew his sword, and stood - To bear ’gainst all the brunt, sir, - And said—I mount not guard in rear, - But always in the front, sir; - - He turn’d ’em one by one down stairs, - And shew’d the cook his ’tarse, sir, - While with his sword, as she pass’d by, - He PINK’D her in the a-se, sir. - - - - -THE CROPT COMET. - -Tune, _I have a Tenement to let_. - - -The Comet passed its perehelion on the 20th of June, 1797, and was seen -in the Southern Hemisphere, passing from Argo through Orion, up towards -_Auriga_; near the head of which, it was seen by Miss Caroline Herschell, -and to her wonder and disappointment, without a tail. - - What’s all this bustle and alarm, - This buzzing ’bout the nation, - A Comet crop’d, now heaves in sight, - A stranger constellation; - Tho’ Newton, Tycho Brahe, Des Cartes, - Concerning Comets vary, - Yet Comets, call them what you will, - Are stars both rough and hairy. - - CHORUS. - - And some are crop’d, - Nick’d, hog’d, fig’d, dock’d, - Fir’d, bearded, tail’d, and whisker’d, - Doodle, doodle, doodle doo, - Doodle, doodle, dil do. - - But truce to all the learned trash, - All vague and loose conjecture, - And take from me, ye Comet skill’d, - A plain and simple lecture; - If this foul fact I fully prove, - No odds will be between us, - This Comet got his tail close crop’d, - By stroking planet Venus. - - Now where d’ye think when last you peep’d, - This Comet was a posting, - When he had lost his fiery tail, - Left Venus orbit roasting; - Why? to the planet Mercury, - To state his woeful case, sir, - And rubbing in his recipe, - His nose dropt off his face, sir. - - It seems this Comet oft was seen, - With Venus cutting capers, - And Mars had heard his damag’d tail - Emitted noxious vapours; - So off he went to Jupiter, - About his wife’s ellipsis, - For he didn’t like to see her have - So many strange eclipses. - - How came, quoth Jupiter to Mars, - Fair Venus out of order, - For I suspect ’twas you old boy - Who gave her this disorder; - It may be so, said planet Mars, - To Jupiter, his king, sir, - For I’ve been in the milky way, - And Saturn’s filthy ring, sir. - - This Comet crop’d hangs o’er our heads, - I wish he’d travel faster, - For in his course eccentrical, - He dealeth dire disaster; - Pale Luna’s got the clap of him, - Bright Sol’s reflecting mopsey, - With water too, he’s fill’d our earth, - And given her the dropsy. - - Piss M⸺k, B⸺m, both M. D. D. - Ascend by a balloon, sir, - The first, the Comet has call’d in, - The last attends the Moon, sir; - Humbug B. cures her clap, - And Humbug M. gratis, - Undertakes the Comet’s case, - A dreadful Diabetes. - - Now if I’m wrong, sirs, set me right, - Banks, Herschell, Loft, and Walkers, - All you who of cropt Comets are, - The astronomic talkers; - Go tell the town I’m nebulous, - _Word_ “_caviare_ to the million,” - Swear radiant Phœbus Cromwell cropt, - The Comet’s perehelion. - - Enquirers into nature say, - That bucks, when rutting’s over, - Inter their old-tails in the park, - And new ones soon discover; - The Comet and the buck alike, - With new tails bound and jump, sir, - While old DUKE Q., not I or you, - Wags on with his old stump, sir. - - This Comet, timid people talk, - Forebodes a revolution, - A total change and overthrow - Of Britain’s constitution; - But still I think we’ve nought to fear, - Tho’ enemies divide us, - Our leading light of freedom is, - The steady GEORGIUM SIDUS. - - - - -THE ACTRESSES. - - - When Momus, laughter-loving boy, - THALIA fill’d with pleasure, - At one home stroke, spring tides of joy - Swept off the virgin treasure: - The stroke gave birth to nature’s child, - A child, like fortune fickle; - So Momus laugh’d, Thalia smil’d, - And out pop’d little Pickle! - - When Pickle came to London town, - Plain truth confirm’d this rumour, - A naval duke, of high renown, - Fell in with Pickle’s humour; - For _art_ had lost the pow’r to charm. - Which wakes the passions sleeping, - So He, to quiet love’s alarm, - Took—_nature_ into keeping. - - Pickle’s rise gave birth to gall, - She scarcely was respected, - The green-room seem’d a surgeon’s hall, - Her body there dissected; - Tho’, both were sore, she had two eyes, - Said _envy’s_ bitter daughter, - And while she prais’d her legs and thighs, - On c—t she threw cold water. - - Syren C⸺h, of luscious look, - Envied Pickle’s belly, - Tho’ she hugg’d a CORNISH DUKE, - And her _bravura_ K—y; - Thus do dukes and dollys meet, - Ye, Gods, how chaste this age is, - When horned husbands, in the _suite_, - Attend their wives as pages. - - Lovely, lively, young, and fair, - M—a may-day blooming, - Skin as sleek as racing mare, - Just after finish’d grooming; - See her fashion, style, and grace, - Hear Polly