Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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The Revel of Riot.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
156
The Revel of Riot.
“When hopes are gone, and life forlorn,
Perhaps thou'lt wish thyself unborn.”
Robertson of Struan.
Perhaps thou'lt wish thyself unborn.”
Robertson of Struan.
Dame Riot, held, by long renown,
The leading model of the town,
Sent round her cards of invitation
To those of noted reputation,
To dine, drink tea, and spend the night
In dancing, until morning light.
The guests quick to their toilets flew,
To deck themselves in order due;
For cost and beauty each did try
His and her neighbours to outvie;
In silks and satins, gauze and lace,
They were equipp'd with playhouse grace;
With lard and rouge bedaubed o'er,
To banish time's intrenching power;
With beads and sparkling gems they shone,
And for the fete set out anon,
In hopes that pleasure's magic power
Would banish spleen's unwelcome lour,
And from their bosoms far away
Chase the drear spectre ennui.
The leading model of the town,
Sent round her cards of invitation
To those of noted reputation,
To dine, drink tea, and spend the night
In dancing, until morning light.
The guests quick to their toilets flew,
To deck themselves in order due;
For cost and beauty each did try
His and her neighbours to outvie;
In silks and satins, gauze and lace,
They were equipp'd with playhouse grace;
With lard and rouge bedaubed o'er,
To banish time's intrenching power;
With beads and sparkling gems they shone,
And for the fete set out anon,
In hopes that pleasure's magic power
Would banish spleen's unwelcome lour,
And from their bosoms far away
Chase the drear spectre ennui.
The hour of dinner fast drew on,
And in they come, pop, one by one;
The carriages—thick reeling—jostle;
The valets run in heyday bustle;
The drivers lodge their cargoes rare;
The cooks and scullions curse and swear
Because the roast is scarcely done
And all the guests arrived but one:
Now here she comes, dark fiend of hell,
Dame Lust,—so rings the dinner bell.
And in they come, pop, one by one;
The carriages—thick reeling—jostle;
The valets run in heyday bustle;
The drivers lodge their cargoes rare;
The cooks and scullions curse and swear
Because the roast is scarcely done
And all the guests arrived but one:
Now here she comes, dark fiend of hell,
Dame Lust,—so rings the dinner bell.
In order set around the table
Their talk flows like the tongues of Babel;
The reeking roast and pastries nice
Are meetly done to foster vice
And drought to raise, which they to smoother
Soon usher drink, a jocund brother,
Who, ere they end the night's debauch,
Proves for them all an overmatch.
Their talk flows like the tongues of Babel;
157
Are meetly done to foster vice
And drought to raise, which they to smoother
Soon usher drink, a jocund brother,
Who, ere they end the night's debauch,
Proves for them all an overmatch.
Dame Riot, as by due her place,
The table head supports with grace,
While on her right her gay compeer,
Lewd Mrs. Lust, sits, eyes on leer;
Next, Dames Pride, Scandal, Envy, Guile,
Disguised by mild decorum's smile;
Then Misses Caper, Lounge, and Quiz,
Cant, Clash, Chat, Quibble, Quirk, and Friz;
And many more of these and those:
To name them all much time we'd lose.
The table head supports with grace,
While on her right her gay compeer,
Lewd Mrs. Lust, sits, eyes on leer;
Next, Dames Pride, Scandal, Envy, Guile,
Disguised by mild decorum's smile;
Then Misses Caper, Lounge, and Quiz,
Cant, Clash, Chat, Quibble, Quirk, and Friz;
And many more of these and those:
To name them all much time we'd lose.
As ably, Monsieur Riot sat
Assisted, both for deeds and chat.
Close placed beside his elbow chair,
Superb, sat Monsieur Debonair;
Then Messieurs Bagatelle and Pun,
Eclat, Hauteur, Gibe, Cully, Fun,
Outre, Savant, et cetera, et ceteræ,
In long and elegant array;
Famed amateurs of dance and song,
Double entendre and Bon ton.
Them set as potent mode directs—
We've ranged them here by age and sex.
Assisted, both for deeds and chat.
Close placed beside his elbow chair,
Superb, sat Monsieur Debonair;
Then Messieurs Bagatelle and Pun,
Eclat, Hauteur, Gibe, Cully, Fun,
Outre, Savant, et cetera, et ceteræ,
In long and elegant array;
Famed amateurs of dance and song,
Double entendre and Bon ton.
Them set as potent mode directs—
We've ranged them here by age and sex.
Oh had the famish'd sons of want
Peep'd through the door, with eyes aslant,
And view'd this gay alluring scene,
Much envy had it raised, I ween!
What pity that the joys of sense
Eclipse the fatal consequence!
Peep'd through the door, with eyes aslant,
And view'd this gay alluring scene,
Much envy had it raised, I ween!
What pity that the joys of sense
Eclipse the fatal consequence!
