Poems By Anthony Pasquin [i.e. John Williams]. Second Edition |
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AN EPISTLE FROM THE VILLA AT HAMPSTEAD TO THE HOUSE IN CHEAPSIDE. |
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AN EPISTLE FROM THE VILLA AT HAMPSTEAD TO THE HOUSE IN CHEAPSIDE.
I protest, Mistress House, I am greatly astonish'd!
You should first have advis'd ere you madly admonish'd;
What cause could impel you to take such a freedom,
Pray send your Epistles to those, Ma'am, who need 'em;
You may put on your airs, and may scold while you're able,
It may be City wit, but it's quite disagreeable.
If you had been bred under Miss Cardin's banners,
'Twould have polish'd your mind, and have mended your manners;
Then you had not vented your spite and your spleen,
By railing in verse, like a Billingsgate Queen;
Such language could never have enter'd my head,
But thanks to my parent, that I'm better bred.
You should first have advis'd ere you madly admonish'd;
What cause could impel you to take such a freedom,
Pray send your Epistles to those, Ma'am, who need 'em;
You may put on your airs, and may scold while you're able,
It may be City wit, but it's quite disagreeable.
If you had been bred under Miss Cardin's banners,
'Twould have polish'd your mind, and have mended your manners;
Then you had not vented your spite and your spleen,
By railing in verse, like a Billingsgate Queen;
Such language could never have enter'd my head,
But thanks to my parent, that I'm better bred.
I should wonder to find you thus bitter and witty,
If Discord had not spread her snares in the City;
But in such empty charges, you follow your betters,
Who were wont to make wine, but are now writing letters.
It were wiser if they, and you too would sit still,
And find other subjects, that call for the quill:
Your toil will not answer what either intended,
For Jack Wilkes and I are not easily mended.
But I fear with your youth, your good humour is fled,
And besides, I suspect that you're wrong in the head;
Then discharge not on me the effects of your woe,
If disorder'd, you'd better consult with Monro.
If Discord had not spread her snares in the City;
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Who were wont to make wine, but are now writing letters.
It were wiser if they, and you too would sit still,
And find other subjects, that call for the quill:
Your toil will not answer what either intended,
For Jack Wilkes and I are not easily mended.
But I fear with your youth, your good humour is fled,
And besides, I suspect that you're wrong in the head;
Then discharge not on me the effects of your woe,
If disorder'd, you'd better consult with Monro.
I should hurry to town, could I manage to walk,
With half the facility that I can talk;
To meet me in a rage, you would wish yourself dead,
You'd find you had brought an old house on your head.
But with age and disasters, I fear you're grown crazy,
Take Irish advice friend, and pray now be azy.
No envy or spleen, has pervaded my breast,
I never once thought of disturbing your rest,
And wish'd that such bickerings ne'er might ensue,
But to live on good terms, as acquaintance should do.
With half the facility that I can talk;
To meet me in a rage, you would wish yourself dead,
You'd find you had brought an old house on your head.
But with age and disasters, I fear you're grown crazy,
Take Irish advice friend, and pray now be azy.
No envy or spleen, has pervaded my breast,
I never once thought of disturbing your rest,
And wish'd that such bickerings ne'er might ensue,
But to live on good terms, as acquaintance should do.
As I hope to be sav'd, Ma'am, I ne'er did repine,
When my master on ven'son, with you chose to dine;
With his turtle, his soups, and his tartlets and pye,
Let him eat them, be gorg'd, and be happy, say I.
Should his fancy incline him to scent the fresh air,
On Hampstead's gay heath, in his new patent chair;
When he comes, he is welcome, I ne'er will refuse him,
But pray dont imagine I'd stoop to seduce him.
A servile compliance no female enhances,
And I'm quite independent in mind and finances.
As to taking your treasure, believe me, I scorn it,
Perhaps your frail master might sell it or pawn it;
Some Saturday night when his cash had run low,
And his clerk tell his wants, with a visage of woe,
That Abraham Newland had fled his bureau.
I assure you I value my honor and fame,
As highly as any fat Alderman's dame;
And I am not without either prudence or pride,
Tho' I never eat custards, or dwelt in Cheapside.
He enjoys me, 'tis true, and I am not his wife,
But yet I can boast elevation in life:
And I vow that I ne'er could put up with neglect,
As my high situation should call forth respect.
When my master on ven'son, with you chose to dine;
With his turtle, his soups, and his tartlets and pye,
Let him eat them, be gorg'd, and be happy, say I.