Peachum warble, - And if your tears don’t wash your face, - Your heart’s a block of marble. - - I hate the gothic stately pile, - The comic, tragic, ruin, - Give me the new, not the old style, - Some work of modern doing; - Miss C⸺f⸺d and Miss Ab⸺n, - Both sock and buskin bred, sir, - What would I give, I blush to own, - For both their maidenheads, sir. - - Whither is S⸺e fled? - And where’s her cock of wax gone? - Who us’d to rear his crested head - Within her curly caxon! - When Jew Braham’s cabbage came, - She quitted Drury’s station, - To enjoy (was she to blame) - _The early vegetation_! - - Becky W⸺s, who went to pot, - From burton ale and brandy, - Fonder was of Tippy Top, - Than children’s sugar candy; - No more the cut of Tippy’s frock, - No more his strut invites her, - ’Tis now the cut of Israel’s cock - That comforts and delights her. - - Still Mother M⸺r’s virtues mark; - She lives in chaste condition, - With her hautboy puffing P—k, - Who plays for his admission; - Most titled things I’ve heard her say, - Are dry b—s next-door neighbours, - Before such husky pipes can play, - Their bums are bang’d like tabors. - - Jordan laughs at gibes and jeers, - At envy, spite, and spleen, sir, - And says, to mortify their ears, - “Ecod, I may be queen, sir;” - Her keeper, too, keeps up the farce, - Whose love of Jordan such is, - He bids her foes to kiss her a—e, - For he’s made her c—t a Duchess. - - Long in love’s hammock may they swing, - Health, wealth, and peace abounding, - With all the bliss that life can bring, - To swell the scene surrounding; - So fill a bumper, ’tis the debt - That’s due from loyal freemen, - Here’s may the press between ’em get - A crew of gallant seamen. - - - - -THE CROP. - - - Dear ladies attend to the song, - Of a CROP in the prime of gay life, - Young, healthy, and wealthy, and strong, - And languishing for a fond wife. - - CHORUS. - - Crop’s determin’d to marry, - He’s tir’d of a bachelor’s round, - Crop wants a comely clean woman, - With some dirty acres of ground. - - A bachelor wild CROP has been, - But variety’s charms he’ll forsake, - And constancy, maids, will be seen, - To follow the reign of the rake. - - Your suitor for conjugal rites, - Promises, maids, to his praise, - To crown, with affection, your nights, - With mirth and good humour your days. - - Says Lydia, with love-looking eye, - Vow and promise you bachelors can, - But sure, till his virtues she try, - No maid should decide on her man. - - The language of Spintext let’s cite, - ’Tis take him for better or worse, - His heart, girls, you’ll find is as light, - Aye! light as a transparent purse. - - But _Crop’s_ an estate in the fens, - Deeply dipp’d in the water we hear, - For his steward the reck’ning sends, - And it brings him in nothing a year. - - To a widow, some say, he is sold, - Who keeps in the Borough a shop, - As she kill’d her first DEARY, behold! - A beautiful prospect for Crop. - - In an old maid’s affection’s CROP’S place; - But he ne’er will be married, we hope, - To one in whose frost-bitten face - There’s ruin in razors and soap. - - Gods! give Crop the girl kind and fair, - Of feminine manners and grace, - Whose skin is not cover’d with _hair_, - To kiss without scrubbing his face. - - Crop once lov’d a boarding-school gig, - All his letters she stitch’d in her stays, - Which made little Tittup look big - With vows, protestations, and praise. - - If, present, there be such a lass, - And tho’ but one _chemise_ to her back, - I’ll take her to Gretna’s green grass, - On swift Pegasus poet’s old hack. - - The life that is merry and short, - Crop’s reason and passions approve, - A life of all lives, ’tis the sort - To give life to the woman we love. - - So Crop’s determin’d to marry, - He’s tir’d of a dull single life, - He’ll not die an old bachelor, - If he can get a young wife. - - - - -THE WHIRLIGIG WORLD. - -This song is the joint production of Col. Kirkpatrick and Mr. Hewerdine. - - - A fig for the cares of this Whirligig World, - Shall still be my maxim wherever I’m twirl’d; - From the spring of my youth, to the autumn of life, - It has cheer’d me and whisk’d me through trouble and strife. - - CHORUS. - - So this is my maxim wherever I’m twirl’d, - A fig for the cares of this whirligig world. - - It has taught me to rise to the summit of ease, - By simply submitting to fortune’s degrees; - Thus I’m rich without pelf, for content is true wealth, - And the best _vade mecum_ in sickness and health. - - Just as full of defects as the rest of my kind, - “Give and take” is my measure, for specks in the mind; - For who in another shou’d pry for a spot, - When he knows, in his heart, he has blot upon blot. - - Mankind I contemplate as Heaven’s great work, - Whether Christian or Jew, Pagan, Gentoo or Turk; - In a nutshell the creed of my conscience will lie, - To others I do, as I wou’d be done by. - - ’Gainst chill poverty yet, I have ne’er set my face, - For I hope all my heart’s a benevolent place; - A friend in distress my tobacco shall quaff, - And while I’ve a guinea, he’s welcome to half. - - From the Court to the Change as I skim o’er each phiz, - Of the sharp, flat, and blood, natty crop, kiddy quiz; - I read as I walk, without study or plan, - The cunning, the weakness, and folly of man. - - Yet my spleen never kicks at the whims that it meets, - For in oddity’s circle each gig a gig greets; - So I laugh and grow fat at the figures I see, - And they’re welcome to fatten by laughing at me. - - Of the virtue and zeal of the ins and the outs, - After many years musing I’ve clear’d up all doubts; - The outs wou’d get in, if the ins wou’d get out, - And I think it but fair they shou’d take spell about. - - All fanatic dispute and sophistical rant - I leave to the crafty professors of cant; - Content if my course from the day-break of youth, - Has steer’d by the rudder and compass of truth. - - Fast wedlock I frankly confess not my whim; - Nay, the man, who best marries, I envy not him; - I love the soft sex, and I know, to my cost, - My love has not always been love’s labour lost. - - Light, in freight, as a cutter return’d from a cruize, - Finding little to gain, having little to lose; - My anchor is cast, and my sails are all furl’d, - So a fig for the cares of this Whirligig World. - - - - -THE ZODIAC. - - - The signs of the Zodiac, learned men say, - Are confin’d to the regions above, - And none yet imagin’d they serve to display - The tokens terrestrial of love; - But my muse, ever merry, will sing to explain, - Tho’ learning look grave and austere, - We cherish the whim of each whirligig brain, - Starch’d gravity enters not here. - - Sign Aries, then maids, is your ram or lew’d tup, - A rich pond’rous bag ’twixt his legs, - With juicy-joy pregnant, and closely tied up, - Is the essence of oysters and eggs; - In figure ’tis Cupid with arrow and bow, - Sagittarius, that archer divine, - Letting fly at the target of yielding Virgo, - To prick _rouge_ virginity’s sign. - - By twin bubbies, sign Gemini’s amply express’d, - In a maiden just leaning to man, - The ripe blooming fruit of the firm heaving breast, - The flame of love’s passion doth fan; - When exhausted in raptures, how charming to lie - ’Twixt love’s hillocks, gay mortals delight, - Feel the heave, hear the sigh, mark the languishing eye, - Which the _Signum Salutis_ invite. - - Sign Scorpio, no doubt, is an evil that fled - From Pandora’s combustible box, - A sign you may tell by the tail or the head - Of that hell-born disease call’d the pox. - Sign Cancer’s the cod-clinging crab we all know, - And wifely clings he; for you’ll find - He’s ever in danger, above or below, - Of destruction by water or wind. - - Sign Capricorn goatish old Q. doth denote, - Or them who of lust strongly smell, - Teaze, fumble and feel, drivel, dangle, and doat, - On the bawd, or the old batter’d belle; - Sign Pisces too plainly refers to the thing - Sweet and clean, kept by laudable art, - But the _bidet_ neglected, we wind the old ling, - And turn from the fishified part. - - Sign Taurus alludes to Old English beef-steaks; - For this cabbaging, love-feeding food, - Gives vigour to age, is a bracer of rakes, - And enriches the brain and the blood; - This Taurus may mean too, the lusty big Pat, - Who bellows about London streets, - whose nose is eternally smelling old hat, - And who mounts ev’ry cow that he meets. - - Sign Libra’s the balance that ought to prevail, - In an act we delight to enjoy, - For a feather we’re told will turn nature’s near scale, - When we bob for a girl or a boy; - Aquarius appears as the word doth instruct, - An object, who once was a man, - An Italian castrato’s cut-down aqueduct, - A mere spout for a watering pan. - - Brave Leo the lion’s our national sign, - Where foreigners come for good fare, - True freedom, true friendship, good humour, good wine, - We hope they will ever find here; - Our houses alone are the Garter and Star, - Jolly Bacchus the sign of the tun, - Where Venus receives us with smiles at the bar, - To fill up life’s measure of fun. - - CHORUS. - - But the sign of all signs, good and truly divine, - Is a bumper of heart-cheering generous wine. - - - - -IRISH EXTRAVAGANCE, AND SCOTCH ŒCONOMY. - - - An Irishman and Scottishman, - Both full of fun and brogue; - Sly Sawney—for a saving plan, - Big Pat—a spending rogue: - - Together, arm in arm, they hied, - From Pall-Mall to the City; - When in a shop by chance they