| |
| DEAR COSMOPOLITAN,—I know | |
| I should address you a Rondeau, | |
| Or else announce what I ’ve to say | |
| At least en Ballade fratriseé | |
| But No: for once I leave Gymnasticks, | 5 |
| And take to simple Hudibrasticks, | |
| Why should I choose another Way, | |
| When this was good enough for GAY? | |
| |
| You love, my FRIEND, with me I think, | |
| That Age of Lustre and of Link; | 10 |
| Of Chelsea China and long “s”es, | |
| Of Bag-wigs and of flowered Dresses; | |
| That Age of Folly and of Cards, | |
| Of Hackney Chairs and Hackney Bards; | |
| —No H-LTS, no K-G-N P-LS were then | 15 |
| Dispensing Competence to Men; | |
| The gentle Trade was left to Churls, | |
| Your frowsy TONSONS and your CURLLS; | |
| Mere Wolves in Ambush to attack | |
| The AUTHOR in a Sheep-skin Back; | 20 |
| Then SAVAGE and his Brother-Sinners | |
| In Porridge Island div’d for Dinners; | |
| Or doz’d on Covent Garden Bulks, | |
| And liken’d Letters to the Hulks;— | |
| You know that by-gone Time, I say, | 25 |
| That aimless easy-moral’d Day, | |
| When rosy Morn found MADAM still | |
| Wrangling at Ombre or Quadrille, | |
| When good SIR JOHN reel’d Home to Bed, | |
| From Pontack’s or the Shakespear’s Head; | 30 |
| When TRIP convey’d his Master’s Cloaths, | |
| And took his Titles and his Oaths; | |
| While BETTY, in a cast Brocade, | |
| Ogled MY LORD at Masquerade; | |
| When GARRICK play’d the guilty Richard, | 35 |
| Or mouth’d Macbeth with Mrs. PRITCHARD; | |
| When FOOTE grimaced his snarling Wit; | |
| When CHURCHILL bullied in the Pit; | |
| When the CUZZONI sang— | |
| But there! | 40 |
| The further Catalogue I spare, | |
| Having no Purpose to eclipse | |
| That tedious Tale of HOMER’S Ships;— | |
| This is the MAN that drew it all | |
| From Pannier Alley to the Mall, | 45 |
| Then turn’d and drew it once again | |
| From Bird-Cage-Walk to Lewknor’s Lane;— | |
| Its Rakes and Fools, its Rogues and Sots; | |
| Its brawling Quacks, its starveling Scots; | |
| Its Ups and Downs, its Rags and Garters, | 50 |
| Its HENLEYS, LOVATS, MALCOLMS, CHARTRES, | |
| Its Splendor, Squalor, Shame, Disease; | |
| Its quicquid agunt Homines;— | |
| Nor yet omitted to pourtray | |
| Furens quid possit Foemina;— | 55 |
| In short, held up to ev’ry Class | |
| NATURE’S unflatt’ring looking-Glass; | |
| And, from his Canvas, spoke to All | |
| The Message of a JUVENAL. | |
| |
| Take Him. His Merits most aver: | 60 |
| His weak Point is—his Chronicler! | |
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