The Twickenham Hotch-Potch :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Twickenham Hotch-Potch

For the Use of the Rev. Dr. Swift, Alexander Pope, Esq.; and Company. Being a sequel to the Beggars Opera, &c. Containing, I. The State of Poetry, and Fate of Poets, in the Reign of King Charles IId. II. Seriousities and Comicalities, by Peter Henning, a Dutchman. III. Two Dozen of Infallible Maxims, for Court and City. IV. The Present War among Authors, viz. Swift, Pope, Theobald, Rolli, Voltaire, Parson B---dy, and Mr. Ozell. V. The Rival Actresses, viz. Mrs. O---d, Mrs. P---r, Mrs. B---h, Miss Y---ger and Miss Polly Peachum. VI. A Poetical Catalogue of Polly Peachum's Gallants. VII. An Epistle from Signora F---na to a Lady. VIII. A True Copy of Polly Peachum's Opera. Also, her Panegyrick. Written by Caleb D'Anvers [i.e. Nicholas Amhurst]

Amhurst, N. (1697-1742)

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Seriosities and Comicalities By Way of HOTCH-POTCH, BY Peter Henning, a Dutchman,

Two Dozen of Useful MAXIMS.

[Yet, dear Poll, you may]

The following Lines being sent to the Author as an Answer to the foregoing Ballad, he, to shew what he published was not done out of Malice to Polly Peachum, has hereunto annexed them, having so much Value for the Female Sex as to give Fair Play to a Fair Woman.

EPIGRAM, To Miss Beswick, alias Fenton, alias Polly Peachum.

AN EPISTLE FROM Signora F---A TO A LADY.

Polly Peachum's OPERA:

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A NEW BALLAD. BY Caleb D'Anvers.

[_]

To the Tune of, Sally in our Alley

I

Of all the Belles that tread the Stage,
There's none like pretty Polly,
And all the Musick of the Age,
Except her Voice, is Folly;
The waining Nymphs of Drury-Lane
I now can bear no longer;
And when she's present, I disdain
My quondam Favourite Y---ger.

II

Compar'd with her, how flat appears
Cuzzoni or Faustina?
And when she sings, I shut my Ears
To warbling Senesino.
What though her Father is a Rogue,
Her Mother though a Whore is?
Those Vices now are high in Vogue,
And Virtue out of Door is.

III

Great Dames there are, who break their Vows
As oft as Madam Peachum,
And greater Robbers than her Spouse,
Though Tyburn cannot reach 'em.
What though Macheath too is as bad
As Father or as Mother,
And, blest with Polly, is so mad
To ramble to another?

IV

Polly, I ween, is not the first,
Nor will she be the last, Sir,
Who in an Husband hath been curs'd,
And met the same Disaster.
How many Courtiers have we known,
Quite rotten ripe with Poxes,
Who, though they seldom wed but One,
Keep half a Dozen Doxies?

V

But Polly's not the worse a Pin,
Her Charms not less cœlestial;
But, though to Rogues and Whores a-kin,
An Angel is terrestrial.
Some Prudes indeed, with envious Spight,
Would blast her Reputation,
And tell us that to Ribands bright
She yields, upon Occasion.

VI

But these are all invented Lies,
And vile outlandish Scandal,
Which from Italian Clubs arise,
And Partizans of Handel.
Then let us toast the blooming Lass,
Whose Charms have thus ensnared me;
I'd drink it in a brimming Glass,
Though Parson H---rng heard me.

A mighty weak sucking Priest, who to show his Theological Capacity, preached a Sermon at Lincoln's-Inn-Chapel against the Deism of the Age, and the Beggars Opera.