spied - A damsel wond’rous pretty. - - “By heavens!” Pat exclaim’d in love, - “In that fair form I trace - “A charming pattern from above, - “Of Angel shape and face.” - - While thro’ the window-glass he star’d, - Struck dumb with admiration, - Sawney, too, the rapture shar’d, - Of love’s fond inclination. - - Long Paddy then did feast his eyes - On this—the first of belles, - “I’ll go into her shop,” he cries, - “And buy whate’er she sells. - - “Two yards of ribbon black, I’ll buy, - “And speak to the dear creature, - “Perhaps,” said he, to Sawney, sly, - “The maid will let me meet her. - - “_Ha’d your hand_,” said Sawney, “do, - “What need of such expence, - “Into the shop we both may go - “With this right good pretence: - - “Save your penny while you live, - “The lass looks kind and willing; - “Let’s ask her, civilly, to give - “_Twa Tizzys_[2] for a _shilling_.” - -[2] A cant term for Sixpences. - - - - -AN EXTRAORDINARY FISH. - -This animal (says the learned Zoologist, Mr. Pennant) was esteemed a -delicacy by the antients, and is eaten, at present, by the Italians; -Rondelius gives us two receipts for the dressing, which may be continued -to this day; Athenæus also leaves us the method of making an antique -cuttle-fish sausage; and we learn from Aristotle, that those animals are -in the highest perfection when pregnant. - - - Attend wives and widows, and daughters, dear creatures, - To hear of a fish caught off Anglesea Isle, - Be silent, compose all your muscles and features, - Friends and neighbours around who love time to beguile; - Saint Peter took most sorts of fish in his net, sir, - Like so many hooks were his fingers and toes, - But Peter ne’er caught, I wou’d lay any bet, sir, - A fish with one eye, bushy tail, and red nose. - - This fish lately found, from the top to the bottom, - Of inches, then measur’d a full half a score, - Girls swallow’d ’em faster than fishermen got ’em, - Yet ne’er were so cloy’d, but they still long’d for more; - ’Tis just at low water when crabs are seen crawling, - For shelter beneath heavy tang-cover’d stones, - That girls from all quarters come eagerly calling - For fish full of gristle, hard roes, and no bones. - - At the gills of this creature you’ll see them all peeping, - And if as sick damsels they’re livid and pale, - They’ll tell you these fish are no better for keeping, - Like lobsters long caught, they’ve no spring in the tail; - But when fresh and frisky, maids, trout-like, will tickle ’em, - Till in the net of Dame Nature they go, - Where shou’d wanton women e’er take ’em and pickle ’em, - The curing’s a pain and expence we all know. - - Two fam’d learned sages, both birds of a feather, - This odd fish to see, left their pigs, plants, and land, - And tho’ they both clubb’d their wise noddles together, - The devil a one did the fish understand; - Yes, M⸺by and B⸺s, who so solemn and grave is, - Knew not, till PAT told ’em, from whence the fish came, - ’Tis Ireland that boasts it, their sea-_rara avis_, - Caught wild in a net, and by stroking made tame. - - Star-gazing H⸺l, a knowing old fellow, - As e’er peep’d at bodies above or below, - This man o’-the moon, by strong stingo made mellow, - Thro’ glass microscopic can miracles show; - He call’d it a satellite of Venus centre, - That ⸺ had seen by command of the ⸺, - And that Mercury into its system would enter, - If e’er it were station’d in Saturn’s foul ring. - - The B⸺ of King’s place, call’d old wicked-eye’d W⸺, - Who lives upon gudgeons, young ling, and crimp’d cod, - When she saw these odd fish, she took hold of their fins, sir, - And stole off, unnotic’d, two dozen and odd; - For the fish-kettle Windsor had long in possession, - In spite of two leaks, as TARS say, fore and aft, - I’m sure ’twou’d have held, (pray excuse my digression) - The whole of Saint Peter’s miraculous draft. - - The news of this fish reach’d ⸺, a bishop, - His chaplain, obedient, was posted away, - And brought from the ferry this odd-looking fish up, - Bound down with a cord in a butcher’s big tray; - When the female fat cooky, of flesh and blood frail, sir, - Took hold of its gills to the ⸺ surprise, - It, Kangaroo like, took a spring from its tail, sir, - And stuck itself fast ’twixt the cooky’s round thighs. - - Away, in a fright, flew the ⸺ and ladies, - The folks in the kitchen were put to the rout, - “’Tis the devil,” said ⸺, “and as preaching your trade is, - “Do, good Mister Chaplin, exorcise the scout;” - Said the Chaplin, “Indeed ⸺, begging your pardon, - “Such doctrine is rash, and to danger may tend, - “For why would your ⸺ wish to bear hard on on - “The devil, who always has been our best friend!” - - Lord ⸺, large man, whom the women well know, sir, - Examin’d this