 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
303
O Raree Show! O Pretty Show! Or, The City-Feast.
On a Day of great Triumph, when Lord of the City
Does swear to be honest and just, as he's witty;
And rides thro the Town, that the Rabble may shout him,
For the wonderful Merits he carries about him;
Being an honester Man, I'll be bold for to say,
Than has sat in the Chair this many a day:
Like the rest of the Fools from the Skirts of the Town,
I trotted to gaze at his Chain and his Gown,
With Legs in a Kennel quite up to the middle
In Dirt; with a Stomach as sharp as a Needle,
I stood in the Cold clinging fast to a Stump,
To see the Wiseacres march by in their Pomp:
At last heard a Consort of Trumpets and Drums,
And the Mob crying out, Here he comes, here he comes.
Does swear to be honest and just, as he's witty;
And rides thro the Town, that the Rabble may shout him,
For the wonderful Merits he carries about him;
Being an honester Man, I'll be bold for to say,
Than has sat in the Chair this many a day:
Like the rest of the Fools from the Skirts of the Town,
I trotted to gaze at his Chain and his Gown,
With Legs in a Kennel quite up to the middle
In Dirt; with a Stomach as sharp as a Needle,
I stood in the Cold clinging fast to a Stump,
To see the Wiseacres march by in their Pomp:
At last heard a Consort of Trumpets and Drums,
And the Mob crying out, Here he comes, here he comes.
I was carry'd by the Croud from the Place that I stood in,
And the Devil to do there was all of a sudden:
The first that appear'd was a great Tom-a-Doodle,
With a Cap like a Bushel to cover his Noddle,
And a Gown that hung draggling thro every Puddle;
With a Sword and a Mace, and such Pageantry Pride,
And abundance of formal old Foppery beside.
A Troop of grave Elders, O then there came by,
In their Blood-colour'd Robes, of a very deep Dye,
On Jennets the best that the Town could afford,
As tame all as Lambs, and as fine as my Lord:
With very rich Saddles, gay Bridles and Cruppers,
Would ne'er have been made but for such City-Troopers:
Like Snails o'er a Cabbage they all crept along,
Admir'd by their Wives, and huzza'd by the Throng.
And the Devil to do there was all of a sudden:
The first that appear'd was a great Tom-a-Doodle,
With a Cap like a Bushel to cover his Noddle,
And a Gown that hung draggling thro every Puddle;
With a Sword and a Mace, and such Pageantry Pride,
And abundance of formal old Foppery beside.
A Troop of grave Elders, O then there came by,
In their Blood-colour'd Robes, of a very deep Dye,
On Jennets the best that the Town could afford,
As tame all as Lambs, and as fine as my Lord:
304
Would ne'er have been made but for such City-Troopers:
Like Snails o'er a Cabbage they all crept along,
Admir'd by their Wives, and huzza'd by the Throng.
The Companies follow'd, each Man in his Station,
Which ev'ry Fool knows is worth Observation,
All cloth'd in Furs in an antient Decorum,
Like Bears they advanc'd, with their Bagpipes before 'em;
With Streamers and Drums, and abundance of fooling,
Not worth the repeating, or yet ridiculing;
So I'll bid adieu to the Tun-belly'd Sinners,
And leave 'em to trudg thro the Dirt to their Dinners.
Which ev'ry Fool knows is worth Observation,
All cloth'd in Furs in an antient Decorum,
Like Bears they advanc'd, with their Bagpipes before 'em;
With Streamers and Drums, and abundance of fooling,
Not worth the repeating, or yet ridiculing;
So I'll bid adieu to the Tun-belly'd Sinners,
And leave 'em to trudg thro the Dirt to their Dinners.
At last I consider'd 'twas very foul Play,
That a Poet should fast on a Festival-Day:
I therefore resolv'd it should cost me a Fall,
But that I would drink my Lord's Health at a Hall.
For why may'nt a Poet, thought I, be a Guest,
As welcome as Parson, or Fool at a Feast,
For the sport of a Tale, or the sake of a Jest?
I mix'd with the Musick, and no one withstood me,
And so justled forward as clever as could be:
I pass'd to a very fine Room thro a Porch;
'Twas as wide as a Barn, and as high as a Church,
Where Cloths upon Shovel-board Tables were spread,
And all things in order for Dinner were laid;
The Napkins were folded on ev'ry Plate,
Into Castles and Boats, and the Devil knows what:
Their Flaggons and Bowls made a very fine show,
And Sweetmeats, like Cuckolds, stood all in a row.
