University of Virginia Library

CHIT-CHAT.

AN IMITATION OF THEOCRITUS.

Idyll. XV. Ενδοι Πραξινοα, &c.

MRS. BROWN.
Is Mistress Scot at home, my dear?

SERVANT.
Ma'm, is it you? I'm glad you're here.
My Missess, tho' resolv'd to wait,
Is quite unpatient—'tis so late.
She fancy'd you would not come down,
—But pray walk in, Ma'm—Mrs. Brown.

MRS. SCOT.
Your servant, Madam. Well, I swear
I'd giv'n you over—Child, a chair.
Pray, Ma'm, be seated.

MRS. BROWN.
Lard! my dear,
I vow I'm almost dead with fear.
There is such scrouging and such squeeging,
The solks are all so disobliging;
And then the waggons, carts and drays
So clog up all these narrow ways,
What with the bustle and the throng,
I wonder how I got along.
Besides the walk is so immense—
Not that I grudge a coach expence,
But then it jumbles me to death,
—And I was always short of breath.
How can you live so far, my dear?
It's quite a journey to come here.

MRS. SCOT.
Lard! Ma'm, I left it all to Him,
Husbands you know, will have their whim.
He took this house.—This house! this den.—
See but the temper of some men.
And I, forsooth, am hither hurl'd,
To live quite out of all the world.
Husband, indeed!

MRS. BROWN.
Hist! lower, pray,
The child hears every word you say.
See how he looks—

MRS. SCOT.
Jacky, come here,
There's a good boy, look up, my dear.
'Twas not papa we talk'd about.
—Surely he cannot find it out.

MRS. BROWN.
See how the urchin holds his hands.
Upon my life he understands.
—There's a sweet child, come, kiss me, come,
Will Jacky have a sugar-plumb?

MRS. SCOT.
This Person, Madam (call him so,
And then the child will never know)
From house to house would ramble out,
And every night a drunken-bout.
For at a tavern he will spend
His twenty shillings with a friend.
Your rabbits fricasseed and chicken,
With curious choice of dainty picking,
Each night got ready at the Crown,
With port and punch to wash 'em down,
Would scarcely serve this belly-glutton,
Whilst we must starve on mutton, mutton.

MRS. BROWN.
My good man, too—Lord bless us! Wives
Are born to lead unhappy lives,
Altho' his profits bring him clear
Almost two hundred pounds a year,
Keeps me of cash so short and bare,
That I have not a gown to wear;
Except my robe, and yellow sack,
And this old lutestring on my back.
—But we've no time, my dear, to waste.
Come, where's your cardinal, make haste.
The King, God bless his majesty, I say,
Goes to the house of lords to-day,
In a fine painted coach and eight,
And rides along in all his state.
And then the Queen—

MRS. SCOT.
Aye, aye, you know,
Great folks can always make a show.
But tell me, do—I've never seen
Her present majesty, the Queen.

MRS. BROWN.
Lard! we've no time for talking now,
Hark!—one—two—three—'tis twelve I vow.

MRS. SCOT.
Kitty, my things,—I'll soon have done,
It's time enough, you know, at one.
—Why, girl! see how the creature stands!
Some water here, to wash my hands.
—Be quick—why sure the gipsy sleeps!
—Look how the drawling daudle creeps.
That bason there—why don't you pour,
Go on, I say—stop, stop—no more—
Lud! I could beat the hussey down,
She's pour'd it all upon my gown.
—Bring me my ruffles—can'st not mind?
And pin my handkerchief behind.
Sure thou hast aukwardness enough,
Go—fetch my gloves, and fan, and muff.
—Well, heav'n be prais'd—this work is done,
I'm ready now, my dear—let's run.
Girl,—put that bottle on the shelf,
And bring me back the key yourself.

MRS. BROWN.
That clouded silk becomes you much,
I wonder how you meet with such,
But you've a charming taste in dress.
What might it cost you, Madam?

MRS. SCOT.
Guess.

MRS. BROWN.
Oh! that's impossible—for I
Am in the world the worst to buy.

MRS. SCOT.
I never love to bargain hard,
Five shillings, as I think, a yard.
—I was afraid it should be gone—
'Twas what I'd set my heart upon.

MRS. BROWN.
Indeed you bargain'd with success,
For its a most delightful dress.
Besides, it fits you to a hair,
And then 'tis slop'd with such an air.

MRS. SCOT.
I'm glad you think so,—Kitty, here,
Bring me my cardinal, my dear.
Jacky, my love, nay don't you cry,
Take you abroad!—indeed not I;
For all the Bugaboes to fright ye—
Besides, the naughty horse will bite ye;
With such a mob about the street,
Bless me, they'll tread you under feet.
Whine as you please, I'll have no blame,
You'd better blubber, than be lame.
The more you cry, the less you'll—
—Come, come then, give mamma a kiss,
Kitty, I say, here take the boy,
And fetch him down the last new toy,
Make him as merry as you can,
—There, go to Kitty—there's a man.
Call in the dog, and shut the door,
Now, Ma'm,

MRS. BROWN.
Oh Lard!

MRS. SCOT.
Pray go before.

MRS. BROWN.
I can't indeed, now.

MRS. SCOT.
Madam, pray.

MRS. BROWN.
Well then, for once, I'll lead the way.

MRS. SCOT.
Lard! what an uproar! what a throng!
How shall we do to get along?
What will become of us?—look here,
Here's all the king's horse-guards, my dear.
Let us cross over—haste, be quick,
—Pray sir, take care—your horse will kick.
He'll kill his rider—he's so wild.
—I'm glad I did not bring the child.