fish from the root to the snout, - With both hands was seen to take hold of it so, sir, - To keep it from hopping and skipping about; - “Faith it is a large fish,” said the ⸺ in lewd plight, sir, - “I ne’er in my life saw its fellow before, - “Pull out,” said a friend, “all the ladies’ delight, sir,” - He did, and exhibited two inches more. - - Girls, take my advice; let this odd fish before you - Be first skinn’d alive, and then dress’d to your taste, - As a standing dish dainty, dear souls, I implore you, - Take in all you can, but let none run to waste; - Old Jonah, who lay in the whale’s blubber’d belly, - Came out weak and feeble, went in strong and stout, - So into your bellies, this fish, need I tell ye, - As stoutly goes in, as he feebly slips out. - - - - -LLANDISILIO HOTEL, SOUTH WALES. - - - Fam’d ancient South Britain gave birth - To the story my muse means to tell, - Hear it, neighbours, who live on this earth, - And in snug habitations do dwell; - A parson, his wife, son, and Jew, - Drove in by disastrous weather, - A poet pedestrian too, - Pig’d in a mud hut all together. - - To supper the quizzes sat down, - The parson eat rabbits, sans legs, - The poet mus’d over bread brown, - The Jew bolted bacon and eggs; - Hot and new from the tub came their ale, - As to spirits they’d none but their own, - Yet each man told his mirth-moving tale, - And the parson’s wife sung _Bobbing Joan_. - - A cradle constructed of wood, - Was prepar’d for the poet to rest, - When the man of mosaical blood - Petition’d to have half the nest; - But Smouch was no chum to his mind, - So the poet said “Smouch, d’ye see, - “Two cocks of a different kind - “In the same roost can never agree.” - - First the parson’s wife got into bed, - And close to the wall plac’d her side, - Then the parson, by jealousy led, - Laid his hand o’er the quim of his bride; - But fearing a cross o’ the breed, - The son kept apart th’ unbeliever, - Lest the tube which pass’d Abraham’s seed, - Shou’d enter his MOTHER’S receiver. - - Now it seems in the dead of the night, - The parson libidinous grew, - So he nudg’d his fond wife to lie right, - That he might have a family screw; - First having before meat said grace, - He fell too with an appetite craving, - Soon he wriggl’d the Jew from his place, - And bare-bum’d on the floor laid him raving. - - “By the coming Messiah,” said Smouch, - “What is all this disturbance about? - “As I was asleep in my couch, - “For what reason I was now kick’d out? - “Master Parson, pray how cou’d you rob - “A poor pedlar of rest and repose? - “You knew there won’t room for the job, - “Yet must do it plump under my nose.” - - Tag, the Poet, heard all that had pass’d, - Found the Parson was winding his clock, - There lay he like a sheep when ’tis cast, - While with laughter his cradle did rock; - “Have you broke,” said he, “Smouchy, your bones? - “Do you oft get such damnable knocks?” - “No,” said Smouch, “but the case for my stones - “Is very much _pruised_ by my _pox_.[3]” - - When for room roar’d out Moses in vain, - All the family sham’d fast asleep, - So up the starv’d Jew got again, - And took thro’ the bed-curtains a peep; - The Parson was on his gray mare, - Smouch saw his a—e nod, wag, and waddle, - “Master Parson,” said he, “have a care, - “Or, by G-d, you’ll be thrown off the “saddle.” - - While the Parson did Scripture fulfil, - For his text was increase, multiply, - The Poet lay silent and still, - Full of vigour, and ready to fly; - Then his line Alexandrin of love - He put into his hostess’s hand, - Which she willingly straight did remove - To the spot where ’twas properly scan’d. - - By swarms of black jumpers, call’d fleas, - All this party were damnably bit, - The priest’s shirt, and his wife’s clean chemise, - The filthy black jumpers b-s—t; - And pending the Parson’s embrace, - Till the critical minute had come, - The fleas were not shook from their place, - Till they’d taken blood tythe of his bum. - - Aurora, at dawning of day, - Peep’d into the mansion of mud, - Asses set up their ominous bray, - Ducks and geese quack’d and cackl’d for food; - The cock crow’d and treaded the hen, - The boar got a-back of the sow, - Lewd goats shag’d again and again, - And the bull stuck it into the cow. - - Then the Jew, with his box, did depart, - And the Poet took leave of his crib, - But the Parson, unwilling to start, - Took another sly st—ke at his rib; - If you think, then, my tale worth a toast, - As we’ve here no parsonical prig, - I’ll bumper life’s pleasure, and boast - The Parson, his wife, the goat’s fig. - -[3] The box he carried was half pushed under the bed, on the corner of -which he fell. - - - - -THE B⸺’s BUGBEAR. - - - A proud pamper’d P⸺e, to