Sophia's Letter to the B---r---n Ger---b or Whiskers in the Dumps. With Old Sighs Set to New Tunes. A Poem [by George Daniel] |
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SOPHIA's LETTER
TO THE B---N.
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 | Sophia's Letter to the B---r---n Ger---b |  |
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SOPHIA's LETTER TO THE B---N.
False B---n, whose imperial bristles
Resemble much a bunch of thistles,
Whom once I lov'd with love most fervent;
Thy person now hath lost its charms,
I'm destin'd for another's arms,
And so remain your humble servant.
Resemble much a bunch of thistles,
Whom once I lov'd with love most fervent;
Thy person now hath lost its charms,
I'm destin'd for another's arms,
And so remain your humble servant.
I've heard, no matter right or wrong,
That one rich maid, Miss T---y L---g,
To whom a D---ke once made his offers,
Not for her beauty but her coffers,
Did o'er thy heart her empire sway,
And thou did'st fix the wedding day—
But spite of all thy am'rous speeches,
Thy huge jack boots, embroider'd breeches,
Thy coat all cover'd o'er with furs,
And those enormous pair of spurs;
That one rich maid, Miss T---y L---g,
To whom a D---ke once made his offers,
Not for her beauty but her coffers,
Did o'er thy heart her empire sway,
And thou did'st fix the wedding day—
But spite of all thy am'rous speeches,
Thy huge jack boots, embroider'd breeches,
Thy coat all cover'd o'er with furs,
And those enormous pair of spurs;
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The nymph declar'd upon her soul,
(For maids in wedding matters dare crow,)
She'd rather wed, good lack! a Pole,
Than such a formidable scare-crow.
(For maids in wedding matters dare crow,)
She'd rather wed, good lack! a Pole,
Than such a formidable scare-crow.
Go, follow in thy wayward fancies,
The knights and giants of romances,
Rival Munchausen's deeds of wonder,
Turn quack—thy physic, on my word,
Will prove morefatal than thy sword,
Nay, try the law, and live by plunder.
The knights and giants of romances,
Rival Munchausen's deeds of wonder,
Turn quack—thy physic, on my word,
Will prove morefatal than thy sword,
Nay, try the law, and live by plunder.
Yet I declare, I lov'd you more
Than ever woman lov'd before,
I did, by jingo!
Better than Sh---y loves old port,
Or Th---n---n's dame the rural sport,
Or Cu---t---s stingo.
Than ever woman lov'd before,
I did, by jingo!
Better than Sh---y loves old port,
Or Th---n---n's dame the rural sport,
Or Cu---t---s stingo.
Better than aldermen love turtle,
Or botanists a sprig of myrtle,
Or Scotchmen highland reels so frisky;
Better than poet loves his muse,
Or cunning Lucifer the Jews,
Or Irishmen a glass of whiskey.
Or botanists a sprig of myrtle,
Or Scotchmen highland reels so frisky;
Better than poet loves his muse,
Or cunning Lucifer the Jews,
Or Irishmen a glass of whiskey.
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Better than W---th---n loves long speeches,
Or Hu---g---n his leather breeches,
Or hot Sir Fr---s rant and roaring;
Better than satyrists love slander,
Or fair Roxana Alexander,
Or Osn---gh's grave B---h---p wh---g.
Or Hu---g---n his leather breeches,
Or hot Sir Fr---s rant and roaring;
Better than satyrists love slander,
Or fair Roxana Alexander,
Or Osn---gh's grave B---h---p wh---g.
Yes, by the gods above, I vow,
Ne'er Billingsgate so lov'd a row,
Or lawyer fee, sir;
Nor sneaking L---l his pension,
Nor vile reforming I---s contention,
As I lov'd thee, sir!—
Ne'er Billingsgate so lov'd a row,
Or lawyer fee, sir;
Nor sneaking L---l his pension,
Nor vile reforming I---s contention,
As I lov'd thee, sir!—
Yes, I did love thee, by my soul,
More than a rabbit loves his hole,
More than a scraper loves his fiddle;
More than a miser loves his pelf,
More than an epicure himself,
Or Lady's Magazine a riddle.
More than a rabbit loves his hole,
More than a scraper loves his fiddle;
More than a miser loves his pelf,
More than an epicure himself,
Or Lady's Magazine a riddle.