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On Hampstead's gay heath, in his new patent chair;
When he comes, he is welcome, I ne'er will refuse him,
But pray dont imagine I'd stoop to seduce him.
A servile compliance no female enhances,
And I'm quite independent in mind and finances.
As to taking your treasure, believe me, I scorn it,
Perhaps your frail master might sell it or pawn it;
Some Saturday night when his cash had run low,
And his clerk tell his wants, with a visage of woe,
That Abraham Newland had fled his bureau.
I assure you I value my honor and fame,
As highly as any fat Alderman's dame;
And I am not without either prudence or pride,
Tho' I never eat custards, or dwelt in Cheapside.
He enjoys me, 'tis true, and I am not his wife,
But yet I can boast elevation in life:
And I vow that I ne'er could put up with neglect,
As my high situation should call forth respect.
Tho' his presents to me may diminish his wealth,
I declare that I never will injure his health.
And should I unwittingly cause his disgrace,
I'll not, like kept ladies, then laugh in his face.
I declare that I never will injure his health.
And should I unwittingly cause his disgrace,
I'll not, like kept ladies, then laugh in his face.
If you wish that he never should stray from your arms,
You should labour to make the best use of your charms:
With Love's gentle blandishments court his embraces,
Let the artist with paint give your rooms all new faces,
And with paper and plaster call forth your old graces.
You should labour to make the best use of your charms:
With Love's gentle blandishments court his embraces,
Let the artist with paint give your rooms all new faces,
And with paper and plaster call forth your old graces.
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You look so saturnine, no wonder you fright him,
Change your frowns into smiling, and strive to delight him:
Adopt some nice art to amend your complexion,
And with rouge hide the finger of Time from detection;
For if ladies neglect or their persons or houses,
No wonder they chill the warm love of their spouses.
Make all the apartments as nice as you're able,
Let the grape of Oporto illumine your table.
You may then, by degrees, draw him off from his follies,
As to working, sometimes, they coax children with dollies:
And when you have got the old man in your net,
Define all the ills of a London Gazette;
Then tell him, to Wisdom he's long been a stranger,
And point out his errors, and warn him of danger.
As your eloquent knowledge may chance to be small,
Take a lesson, for six-pence, at Coachmakers' hall.
If his living with me, you think, hastens his ruin,
I should grieve to contribute towards his undoing;
His absence will never give me cause of weeping,
As I ne'er can want friends to be ta'en into keeping.
Change your frowns into smiling, and strive to delight him:
Adopt some nice art to amend your complexion,
And with rouge hide the finger of Time from detection;
For if ladies neglect or their persons or houses,
No wonder they chill the warm love of their spouses.
Make all the apartments as nice as you're able,
Let the grape of Oporto illumine your table.
You may then, by degrees, draw him off from his follies,
As to working, sometimes, they coax children with dollies:
And when you have got the old man in your net,
Define all the ills of a London Gazette;
Then tell him, to Wisdom he's long been a stranger,
And point out his errors, and warn him of danger.
As your eloquent knowledge may chance to be small,
Take a lesson, for six-pence, at Coachmakers' hall.
If his living with me, you think, hastens his ruin,
I should grieve to contribute towards his undoing;
His absence will never give me cause of weeping,
As I ne'er can want friends to be ta'en into keeping.
Instead of behaving with candour and love,
To destroy me with vengeance you call upon Jove.
Pray where could your delicate habits be hid,
Such expressions to use, I was always forbid.
Defiling your pen with a vile execration,
Is no flatt'ring proof of a town education;
But as Charity ever shall govern my will,
In this instance, you'll find, I return good for ill;
And may Jove condescend,
To become your good friend,
And with speed to amend
Your bad disposition,
And now to attend,
To this prayer, and petition.
May his bolts on the foes of the city be hurl'd,
And the shops of Cheapside prove the mart of the world.
To destroy me with vengeance you call upon Jove.
Pray where could your delicate habits be hid,
Such expressions to use, I was always forbid.
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Is no flatt'ring proof of a town education;
But as Charity ever shall govern my will,
In this instance, you'll find, I return good for ill;
And may Jove condescend,
To become your good friend,
And with speed to amend
Your bad disposition,
And now to attend,
To this prayer, and petition.
May his bolts on the foes of the city be hurl'd,
And the shops of Cheapside prove the mart of the world.
Hampstead, Jan. 27th, 1786.
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