hypocrites dear, - With an income, from tythes, of twelve thousand a year, - Hath furnish’d the nation with novel alarms, - ’Bout the legs of the French, for he fears not their arms; - He tells us he’s heard, tho’ he’s not seen the truth, - That the minds of our _modest ingenuous_ youth - Are debauch’d by French dancers, who riot young blood - With the sight of that _niche_, wherein B⸺s have stood. - - But how came a B⸺p, ’bove all men, to know - That dancers teetotum themselves on the toe? - Was he seated, disguis’d, in the front of the stage, - To peep at what put his priestcraft in a rage? - No! his female observer went oft to the play, - And told him th’ effect of this am’rous display, - In language so glowing, that D⸺m, amaz’d, - Beheld from his belly the dead she had rais’d. - - At his time of life, and grim death near at hand, - ’Twas vicious enough, in his crozier to stand, - So thought the still husband, but not so the w—e, - For she yet had a taste for the _arbor_ of life; - Cock-sure of a taste when she told the lewd tale - Of Parisot’s pranks, which prov’d piety frail, - To rouse thus the tail of a head of the c⸺h, - Were better than _banging_ the bottom _with Birch_! - - Now the B⸺p, in senate, his brethren met, - To discuss this affair, youthful morals beset, - He said, “the five daring Directors of France - “Smuggl’d treason in hornpipe and country-dance;” - But he told not their Lordships, for decency sake, - That Parisot’s postures had made him a rake, - That his old _’piscopari_ up frisky and fresh, - A translation had had to the lust of the flesh. - - But Parisot sets up a scriptural plea, - For showing what B⸺s would willingly see! - She proves that King David—(libidinous spark,) - Danc’d naked to all sorts of tunes ’fore the ark; - And when Michal, Saul’s daughter, saw Majesty’s part, - From her window, (’tis said) it revolted her heart; - Tho’ she frown’d at the Monarch, she smil’d at the farce, - A King cutting capers, _sans_ robes to his a—e. - - Nay, didn’t King David, proud p⸺e, I pray, - Spy Bathsheba’s bum on a sun-shiny day? - And has Parisot, yet, to so vile a pass come, - As to shew our King, what! what! her uncover’d bum? - Has K⸺n, _crim. con. ’em_, (chaste man o’-the law,) - Heard she cocks up one leg, and exhibits her _flaw_? - Let her cock up one leg as she stands, quoth old Q., - When she’s down to please me, she must cock up her two. - - T⸺w growl’d, knit his brows, bit his lip in a rage, - When he heard of the B⸺s reforming the stage - “Old D⸺m,” he cried, “poh! poh! stick to your shop, - “And mind not how foreigners jump, skip, or hop; - “I know ye all, d—n ye! not one of your Bench - “Would privately turn from a plump naked wench, - “You go to the play slyly, see what you’ve _felt_, - “If you like it not, b—st ye! go home and be gelt!” - - - - -_Charge to the C⸺y._ - - - Then practice, ye drivelling drones, as you’ve preach’d, - Pray what’s it to you—how a dancer is breech’d? - On the fate of the Pope, pause, and awfully think, - And your mitres will totter, your lawn-sleeves will shrink; - For on beauty and symmetry fancy will feast, - To vigour of body they give mental zest, - Let Parisot’s petticoats beauties disclose, - Ne’er take up such ticklish subjects as those. - - - - -BANKING. - - - Come, I’m prompt for a song on demand, - Of the BANKERS and BANKS of our nation; - I’ll relate how they fall, how they stand, - Their origin from the creation; - This Banking’s no new-fashion’d trade, - For Eve, that libidinous madam, - The moment she ceas’d to be maid, - Kept a running account with old _Adam_. - - So the first of all Bankers and Banks, - In the garden of Eden began, - When Belzebub play’d his lewd pranks, - And effected the downfall of man; - Disguis’d as a serpent he flew, - To Eve’s Bank, a large payment consign’d, - But, answering the draft when ’twas due, - She damn’d Adam, herself, and mankind. - - _Pudenda_—receiver, cashier, - Always acts upon credit and honor, - And keeps her accounts just and clear, - Of the long and short dates drawn upon her; - Now as Bills of Exchequer must go, - To make paper currency stand, - When her customer’s credits run low, - She takes their affairs in her hand. - - PETER PEGO’s the entering clerk, - In this house performs principal duty, - He rises as soon as the lark, - And esteem’d is for vigour and beauty; - His out-door assistant is cod, - Who wakes him whenever he’s drowsy, - He wears his own hair, and, what’s odd, - Was never yet known to be lousy. - - These Banks, alike, pay and receive - In metal, not bankrupt sign paper, - And payment ne’er stop’d, (I believe,) - Tho’ oft their finances run taper; - They think flimsy paper a hum, - So Pego and Company scout it, - But their