Mac-Dermot or the Irish Fortune-Hunter. A poem. In Six Canto's. By the Author of the Art of Dress [i.e. J. D. Breval] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
Canto V.
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| VI. |
 | Mac-Dermot |  |
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Canto V.
Alas! how strangely various in their Sway,
With human Things the Fates delight to play!
How soon their swift Vicissitudes we try,
This Hour deprest, the next are rais'd on high!
For, lo! the Youth, who Life a Burthen thought,
And lately was not worth a single Groat;
Is now inroll'd among the Gay and Bright,
And humble Bankers pay his Bills at sight.
With human Things the Fates delight to play!
How soon their swift Vicissitudes we try,
This Hour deprest, the next are rais'd on high!
For, lo! the Youth, who Life a Burthen thought,
And lately was not worth a single Groat;
Is now inroll'd among the Gay and Bright,
And humble Bankers pay his Bills at sight.
Fair Plenty's choicest Sweets Mac-Dermot knows,
He feeds with Epicures, and herds with Beaus;
Frequents the Ring, the Theatres, the Court,
And scorns to wet his Lips with vulgar-Port;
In equal Vogue with G---e himself he grows,
Nor wears Beau B---t more embroider'd Clothes.
He feeds with Epicures, and herds with Beaus;
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And scorns to wet his Lips with vulgar-Port;
In equal Vogue with G---e himself he grows,
Nor wears Beau B---t more embroider'd Clothes.
He daily Dines with Lords he never saw,
And keeps the Bullies of the Banks in Awe;
Of distant Palaces, and Castles boasts,
And brags of Favours he receives from Toasts:
Blue-Ribbons from his Box plain Spanish take,
And Dutchesses to him their Silence break.
And keeps the Bullies of the Banks in Awe;
Of distant Palaces, and Castles boasts,
And brags of Favours he receives from Toasts:
Blue-Ribbons from his Box plain Spanish take,
And Dutchesses to him their Silence break.
On Mac the giddy Rout with wonder stares,
In his gilt Chariot drawn by Flanders Mares;
Three Lacqueys loll behind the gay Machine;
On either Side his Arms and Crest are seen;
(Those Arms and Crest, which Herald-Books can show,
The Dermots gave two Thousand Years ago;)
At Will's, and White's, he saunters half the Day,
And duly sees an Act of ev'ry Play.
In his gilt Chariot drawn by Flanders Mares;
Three Lacqueys loll behind the gay Machine;
On either Side his Arms and Crest are seen;
(Those Arms and Crest, which Herald-Books can show,
The Dermots gave two Thousand Years ago;)
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And duly sees an Act of ev'ry Play.
From unexhausted Stores, the bounteous Dame
Supplies her Charmer, and applauds her Flame;
An hundred Suitors, she for Mac disdains,
And slights adoring Crowds in Furrs and Chains;
Makes frugal Knights, and Aldermen despair,
And scatters mortal Darts quite round the Chair.
Supplies her Charmer, and applauds her Flame;
An hundred Suitors, she for Mac disdains,
And slights adoring Crowds in Furrs and Chains;
Makes frugal Knights, and Aldermen despair,
And scatters mortal Darts quite round the Chair.
Mean while the spiteful Tale is blaz'd Abroad,
(For when did Rumour spare a Whore or Bawd?)
How the rich Widow, to her soft Embrace,
Had charm'd a Hero of Hibernian Race;
How oft they met, and at what Game they play'd,
How well the Youth perform'd, the Matron pay'd:
From Mouth to Mouth, the Tale is quickly blown,
And to no Corner of the Town unknown;
The Fair (an envious Crowd) both young and old,
With secret Pleasure hear the Story told;
With added Scandal they divulge her Shame,
And censure o'er their Tea th'unwary Dame;
Coquets, and Harlots laugh at her Expence,
And to the Prudes her Conduct gives Offence.
(For when did Rumour spare a Whore or Bawd?)
How the rich Widow, to her soft Embrace,
Had charm'd a Hero of Hibernian Race;
How oft they met, and at what Game they play'd,
How well the Youth perform'd, the Matron pay'd:
From Mouth to Mouth, the Tale is quickly blown,
And to no Corner of the Town unknown;
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With secret Pleasure hear the Story told;
With added Scandal they divulge her Shame,
And censure o'er their Tea th'unwary Dame;
Coquets, and Harlots laugh at her Expence,
And to the Prudes her Conduct gives Offence.
Her Suitors, now, their happy Rival know,
Rage fills their Souls; their Eyes with Anger glow;
These vow Revenge; o'er Steams of Coffee, Those
Lament their Fate at Garraway's and Joe's;
They see, unmov'd, the South-Seas rise and fall,
And reap no Profit from the Bank at all;
Rich Misers, by her Scorn, are half undone,
And Plumbs forget to meet on 'Change at One.
Rage fills their Souls; their Eyes with Anger glow;
These vow Revenge; o'er Steams of Coffee, Those
Lament their Fate at Garraway's and Joe's;
They see, unmov'd, the South-Seas rise and fall,
And reap no Profit from the Bank at all;
Rich Misers, by her Scorn, are half undone,
And Plumbs forget to meet on 'Change at One.
Mean while, the Widow, with Despair and Shame,
Hears the sad Tidings of her blasted Fame;
By all forsaken, she bemoans her Fate,
And weeps to see her unfrequented Gate;
The Belles no more the formal Visit pay,
Nor smiling, drop their Curtsie at the Play;
Consum'd in vain her waxen Tapers die,
And useless Cards upon her Tables lye:
She hears lewd Whispers wheresoe'er she goes,
The Scorn of Beauties, and the Jest of Beaus;
The Fair that meet her turn their Heads aside,
And every Nymph she visits is deny'd.
Hears the sad Tidings of her blasted Fame;
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And weeps to see her unfrequented Gate;
The Belles no more the formal Visit pay,
Nor smiling, drop their Curtsie at the Play;
Consum'd in vain her waxen Tapers die,
And useless Cards upon her Tables lye:
She hears lewd Whispers wheresoe'er she goes,
The Scorn of Beauties, and the Jest of Beaus;
The Fair that meet her turn their Heads aside,
And every Nymph she visits is deny'd.
The weight of so much Woe she could not bear,
Her Cries and Groans, incessant, rend the Air;
The Cause explor'd, of all the World's disdain,
Her Sorrow to suppress, she strives in vain;
In vain are Cordial Drams, and Spirits try'd,
And to her Nostrils Chymick Salts apply'd:
Triumphant Spleen her lovely Form invades,
Her Pulse beats slower, and her Colour fades;
With various racking Thoughts her Soul is rent,
And the big Passion labours for a vent.
Her Cries and Groans, incessant, rend the Air;
The Cause explor'd, of all the World's disdain,
Her Sorrow to suppress, she strives in vain;
In vain are Cordial Drams, and Spirits try'd,
And to her Nostrils Chymick Salts apply'd:
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Her Pulse beats slower, and her Colour fades;
With various racking Thoughts her Soul is rent,
And the big Passion labours for a vent.
Such have I seen (when Death has shook his Dart
O'er the dear Lap-Dog, Silvia's better Part)
The beauteous Nymph abandon'd to Despair,
Her Eyes all blubber'd, and all loose her Hair;
All Arts her Maids, to save her Darling, try;
Her Men for Surgeons, and for Doctors fly;
For Silvia's Thread, and Shock's are wove in one,
And if the Puppy Dies, the Nymph's Undone.
O'er the dear Lap-Dog, Silvia's better Part)
The beauteous Nymph abandon'd to Despair,
Her Eyes all blubber'd, and all loose her Hair;
All Arts her Maids, to save her Darling, try;
Her Men for Surgeons, and for Doctors fly;
For Silvia's Thread, and Shock's are wove in one,
And if the Puppy Dies, the Nymph's Undone.
| Mac-Dermot | |