More than a doctor loves his fees,
More than a Welchman toasted cheese,
More than an auctioneer his hammer;
More than poor famish'd cats a mouse,
More than a taylor loves his louse,
Or Lindlay Murray, Euglish grammar.
More than a Welchman toasted cheese,
More than an auctioneer his hammer;
More than poor famish'd cats a mouse,
More than a taylor loves his louse,
Or Lindlay Murray, Euglish grammar.
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More than the ladies love their dress,
Or hungry officers their mess,
Or prudent housewives good economy;
More than a Frenchman loves his frog,
Or brave Jack Tars a can of grog,
Or poring star-gazers astronomy.
Or hungry officers their mess,
Or prudent housewives good economy;
More than a Frenchman loves his frog,
Or brave Jack Tars a can of grog,
Or poring star-gazers astronomy.
More than a parson loves his pig,
Or some grave counsellor his wig,
More than a soldier fray or battle;
More than a glutton knife and fork,
More than a woman loves to talk,
Or simpletons to hear her prattle.
Or some grave counsellor his wig,
More than a soldier fray or battle;
More than a glutton knife and fork,
More than a woman loves to talk,
Or simpletons to hear her prattle.
More than a beau his powder'd crop,
More than a school-boy loves his top,
More than a Dutchman loves Virginia;
More than a tippler loves his glass,
More than the Great Mogul his lass,
Or sharp recruits the marching guinea.
More than a school-boy loves his top,
More than a Dutchman loves Virginia;
More than a tippler loves his glass,
More than the Great Mogul his lass,
Or sharp recruits the marching guinea.
Sooner I thought than we should part,
Stuffing would leave a bullock's heart,
And bards desert their lofty garrets;
Grave politicians burn their papers,
Old maids forget to have the vapours,
Boil'd mutton be divorc'd from capers,
And smoking round of beef from carrots.
Stuffing would leave a bullock's heart,
And bards desert their lofty garrets;
Grave politicians burn their papers,
Old maids forget to have the vapours,
Boil'd mutton be divorc'd from capers,
And smoking round of beef from carrots.
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Sooner I thought (but was mistaken)
Eggs should no more be fried with bacon,
Pudding and plumbs be torn asunder;
A jockey cease to love his horse,
Goose be depriv'd of apple sauce,
And lawyers all relinquish plunder.
Eggs should no more be fried with bacon,
Pudding and plumbs be torn asunder;
A jockey cease to love his horse,
Goose be depriv'd of apple sauce,
And lawyers all relinquish plunder.
Sooner I thought than I could hate,
Th---ll would quit his warm debate,
And C---b---tt, that rebellious sinner,
Turn honest in his own despite,
Or W---r S---tt forget to write,
Or churchwardens forego their dinner.
Th---ll would quit his warm debate,
And C---b---tt, that rebellious sinner,
Turn honest in his own despite,
Or W---r S---tt forget to write,
Or churchwardens forego their dinner.
But what are all our resolutions,
What, but mechanical confusions?—
Noise, idle noise, from empty drums;
Ah! who time's spectacles can borrow,
Ah! who shall say “To-day's to-morrow?”
When p'raps to-morrow never comes.
What, but mechanical confusions?—
Noise, idle noise, from empty drums;
Ah! who time's spectacles can borrow,
Ah! who shall say “To-day's to-morrow?”
When p'raps to-morrow never comes.
The pudding boils within the pot,
For why,—because the water's hot—
If nought we have, why nought we care for;
But man, for ever prone to evil,
Runs blindly headlong to the devil,
Alas! he knows not why or wherefore.
For why,—because the water's hot—
If nought we have, why nought we care for;
But man, for ever prone to evil,
Runs blindly headlong to the devil,
Alas! he knows not why or wherefore.
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So fare thee well, thou Bully Hector!
Sophia seeks a new protector,
Nor shall the world inconstant call her;—
Born of a braver nobler line,
And with a heart as stout as thine,
Though, faith, with whiskers something smaller.”
Sophia seeks a new protector,
Nor shall the world inconstant call her;—
Born of a braver nobler line,
And with a heart as stout as thine,
Though, faith, with whiskers something smaller.”
| Sophia's Letter to the B---r---n Ger---b | |