neighbour, next door, _Master Bum_, - Can’t carry on business without it. - - ’Tis a wonder this Bank isn’t crush’d, - From the numberless drafts it doth take in, - Yet oft as it hath been hard push’d, - It ne’er was in danger of breaking; - Art and nature supply such a store, - Of resources for raising the wind, - That, whenever ’tis close press’d before, - ’Tis sure of _relief_ from _behind_. - - Mother Bank has declar’d, since her fall, - That the Ministry forc’d her to stop, - Still she’s bullion enough for ’em all - If they’ll let her re-open her shop; - No, they keep fast the key, we perceive, - Of the padlock they’ve clap’d on her door, - So the lady can’t piss without leave, - Nor squat, nor get f⸺d as before. - - A bill drawn, presented, accepted, - And not paid when due, “as above,” - Is noted, protested, rejected, - A dry bob in commerce and love; - A short thing’s—no assets in hand, - A long one’s—an over-drawn note, - A discount’s—a f—g at a stand, - An indorser’s—a b—g—r a-float. - - - - -POLITICAL. - -Tune, _The Vicar of Bray_. - - - When liberty, serenely bright, - Her beams resplendent darted, - O’er this fam’d land, the sacred light, - Its genial power imparted; - Then thickest clouds, that veil’d her rays, - By liberty were driven, - And Britons saw, in William blaze, - The patriot flame from heav’n. - - CHORUS. - - Britons, revere! with hearts elate, - The glorious revolution, - That firmly fix’d in church and state, - Your heaven-born constitution. - - Fair freedom’s temple tyrant James, - With scepter’d sway invaded, - And conscience with her honest claims, - He scouted and degraded; - But freedom rous’d, her legions led, - And William monarch seated, - Then superstition hid her head, - And faction was defeated. - - CHORUS. - - On Fame’s unfading record stand, - Immortal made by story, - Illustrious worthies of our land, - Proud martyrs to its glory; - They bravely fought against all laws, - That dare fair freedom fetter, - The constitution was their cause, - The spirit and the letter. - - CHORUS. - - Could Athens, Greece, or Rome, so fam’d, - Can one surviving nation, - A compact boast, so wisely fram’d, - For freedom’s preservation? - Ah, No! but Britons, brave as free, - Wou’d all rejoice to find, sir, - Their own dear rights of liberty - Secur’d to all mankind, sir. - - CHORUS. - - The system of our club shall be, - To guard what we inherit, - The sacred dome of liberty, - With firmness, strength, and spirit; - And let the plund’ring patriots know, - Who ’gainst our rights contend, sir, - That he is freedom’s fatal foe, - Who is not George’s friend, sir. - - CHORUS. - - - - -POLITICAL, - -WRITTEN FOR A CLUB IN THE COUNTRY. - - - I’m a plain, homely, man, and now take up my pen, sir, - To counteract the tenets of Paine’s “Rights of Men,” sir, - Free and happy I enjoy the harvest of my labours, - And never interfere, but to comfort needy neighbours. - - CHORUS—Row, row, row, - I’m for peace and quietness, - Not row, row. - - I cherish and retain still each old-fashion’d notion, - Of order, freedom, property, security, devotion; - I’d rather have our king, than Tom Paine the lord protector, - And I’ll combat, with my life, ev’ry plund’ring projector. - - CHORUS. - - Then attend, daring schemers, involv’d in disputation, - Each with plans in your pockets, to renovate the nation, - I’ll oppose to brilliant wit, art, cunning, and sagacity, - Experience the store of my humble mean capacity. - - CHORUS. - - Liberty we have, tho’ some say it’s farce and fiction, - It’s by law well secur’d, and confirm’d in restriction, - Thus guarded, we are safe from disorder and delusion, - The dogmas of demagogues, and sans-culotte confusion. - - CHORUS. - - Our property’s defence is the law long enacted, - And sacred to it, our obedience is exacted, - Each social gradation, by which we stand or fall, sir, - Is wisely ordain’d for the welfare of all, sir. - - CHORUS. - - Virtue, innocence, integrity, I know are protected, - Audacity and crime are punish’d when detected, - True freedom gave the pow’r, in hatred and aversion, - To tyranny in all its forms, excesses, and coercion. - - CHORUS. - - My religion’s purely christian, the law’s establish’d church, sir, - And I never wish to see alma mater in the lurch, sir, - I’d leave to all dissenters what wisdom left before, sir, - For, give them all they ask, restless souls, they’d still ask more, - sir. - - CHORUS. - - Our compact’s a stranger to violent extremes, sir; - ’Tis wisdom and temp’rance; with mildness it teems, sir: - But as old father Time no edifice ere spared, sir, - In due season, when it wants it, let the structure be repair’d, sir. - - CHORUS. - - I worship no idol when I say that I’m devoted, - To