 | Poetical sketches |  |
169
THE BALL ROOM.
EPISTLE FROM ------, ESQ. TO ------.
TO some 'tis the beauty of watering-places,
That you meet at each turn with such swarms of new faces;
The oval, the circular, oblong, and square,
Delighted alike to be stared at and stare:
From Dora, be-gemm'd and be-equipaged o'er,
Three riders behind, three postillions before,
To Laura, whose brightness beams warm on the poor.
That you meet at each turn with such swarms of new faces;
The oval, the circular, oblong, and square,
Delighted alike to be stared at and stare:
From Dora, be-gemm'd and be-equipaged o'er,
Three riders behind, three postillions before,
To Laura, whose brightness beams warm on the poor.
Nor less in variety characters crowd—
The selfish, the generous, the pert, and the proud:
From Dora, who if e'er she dole out her bounty,
Records the rare deed for the theme of the county,
To Laura on wretchedness showering delight,
Whose left hand ne'er knows what is done by her right.
The selfish, the generous, the pert, and the proud:
From Dora, who if e'er she dole out her bounty,
Records the rare deed for the theme of the county,
To Laura on wretchedness showering delight,
Whose left hand ne'er knows what is done by her right.
170
But most at elections such medleys are found,
Collected to gaze from the district around.
When our friend Sheriff Courtly discoursed of elections,
And sneeringly triumphed in patriot rejections,
(For Courtly already holds offices twain,
And another he modestly hopes to obtain)
Told what speeches were made when no rival opposed,
And how chairing and dining with dancing were closed;
I heard his long story with envy and tears—
For a poet, whom seldom such revelry cheers,
May venially stuff himself once in seven years.
But united—procession, and dinner, and ball—
Only think—'twas my luck to come in for them all.
Collected to gaze from the district around.
When our friend Sheriff Courtly discoursed of elections,
And sneeringly triumphed in patriot rejections,
(For Courtly already holds offices twain,
And another he modestly hopes to obtain)
Told what speeches were made when no rival opposed,
And how chairing and dining with dancing were closed;
I heard his long story with envy and tears—
For a poet, whom seldom such revelry cheers,
May venially stuff himself once in seven years.
But united—procession, and dinner, and ball—
Only think—'twas my luck to come in for them all.
And first in due order, and stately progression,
From the town-hall advanceth the tardy procession;
The banners in front streaming wide to the wind,
And the members unhatted and smirking behind:
Snuffy handkerchiefs shaken in token of love,
And such sneezing below! and such squeezing above!
While in mockery of freedom and popular choice,
Their throats bawl the loudest, whose tongues have no voice.
From the town-hall advanceth the tardy procession;
The banners in front streaming wide to the wind,
And the members unhatted and smirking behind:
Snuffy handkerchiefs shaken in token of love,
And such sneezing below! and such squeezing above!
171
Their throats bawl the loudest, whose tongues have no voice.
All this you're expecting, of course, I should write;
But, alas! a sharp shower drench'd the pageant in spite.
And lo! reeling on with occasional cheer,
The flag-bearers in the far distance appear:
Who have shrewdly resolved, with potations of gin,
To ward a wet outside—by wetting the in.
The banners all stream too—but 'tis with the rain;
And the members low crouch—'tis for shelter—in vain.
In vain the blue heaven they essay to descry:
Not Sir Francis himself could frown worse than the sky.
But non omnia possumus omnes, say all;
They'd their sun-shine, before they came out of the hall;
And not even places and pensions can keep 'em
From the nubila (dismal inversion!) post Phœbum.
But, alas! a sharp shower drench'd the pageant in spite.
And lo! reeling on with occasional cheer,
The flag-bearers in the far distance appear:
Who have shrewdly resolved, with potations of gin,
To ward a wet outside—by wetting the in.
The banners all stream too—but 'tis with the rain;
And the members low crouch—'tis for shelter—in vain.
In vain the blue heaven they essay to descry:
Not Sir Francis himself could frown worse than the sky.
But non omnia possumus omnes, say all;
They'd their sun-shine, before they came out of the hall;
And not even places and pensions can keep 'em
From the nubila (dismal inversion!) post Phœbum.
172
And now for the dinner—but vain were the toil
(Even Anstey himself the vast effort would foil)
To record how each voter, by innocent wiles,
Near the top seeks a station for salmon—and smiles!
Oh! the becks and the nods to behold o'er the sherry,
Bandied shuttlecock-like, would a cynic make merry;
While scramblingly thrown from the great to the small,
Some courtesy lights, in it's turn, upon all.
(Even Anstey himself the vast effort would foil)
To record how each voter, by innocent wiles,
Near the top seeks a station for salmon—and smiles!
Oh! the becks and the nods to behold o'er the sherry,
Bandied shuttlecock-like, would a cynic make merry;
While scramblingly thrown from the great to the small,
Some courtesy lights, in it's turn, upon all.
'Twould disgust you, perhaps, the mere gorging to hear;
And therefore the lengthen'd detail I forbear:
One title defines it; for who not remembers
Old Menenius' tale of ‘The belly and Members?’
And therefore the lengthen'd detail I forbear:
One title defines it; for who not remembers
Old Menenius' tale of ‘The belly and Members?’
But ere to the Ball-room in clusters they throng,
The worshipful Bailiff shall give you a song.
Perhaps you will wonder, in running it o'er,
When I tell you the table it set in a roar:
But each line from his lips approbation still draws—
Even these, when he sung them, were heard with applause.
The worshipful Bailiff shall give you a song.
Perhaps you will wonder, in running it o'er,
When I tell you the table it set in a roar:
But each line from his lips approbation still draws—
Even these, when he sung them, were heard with applause.
173
SONG.
HARK! Freedom, Britannia, and George give the word!
From millions the shout of rejoicing is heard:
With revelry grandeur's proud palaces reel,
And poverty's huts the glad sympathy feel.
O give then, with me, to enjoyment the hour,
And while to our King deep libations we pour,
From millions the shout of rejoicing is heard:
With revelry grandeur's proud palaces reel,
And poverty's huts the glad sympathy feel.
O give then, with me, to enjoyment the hour,
And while to our King deep libations we pour,
Let each loyal bosom with transport rebound,
And God save the King!
Long live the King!
And God bless the King!
Be re-echoed around.
And God save the King!
Long live the King!
And God bless the King!
Be re-echoed around.
In yellow meanders through regions of slaves
His tribute the Tiber conveys to the waves;
O'er Holland is fasten'd stern Tyranny's chain,
And the hoof of Invasion has trampled on Spain:
In dust the fierce eagle of Germany lies—
But England's red banner still streams to the skies.
His tribute the Tiber conveys to the waves;
O'er Holland is fasten'd stern Tyranny's chain,
And the hoof of Invasion has trampled on Spain:
In dust the fierce eagle of Germany lies—
But England's red banner still streams to the skies.
Let each loyal bosom, &c.
174
Then push round the bowl, fill each glass to the brim,
To love's bumpers a truce—now we're thinking of him,
Who while France's broad flag is o'er Europe unfurl'd,
Stands firm, stands alone, in the gap of the world:
Who long in that gap Britain's champion has stood,
The boast of the brave and the pride of the good.
Let each loyal bosom, &c.
To love's bumpers a truce—now we're thinking of him,
Who while France's broad flag is o'er Europe unfurl'd,
Stands firm, stands alone, in the gap of the world:
Who long in that gap Britain's champion has stood,
The boast of the brave and the pride of the good.
Let each loyal bosom, &c.
And now, with light chaussée, dear capering goddess,
Terpsichore, come without corset or boddice,
Neck-handkerchief, petticoat, tucker, or shawl,
Like a modern fine lady equipp'd for a ball.
Then note me that gentleman carelessly bowing
In those “vile pantaloons, which he fancies look knowing;”
And doom him in penance unpartner'd to prance,
Or with one of those naked old figures to dance.
Poor straight-forward I, who to hop ne'er presume,
Still the shortest way choose from the top of the room:
But for others, let beaux still appear in their best,
And belles be at least more than verbally drest;
Not thus in profusion their persons display,
Apparell'd like Eve in her birth-night array.
How little, sweet innocent creatures! they know
What to Fancy's illusions the handsomest owe;
Or themselves they would instantly hasten to screen,
Till the face and the foot were the whole that was seen.
And let none but the young in these gambols engage,
They suit not the limbs or the languor of age.
'Tis a ghastly deception when skeletons frisk,
Clap the hands, nod the head, and affect to be brisk;
And reminds one of scenes by Dan Holbein erst shown,
In a dance where the jiggers by Death are led down.
Terpsichore, come without corset or boddice,
Neck-handkerchief, petticoat, tucker, or shawl,
Like a modern fine lady equipp'd for a ball.
Then note me that gentleman carelessly bowing
In those “vile pantaloons, which he fancies look knowing;”
And doom him in penance unpartner'd to prance,
Or with one of those naked old figures to dance.
Poor straight-forward I, who to hop ne'er presume,
Still the shortest way choose from the top of the room:
175
And belles be at least more than verbally drest;
Not thus in profusion their persons display,
Apparell'd like Eve in her birth-night array.
How little, sweet innocent creatures! they know
What to Fancy's illusions the handsomest owe;
Or themselves they would instantly hasten to screen,
Till the face and the foot were the whole that was seen.
And let none but the young in these gambols engage,
They suit not the limbs or the languor of age.
'Tis a ghastly deception when skeletons frisk,
Clap the hands, nod the head, and affect to be brisk;
And reminds one of scenes by Dan Holbein erst shown,
In a dance where the jiggers by Death are led down.
So old Tottergait thought not. Of life such his care is,
He resolves to enjoy helitus puellaris;
Convinc'd by Hermippus's arguments long,
That ‘the life of the old is the breath of the young.’
So he joins the gay throng of the Graces and Loves,
Where his Ella scarce touches the floor as she moves,
By her Edmund attended, whose joy-lighted eye
Courts the envy of all who stand up or stand by.
Her sire, less elastic, with toil hobbles down,
His heel out of skill, and his ear out of tune:
Yet still his heart dances; so naturalists tell ye,
When the tortoise is lodged in an alderman's belly,
(There torpid till roused by some medical potion)
It's heart, unembowell'd, still flutters with motion—
But the fiddles have stopp'd, and the wax-lights expire,
With the music the Muse thinks it fit to retire,
Her knees drop the curtsey, her fingers the lyre.
He resolves to enjoy helitus puellaris;
Convinc'd by Hermippus's arguments long,
That ‘the life of the old is the breath of the young.’
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Where his Ella scarce touches the floor as she moves,
By her Edmund attended, whose joy-lighted eye
Courts the envy of all who stand up or stand by.
Her sire, less elastic, with toil hobbles down,
His heel out of skill, and his ear out of tune:
Yet still his heart dances; so naturalists tell ye,
When the tortoise is lodged in an alderman's belly,
(There torpid till roused by some medical potion)
It's heart, unembowell'd, still flutters with motion—
But the fiddles have stopp'd, and the wax-lights expire,
With the music the Muse thinks it fit to retire,
Her knees drop the curtsey, her fingers the lyre.
W.
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