 | May Fair |  |
All Peers with hosts of second sons,
All Baronets sick of rustic duns;
All M.P's. with unsettled votes,
Determined to new-line their coats;
All dames who, tired of pigeon-cooing,
Long to know what the world is doing;
All widows weary of their sable—
All mothers of the marriageable,
That, keen as bees about their honey,
Hunt every bush for man and money;
Spite of the wind's and rain's embargo,
Each coming with her native cargo.
First shown to the discerning few,
Like pictures at a private view;
All vulgar bidders being ejected
Until the ‘gems’ have been selected:
But, if no high-born pencil mark it,
The sample then must play and park it;
And have its texture and its tints,
Like Urling's lace and Howell's chintz,
Displayed by the attendant matrons,
On Hymen's counter, the Spring patterns;
The blonde, the bronze—so much per set—
Each ticketed a coronet,
A jointure, pin-money; of course
A sum in case of a divorce—
(No age this of the flitch of bacon)—
Not five pounds under can be taken.
Sweet Spring! let bards of thorn and thistle
Tell the tired world how blackbirds whistle;
How rabbits at thy summons burrow—
How cackle hens, how ploughmen furrow;
How herd on herd of hunting squires
Play all the jackass, like their sires;
How maidens, at their suit made wives,
Repent it for their natural lives;
How, like a rogue fresh 'scaped from jail,
Limps Nature, ragged, squalid, pale,
Till her full feed of sun and air
Plumps up the thin, and clothes the bare.
Such topics fit the attic-lodgers—
I know no more of fields than R*g*rs.
Now Fashion's realm is all alive—
Ah, très heureux celui qu'y vive—
No more around the naked square
You send your desolated stare:
Lifeless, but where some half-pay sinner
Walks, when all Christians go to dinner;
No more along five miles of street
Rings the lone echo of your feet;
No more your half-reluctant knock
Sends round the square the sudden shock.
The startled porter in the hall,
Doubts whether 'tis a human call;
And from the window, on his guard,
Inspects you ere he takes your card.
The beadle stops to reconnoitre—
Thinks that he knows your easy loiter;
And marks you, as you tread the gravel,
An old offender come from travel.
The footman, from his area grate,
Swears that you have an eye to plate—
Deems your high air but more suspicious,
And hurries to lock-up his dishes.
Ecstatic change! the desert, den,
Is peopled; all May Fair again.
There, by the pendule half-past three,
Rolls out the well-known vis-a-vis.
None ever bore a lovelier freight
Than thee, my folly and my fate—
Thee, from whose eyes the slightest glance
Can make the very life-blood dance;
Whose smile can all the spirit seize,
Do all but set the heart at ease!
There mutual stanhopes—stanhopes meet;
There totter belles on Chinese feet;
There beauty half her glory veils
In cabs, those gondolas on wheels;
There shakes the pavement the barouche;
There rides my lord en Scaramouche;
There through the gay confusion dashes
The Lancer, man of spurs and sashes;
There footmen lounging by the score,
Stand, decorations of the door:
Your only dressers, costly beaux,
As well his Lordship's rental knows.
All Baronets sick of rustic duns;
All M.P's. with unsettled votes,
Determined to new-line their coats;
All dames who, tired of pigeon-cooing,
Long to know what the world is doing;
26
All mothers of the marriageable,
That, keen as bees about their honey,
Hunt every bush for man and money;
Spite of the wind's and rain's embargo,
Each coming with her native cargo.
First shown to the discerning few,
Like pictures at a private view;
All vulgar bidders being ejected
Until the ‘gems’ have been selected:
But, if no high-born pencil mark it,
The sample then must play and park it;
And have its texture and its tints,
Like Urling's lace and Howell's chintz,
27
On Hymen's counter, the Spring patterns;
The blonde, the bronze—so much per set—
Each ticketed a coronet,
A jointure, pin-money; of course
A sum in case of a divorce—
(No age this of the flitch of bacon)—
Not five pounds under can be taken.
28
Tell the tired world how blackbirds whistle;
How rabbits at thy summons burrow—
How cackle hens, how ploughmen furrow;
How herd on herd of hunting squires
Play all the jackass, like their sires;
How maidens, at their suit made wives,
Repent it for their natural lives;
How, like a rogue fresh 'scaped from jail,
Limps Nature, ragged, squalid, pale,
Till her full feed of sun and air
Plumps up the thin, and clothes the bare.
Such topics fit the attic-lodgers—
I know no more of fields than R*g*rs.
29
Ah, très heureux celui qu'y vive—
No more around the naked square
You send your desolated stare:
Lifeless, but where some half-pay sinner
Walks, when all Christians go to dinner;
30
Rings the lone echo of your feet;
No more your half-reluctant knock
Sends round the square the sudden shock.
The startled porter in the hall,
Doubts whether 'tis a human call;
And from the window, on his guard,
Inspects you ere he takes your card.
The beadle stops to reconnoitre—
Thinks that he knows your easy loiter;
And marks you, as you tread the gravel,
An old offender come from travel.
The footman, from his area grate,
Swears that you have an eye to plate—
Deems your high air but more suspicious,
And hurries to lock-up his dishes.
31
Is peopled; all May Fair again.
There, by the pendule half-past three,
Rolls out the well-known vis-a-vis.
None ever bore a lovelier freight
Than thee, my folly and my fate—
Thee, from whose eyes the slightest glance
Can make the very life-blood dance;
Whose smile can all the spirit seize,
Do all but set the heart at ease!
There mutual stanhopes—stanhopes meet;
There totter belles on Chinese feet;
There beauty half her glory veils
In cabs, those gondolas on wheels;
There shakes the pavement the barouche;
There rides my lord en Scaramouche;
32
The Lancer, man of spurs and sashes;
There footmen lounging by the score,
Stand, decorations of the door:
Your only dressers, costly beaux,
As well his Lordship's rental knows.
| May Fair | |