MRS. BROWN.
Don't be afraid, my dear, come on,
Why don't you see the guards are gone?

MRS. SCOT.
Well, I begin to draw my breath;
But I was almost scar'd to death.
For when a horse rears up and capers,
It always puts me in the vapours.
For as I live,—nay, don't you laugh,
I'd rather see a toad by half,
They kick and prance, and look so bold,
It makes my very blood run cold.
But let's go forward—come, be quick,
The crowd again grows vastly thick.

MRS. BROWN.
Come you from Palace-yard, old dame?

OLD WOMAN.
Troth, do I, my young ladies, why?

MRS. BROWN.
Was it much crouded when you came?

MRS. SCOT.
And is his majesty gone by?

MRS. BROWN.
Can we get in, old lady, pray
To see him robe himself to-day?

MRS. SCOT.
Can you direct us, dame?

OLD WOMAN.
Endeavour,
Troy could not stand a siege for ever.
By srequent trying, Troy was won,
All things, by trying, may be done.

MRS. BROWN.
Go thy ways, Proverbs—well—she's gone—
Shall we turn back, or venture on?
Look how the folks press on before,
And throng impatient at the door.

MRS. SCOT.
Perdigious! I can hardly stand,
Lord bless me, Mrs.Brown, your hand;
And you, my dear, take hold of hers,
For we must stick as close as burrs,
Or in this racket, noise and pother,
We certainly shall lose each other.
—Good God! my cardinal and sack
Are almost torn from off my back.
Lard, I shall faint—Oh Lud—my breast—
I'm crush'd to atoms, I protest.
God bless me—I have dropt my fan,
—Pray did you see it, honest man?

MAN.
I, madam! no,—indeed, I fear
You'll meet with some misfortune here.
—Stand back, I say—pray, sir, forbear—
Why, don't you see the ladies there?
Put yourselves under my direction,
Ladies, I'll be your safe protection.

MRS. SCOT.
You're very kind, sir; truly few
Are half so complaisant as you.
We shall be glad at any day
This obligation to repay,
And you'll be always sure to meet
A welcome, sir, in—Lard! the street
Bears such a name, I can't tell how
To tell him where I live, I vow.
—Mercy! what's all this noise and stir?
Pray is the King a coming, sir?

MAN.
No—don't you hear the people shout?
'Tis Mr.Pitt, just going out.

MRS. BROWN.
Aye, there he goes, pray heav'n bless him!
Well may the people all caress him.
—Lord, how my husband us'd to sit,
And drink success to honest Pitt,
And happy o'er his evening cheer,
Cry, you shall pledge this toast, my dear.

MAN.
Hist—silence—don't you hear the drumming?
Now, ladies, now, the King's a coming.
There, don't you see the guards approach?

MRS. BROWN.
Which is the King?

MRS. SCOT.
Which is the coach?

SCOTCHMAN.
Which is the noble Earl of Bute,
Geud-faith, I'll gi him a salute.
For he's the Laird of aw our clan,
Troth, he's a bonny muckle man.

MAN.
Here comes the Coach, so very slow
As if it ne'er was made to go,
In all the gingerbread of state,
And staggering under its own weight.

MRS. SCOT.
Upon my word, its monstrous fine!
Would half the gold upon't were mine!
How gaudy all the gilding shews!
It puts one's eyes out as it goes.
What a rich glare of various hues,
What shining yellows, scarlets, blues!
It must have cost a heavy price;
'Tis like a mountain drawn by mice.

MRS. BROWN.
So painted, gilded, and so large,
Bless me! 'tis like my lord mayor's barge.
And so it is—look how it reels!
'Tis nothing else—a barge on wheels.

MAN.
Large! it can't pass St. James's gate,
So big the coach, the arch so strait.
It might be made to rumble thro'
And pass as other coaches do.
Could they a body-coachman get
So most preposterously fit,
Who'd undertake (and no rare thing)
Without a head, to drive the king.

MRS. SCOT.
Lard! what are those two ugly things
There—with their hands upon the springs,
Filthy, as ever eyes beheld,
With naked breasts, and faces swell'd?
What could the saucy maker mean,
To put such things to fright the Queen?

MAN.
Oh! they are Gods, Ma'm, which you see,
Of the Marine Society.
Tritons, which in the ocean dwell,
And only rise to blow their shell.

MRS. SCOT.
Gods, d'ye call those filthy men?
Why don't they go to sea again?
Pray, tell me, sir, you understand,
What do these Tritons do on land?

MRS. BROWN.
And what are they? those hindmost things,
Men, fish and birds, with flesh, scales, wings?

MAN.
Oh, they are Gods too, like the others,
All of one family and brothers,
Creatures, which seldom come a-shore,
Nor seen about the King before.
For Show, they wear the yellow Hue,
Their proper colour is True-blue.

MRS. SCOT.
Lord bless us! what's this noise about?
Lord, what a tumult and a rout!
How the folks holla, hiss, and hoot!
Well—Heav'n preserve the Earl of Bute!
I cannot stay, indeed, not I,
If there's a riot I shall die.
Let's make for any house we can,
Do—give us shelter, honest man.

MRS. BROWN.
I wonder'd where you was, my dear,
I thought I should have died with fear.
This noise and racketing and hurry
Has put my nerves in such a flurry!
I could not think where you was got,
I thought I'd lost you, Mrs.Scot;
Where's Mrs. Tape, and Mr.Grin?
Lard, I'm so glad we're all got in.