They walk'd, and they talk'd; after some Consultation
The Beadle stood up, and he made Proclamation,
That no one presume, of a Member, till after
He'as din'd, to bring in his Wife or his Daughter.
Then in come the Pasties, the best of all Food,
With Pig, Goose, and Capon, and all that was good:
Then Grace soon was said, without any delay,
And as hungry as Hawks they sat down to their Prey.
The Musick struck up, such a Boree advancing,
As the Polanders pip'd, when their Cubs were a dancing.
Then each tuck'd his Napkin up under his Chin,
That his Holiday Band might be kept very clean;
And pinn'd up his Sleeves to his Elbows, because
They should not hang down, and be greas'd in the Sauce.
Then all went to work, with such rending and tearing,
Like a Kennel of Hounds on a Quarter of Carr'on.
When done with the Flesh, then they claw'd off the Fish,
With one Hand at Mouth, and the other in Dish.
When their Stomachs were clos'd, what their Bellies deny'd,
Each clap'd in his Pocket to give to his Bride;
With a Cheese-cake and Custard for my little Johnny,
And a handful of Sweetmeats for poor Daughter Nanny.
Then down came a Blade, with a Rattle in's Skull,
To tickle their Ears when their Bellies were full:
After three or four Hems to clear up his Voice,
At every Table he made them a noise
Of twenty four Fidlers were all in a row;
Tho the Singer meant Cuckolds, I'd have 'em to know:
Then London's a gallant Town, and a fine City,
'Tis govern'd by Scarlet, the more is the pity.
That a Poet should fast on a Festival-Day:
I therefore resolv'd it should cost me a Fall,
But that I would drink my Lord's Health at a Hall.
For why may'nt a Poet, thought I, be a Guest,
As welcome as Parson, or Fool at a Feast,
For the sport of a Tale, or the sake of a Jest?
I mix'd with the Musick, and no one withstood me,
And so justled forward as clever as could be:
I pass'd to a very fine Room thro a Porch;
'Twas as wide as a Barn, and as high as a Church,
Where Cloths upon Shovel-board Tables were spread,
And all things in order for Dinner were laid;
The Napkins were folded on ev'ry Plate,
Into Castles and Boats, and the Devil knows what:
Their Flaggons and Bowls made a very fine show,
And Sweetmeats, like Cuckolds, stood all in a row.
They walk'd, and they talk'd; after some Consultation
The Beadle stood up, and he made Proclamation,
305
He'as din'd, to bring in his Wife or his Daughter.
Then in come the Pasties, the best of all Food,
With Pig, Goose, and Capon, and all that was good:
Then Grace soon was said, without any delay,
And as hungry as Hawks they sat down to their Prey.
The Musick struck up, such a Boree advancing,
As the Polanders pip'd, when their Cubs were a dancing.
Then each tuck'd his Napkin up under his Chin,
That his Holiday Band might be kept very clean;
And pinn'd up his Sleeves to his Elbows, because
They should not hang down, and be greas'd in the Sauce.
Then all went to work, with such rending and tearing,
Like a Kennel of Hounds on a Quarter of Carr'on.
When done with the Flesh, then they claw'd off the Fish,
With one Hand at Mouth, and the other in Dish.
When their Stomachs were clos'd, what their Bellies deny'd,
Each clap'd in his Pocket to give to his Bride;
With a Cheese-cake and Custard for my little Johnny,
And a handful of Sweetmeats for poor Daughter Nanny.
Then down came a Blade, with a Rattle in's Skull,
To tickle their Ears when their Bellies were full:
After three or four Hems to clear up his Voice,
At every Table he made them a noise
Of twenty four Fidlers were all in a row;
Tho the Singer meant Cuckolds, I'd have 'em to know:
Then London's a gallant Town, and a fine City,
'Tis govern'd by Scarlet, the more is the pity.
306
When Claret and Sack had troul'd freely about,
And each Man was laden within and without:
The Elders arising, all stagger'd away,
And in sleeping like Hogs spent the rest of the Day.
And each Man was laden within and without:
The Elders arising, all stagger'd away,
And in sleeping like Hogs spent the rest of the Day.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |