A postscript to the new Bath guide :: :: University of Virginia Library

You ask me the cause, my friend Bob, for that flurry,
Which continual keeps the big world in a hurry:
We've a nervous impatience—a wish to be going,
Makes us hate what we do, tho' we toil'd to be doing:
It is this wretched impulse our labours to lighten,
Goads the weary to Tunbridge—from Tunbridge to Brighton—

From thence to Southampton—so ad infinitum—
In the hope what they never have seen—will delight 'em.

Here I am almost deafen'd with Fashion's rude jars,
And surrounded, like Phœbus, with Planets and Stars:
E'en Macpharaoh's fierce eye gilds a kindred wrinkle,
But tho' some blaze inordinate, others scarce—twinkle:
For Bath, like the Firmament, spacious and fine,
Possesses no-body but sometimes will shine!

Here Parsons by droves, all elate, hasten down,
To partake of the joys of this health-giving Town:
And to come neither Judges nor Barristers fail,
To catch Pleasure flying, and seize her entail:
Then who, say, should marvel at Bath's matchless glory,
When they've Law and the Gospel on every story?

As I heard he was here, I have seen my old Tutor,
Whose Susan you know once conceiv'd me her suitor:
I found the grave Priest as a Pastor should be,
With his glass in his hand, and his Wife—on his knee:
As his all-a-gog spinsters sat rang'd vis-à-vis.
They had just done their Dinner—some Nuts were before 'em,
And the Misses, tho' dumb, seem'd to threaten Decorum—
Such simp'ring, such perking, such airs they had got,
That all seem'd to think themselves—what they were not—
But the Matron's so vast, so unwieldy, and fat,
To Rubens, for study, the Dame might have sat
As Potiphar's rib, ere she fell by demerit,
For Rubens lov'd flesh, though he painted with spirit.
But again at the daughters—Ruth, Sue, and Deb Dickens,
Whom you satiris'd once as such voracious chickens,

Hung around their old Dad, like three oak-creeping suckers,
To extract all his coin, to get—bibs and new tuckers:
And oft never quit their importunate teizing,
Till they've drain'd his strong box, and seiz'd all worth the seizing.
Thus social ingrates wound the beings who rear 'em,
As the fruit frequent breaks the kind branches that bear 'em.
When the Doctor remonstrates about their expences,
All the girls ope at once, and confound his five senses:
“La, Papa!” cries the eldest Miss D. “do you think
“We are all come to Bath just to eat and to drink,
“Or to vegetate coldly like figs on a stalk,
“To bathe, drink our coffee, play, sing, sleep and talk?”
“Or to mope” (added Susan) “like queer Dr. Parr?”
“Lord bless me, who'd think we should come here so far
“To be kept like choice sweetmeats shut up in a jar,

“And learn musty rules, and half-smother'd expire,
“While the beaux are all smacking their lips with desire?”
“Or to hear (cried young Debby) our Pa talk of Greece,
“When he knows we come here to get—Husbands a-piece:
“Why mayn't we have luck, like the Worcestershire Wroughtons,
“And egad! now or never we must make our fortins.”
Thus my reason was bruis'd by these parrot-taught Minxes,
Who confident chatter'd like so many Sphinxes.

“I protest I'm asham'd—the good Parson rejoin'd—
“To be goaded so often to tell you my mind.
“A pretty repast this to please my friend Peery;
“And with giving advice I declare I'm grown weary:
“When your wishes are prudent, I'll second them gladly—
“But the Men are not caught, my dear children, so madly:

“You should not rush forward like bold Widow Heely,
“For the gift's undervalu'd that's given too freely.
“The times are so woefully led by Depravity,
“Young women must now study more than suavity;
“And sometimes, like corkscrews, must zig-zag incline,
“Indirect and unseen—if they hope for the wine.
“Job says,—to have Patience is better than beauty,
“And we all should mind Job girls, for Job knew his duty.”

“What a fuss about Job” (roar'd the Dame) “and his Patience;
“One would think, I pertest, that such frumps were relations.
“If I must speak, I think that my daughters are right;—
“Who knows but our Debby may marry a Knight?
“I saw her nod twice at a spark shall be nameless,
“Nay, prithee don't blush child—the action was blameless.

“When you next go to Chapel, pray dress yourself sprucely,
“And let not your hair hang so rakish and loosely.
“Now, Husband, you know what I meant for to say,
“I am upright and downright—for that is my way;
“And if Mister Peery is here—'tis no murther,—
“Mister Peery's a friend, and 'twill never go further.”
“Hush, hush!” bawl'd the Priest; “as I hope to be sav'd,
“There's a carriage—or may I be rudely beknav'd:
“Drop the subject at present, and tie up your tongues;
“Tho' regardless of me—prithee pity your lungs.
“As I live 'tis the Marquis—I know by the knocks;
“Go rehearse your best curtsies, and crimp all your locks;
“Perhaps the incumbent is dead on that living,
“The Marquis has now the sole power of giving;
“If that is the case, I perhaps may be freer
“To part with my money, and buy you new gear:

“Tho' to do you all justice—you each have the skill
“To make me profuse in despite of my will.—
“I'm asham'd of this lodging—the stair-case so dark is—
“Is no one below to attend on the Marquis?
“If the servant's gone out, I declare I will trounce him,
“Run, run! here comes Thomas, I vow, to announce “him.”

I escap'd with whole ears, ere the family cleft 'em,
Spoke to Doctor and Peer, made my congé, and left 'em.

HORACE PEERY.

York Hotel, Bath, 1789.