this fabric of Britons, admir’d, esteem’d, and noted; - The blood in these young veins I’d spill in its defence, sir, - And my wish is, May it firmly stand for centuries hence, sir. - - CHORUS. - - - - -POLITICAL, - -_Written in the Reign of Robespierre_. - -Tune, _The Roast Beef of Old England_. - - - When the honor of Briton imperiously calls - For her cannons’ loud thunder and death-dealing balls, - Hear Victory shout from her fam’d wooden walls. - - CHORUS. - - The King and Old England for ever, - True liberty, order, and law. - - Shall we who for ages have freedom defended, - With jacobin ruffians and cut-throats be blended; - Kiss, embrace, and shake hands with the devil’s intended? - - CHORUS. - - See Gallia polluted with crimes past all counting, - Of mercy and justice dried up is the fountain, - There Virtue’s a mole-hill, and Vice is a mountain. - - CHORUS. - - Religion abandon’d, morality dead, - Worth, honor, and honesty, from the land fled, - And eternity term’d only going to bed. - - CHORUS. - - Shall we follow France in each social band-breaking, - Eat bread bad and black of old Belzebub’s baking, - And sleep on French litter all quiv’ring and shaking? - - CHORUS. - - No, we’ve bread white and good, and fam’d English roast-beef, - On the beds we repose, Nature finds sound relief, - Such comforts deserve not each jacobin thief. - - CHORUS. - - ’Tis French Anarchy’s plan all the world to subdue, - O’er each fair peaceful land blood and bodies to strew, - If you don’t conquer them, John, by G—d they will you. - - CHORUS. - - May the sharp sword of justice then fatally strike, - And each jacobin’s head be transferr’d to his pike, - Such Gallic equality John Bull would like. - - CHORUS. - - To our brothers in arms for fair freedom’s cause fighting, - And each hero of honour and spirit uniting, - True to their King, in their Country delighting. - - CHORUS. - The Glory and Laurels of War. - - - - -CONSTITUTIONAL SONG OF THE “VIVE LE ROI CLUB!” - - - When the radiant rob’d Goddess of liberty shed - Her influence divine o’er our isle, - From her power omnipotent—tyranny fled, - And Britannia, _long griev’d_, wore a smile. - - CHORUS. - - Vive le Roi, Huzza, Huzza, Vive le Roi! - - The _soldier_, the _sailor_, the _people_, impell’d - By freedom’s celestial flame, - King William enthron’d, in whose worth was beheld - Each virtue true freedom cou’d claim: - Vive le Roi, &c. - - The vet’ran high soaring on Victory’s wing, - Whose motto is “Conquer or Die!” - To meet the reward of his country and king, - On Hope’s full-plum’d pinion shall fly. - Vive le Roi, &c. - - Ne’er shall lawless ambition maintain its career, - Nor shall faction with freedom contend; - For the rights of the Crown we, as FREEMEN, revere, - And as BRITONS are bound to defend. - Vive le Roi, &c. - - Tho’ foes to the Crown, our mild Monarch’s fair fame - May with envy envenom’d decry; - Yet, such poisonous darts of detraction’s foul aim, - Both his courage and virtue defy. - Vive le Roi, &c. - - Each heart then, enliven’d by loyalty’s cause, - Push the soul-stirring wine swiftly round; - Exclaim in a volley of joy and applause, - For the nation re-echoes the sound. - Vive le Roi, &c. - - - - -_LADY H⸺ to Mrs. P⸺._ - - - Said old Lady H⸺, once a blooming young wench, - But whose head’s now adorn’d with gray hairs, - “I admire the great comfort and taste which the French - Combine in their fashion of chairs; - For English, our frames are both simple and neat; - Yet the French in past times were so puff’d, - That our _bottoms_ were never consider’d complete, - Until sent o’er to France _to be stuff’d_.” - - - - -LINES - -_Written at BEAUMARIS, NORTH WALES, on a JAILOR’S DAUGHTER, distinguished -for her Beauty._ - - - Cupid, thou gay and mighty God, - SUMMON all thy magic pow’r, - And in the arms of KITTY QUOD, - LOCK me for one happy hour. - FETTER’D is my VAGRANT heart, - By her CAPTIVATING face; - Haste, thou God of am’rous dart, - FIX her in my fond embrace. - Cupid’s decree was thus reported: - Kitty and you shall be TRANSPORTED. - - - - -BOBBY BIRCH’s EPIGRAM, - -_On the Westminster Boys damning “The Westminster Boy,” a Farce, by -Edward Topham, Esq. Author of “The Fool,” and several other Things, -produced for the Benefit of Mrs. Wells._ - - - Shrink from satire, O shame! what, shall Westminster school - Stand in awe of that pen which gave birth to “The Fool?” - Is’t liberal, rude boys, thus by anticipation, - Untry’d, to consign any piece to damnation? - Oh! had BUSBY been living, for damning of farces, - I’ll be damn’d if he wou’d not have tickl’d your ⸺. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HILARIA. THE FESTIVE -BOARD *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |