A postscript to the new Bath guide :: :: University of Virginia Library

WE'D the Earthenware ---'s stale, dark, and hideous,
Who catch publick notice by gigglings invidious;
Tho' contempt is the subsequent fruit of their schemes,
And Averno and Apes burst the chain of their dreams;
Their twists and their jerks shew their wish to be sinning,
And to glad Folly's suite are eternally grinning:

Though they all are repulsive, and no one can love 'em,
Yet each cocks her nose at all beings—above 'em;
And they stalk near the beauteous to make Bipeds stare,
Like worthless Brown Jugs—amid Porcelain ware!
Decry all those transports for which their hearts languish,
And affect a half-smile, while they're writhing with anguish.

The scandalous Synod had scarcely got through
One rubber at Whist, or the entrè at Loo,
When Sir Luke Demiwriggle and Lady came in,
Whom some call a sly Cousin-German to Sin:
The Knight is a thing—full of twopenny airs,
Of whom every one prates, but not any one cares:
Like colloquial Pigs they can never agree,
One grunts in B alt and the other in D:

Poor Man! half his moments are marshall'd by Terror,
Lest his high-mettled Dame should be tickled by Error:
Tho' to me she seems dos'd like an over-fed Cat,
To be sure they do say—but no matter for that!

Miss Jiggitt was there too—the first of Bath Bridgets,
A fusty old Virgin, replete with odd fidgets:
Bald, meagre, and brazen, like Dowager Larkit,
She ofttimes has carried her spare-ribs to market,
But no Batchelor ever would purchase her meat,
As her purse was too scant, and her juices—not sweet!

We had Bel Perpendicular, selling her scorn,
Half-knit and half-nurs'd, tho' high-bred and high-born;
Yet this mincing Automaton foplings entices,
With her paste-boardish body, and feet crampt in vices:

She's so white and so soft—just like lying-in food,
And looks like a Rabbit o'er-truss'd and o'er-stew'd!
Her perks are so novel—all ask where she got 'em,
And her coat and sub-coat seem pinn'd close to her bottom:
While she struts like a Piedmontese Nymph 'fore the wind,
Or a Pea-hen who'd lost all her feathers—behind!

As I sipp'd some Orgeat, a slim Beast made for shew
(Which the Men call a Monkey, but Ladies—a Beau!)
Came jutting its corkscrew proportions before me,
And seem'd by its gesture it meant to implore me:
At length its mouth op'd, and the organs of speech,
Uniting their tones, gave it strength to beseech:
Like Punch in the Shew, it could grin, squeak, and chatter,
Tho' Propriety scorn'd both the mien and the matter:

Its cheeks were betinted with rouge and with white,
And some stays cas'd its body to hold it upright;
It look'd like a doll bought of Germanic venders,
Or those lumps meant for men before Fate thought of genders:
Thus it humbly conjur'd with apologies fit,
I would give it my own—Definition of Wit.
With bliss in my heart and contempt in my eye,
I made it this prompt instantaneous reply:
'Tis Society's shame,
'Tis what Taste has forgot,
'Tis the Mind's brightest flame;
And 'tis what—you have not.

CUNEGUNDA FILLIGREE COCKLES.

Queen's-Square, Bath, 1789.