Mirth and Metre consisting of Poems, Serious, Humorous, and Satirical; Songs, Sonnets, Ballads & Bagatelles. Written by C. Dibdin, Jun |
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THE YEAR 1801. |
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 | Mirth and Metre |  |
THE YEAR 1801.
The comical jokes of these comical times,
Shall furnish the theme for my comical rhymes;
For comical folks will have comical fun,
In this comical year 1801.
Shall furnish the theme for my comical rhymes;
For comical folks will have comical fun,
In this comical year 1801.
88
Our beauxs stuck in boots to their hips, I declare,
Look just like Cock and Breeches at Bartlemy Fair;
While our belles, in new bonnets, to set off their hair,
First spend all their cole, then the skuttle they wear.
Look just like Cock and Breeches at Bartlemy Fair;
While our belles, in new bonnets, to set off their hair,
First spend all their cole, then the skuttle they wear.
Once fashion decreed that our beaux should be found
In blue and buff uniform all the year round;
Now they think to wear blue when they please is enough,
While, to keep up the charter, our belles dress in buff.
In blue and buff uniform all the year round;
Now they think to wear blue when they please is enough,
While, to keep up the charter, our belles dress in buff.
Once our nobles examples of breeding supply'd,
And, as lords of rich manors, kept up Britain's pride;
But now a man may, things so strangely will fall,
Make a very good lord with no manors [manners] at all!
And, as lords of rich manors, kept up Britain's pride;
But now a man may, things so strangely will fall,
Make a very good lord with no manors [manners] at all!
But, speaking of manners, our foes have oft thought
We Britons are much better fed than we're taught;
But fashion so long has monopoly led,
We've for some time been much better taught than we're fed.
We Britons are much better fed than we're taught;
But fashion so long has monopoly led,
We've for some time been much better taught than we're fed.
Your cits laugh at courtiers, and courtiers at cits,
And the bone of contention is, “wealth versus wits;”
But a large piece of beef, suppose London, you'll own,
The cits are the marrow, the courtiers the bone.
And the bone of contention is, “wealth versus wits;”
But a large piece of beef, suppose London, you'll own,
The cits are the marrow, the courtiers the bone.
May concord all bones of contention soon break,
And on plenty's marrow a feast Britons make;
May Jack Ketch bone all who would not let us eat,
For “the nearer the bone, why the sweeter the meat.”
And on plenty's marrow a feast Britons make;
May Jack Ketch bone all who would not let us eat,
For “the nearer the bone, why the sweeter the meat.”
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