Scarcely by them to bounteous heaven
Is an uplifted thought e'er given,
To supplicate a blessing down
On what doth now their table crown:
But all at once, in formal mode,
With query sweet and smiling nod,
They carve and slice, with joyous air,
And lavishly the bounties share,
And praise, with complimental flow,
That all is cook'd quite comme-il-faut;
While perk Outre takes off his glass,
His ever welcome Coup de grace.
Is an uplifted thought e'er given,
To supplicate a blessing down
On what doth now their table crown:
But all at once, in formal mode,
With query sweet and smiling nod,
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And lavishly the bounties share,
And praise, with complimental flow,
That all is cook'd quite comme-il-faut;
While perk Outre takes off his glass,
His ever welcome Coup de grace.
Now comes the elegant dessert,
The pride of culinary art,
To tempt the appetite, though slain,
The combat to renew again,
Until, per force of gormandising,
They're foiled by pastry's art surprising.
The pride of culinary art,
To tempt the appetite, though slain,
The combat to renew again,
Until, per force of gormandising,
They're foiled by pastry's art surprising.
What, ho! here comes the potent bowl,
Of wit and glee the very soul,
The laugh to raise, dispelling woe,
And vending pleasure apropos;
Sed hic, the laws of chaste decorum
The ladies must observe before 'em;
For debauchees are ever haters
Of belles who are the bowl's abettors;
Therefore, at decency's desire,
Bon-gre, they all at once retire.
Of wit and glee the very soul,
The laugh to raise, dispelling woe,
And vending pleasure apropos;
Sed hic, the laws of chaste decorum
The ladies must observe before 'em;
For debauchees are ever haters
Of belles who are the bowl's abettors;
Therefore, at decency's desire,
Bon-gre, they all at once retire.
But here 'tis meet that we should show
How powers above rule men below,
That these may not bide all the blame,
When those at them their arrows aim;
And that we likewise hence may see
It is not all adversity
Which is accoutred in its guise,
For wisdom in a well oft lies.
Sly Cupid did with Bacchus join
To shed on man his love benign,
By cunning art, in firm compact,
This fete's event to counteract;
So each his twanging bow did bend,
And showers of arrows down did send,
T' accomplish the desired end.
Like lightning through the ladies' hearts
The Cyprian archer sent his darts,
And fondly from his seat above
He viewed them half entranced with love;
And in their glancing eyes were seen
Some glimpses wild of lust unclean.
How powers above rule men below,
That these may not bide all the blame,
When those at them their arrows aim;
And that we likewise hence may see
It is not all adversity
Which is accoutred in its guise,
For wisdom in a well oft lies.
Sly Cupid did with Bacchus join
To shed on man his love benign,
By cunning art, in firm compact,
This fete's event to counteract;
So each his twanging bow did bend,
And showers of arrows down did send,
T' accomplish the desired end.
Like lightning through the ladies' hearts
The Cyprian archer sent his darts,
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He viewed them half entranced with love;
And in their glancing eyes were seen
Some glimpses wild of lust unclean.
Likewise the rosy god of wine
So glued his Messieurs to the vine,
That nought could wile them from the seat
Where brimm'd the bowl with nectar sweet.
In vain the bell for tea was rung,
In vain the lyre for dance was strung,
In vain was every warm essay
To break the bands of revelry;
Jocund they toasted, pledged, and sang,
While discord through their catches rang;
Till fled the sable shades of night,
And dawn'd the saffron morning light.
So glued his Messieurs to the vine,
That nought could wile them from the seat
Where brimm'd the bowl with nectar sweet.
In vain the bell for tea was rung,
In vain the lyre for dance was strung,
In vain was every warm essay
To break the bands of revelry;
Jocund they toasted, pledged, and sang,
While discord through their catches rang;
Till fled the sable shades of night,
And dawn'd the saffron morning light.
The sex, out-teased with spite and spleen,
All disappointed, left the scene;
For cards and scandal both gave way
To ease the grief of this affray.
Yet still our toppers braved the blast,
Each Bacchus serving to the last,
Till piecemeal on the soft tapis,
They sank, while wine sang victory.
All disappointed, left the scene;
For cards and scandal both gave way
To ease the grief of this affray.
Yet still our toppers braved the blast,
Each Bacchus serving to the last,
Till piecemeal on the soft tapis,
They sank, while wine sang victory.
There had they dosed in woeful plight,
Had not their valets, stout and tight,
Them in sedans and coaches huddled
(To their disgrace so sorely fuddled)
Home—there to lie and snore unseen;
But who could the dishonour screen?
With drought and rage their bosoms burn
As they to sense's realms return;
Apologies each way they're planning,
And all the power of diction scanning;
While valets run, with blister'd feet,
With cards, their doings to secrete:
And thus did end Dame Riot's fete.
Had not their valets, stout and tight,
Them in sedans and coaches huddled
(To their disgrace so sorely fuddled)
Home—there to lie and snore unseen;
But who could the dishonour screen?
With drought and rage their bosoms burn
As they to sense's realms return;
Apologies each way they're planning,
And all the power of diction scanning;
While valets run, with blister'd feet,
With cards, their doings to secrete:
And thus did end Dame Riot's fete.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |