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THE ELLISTON;
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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162

THE ELLISTON;

OR, BATH QUESTIONS.

When new-imported Faces inset
Faces less recent in the street,
In Union-Passage, or Cock-Lane,
Where crowd the fashionable Train,
A kind of morning Jostling-bout,
Rehearsing for the Evening Rout;
Or settling the next day's devices,
At Morland's, over Soups and Ices:
Thus runs the chit-chat of the Springs,
Amongst a thousand other things;
The Rooms, the Play-house, and the Papers;
The Riders, Walkers, Scribblers, Scrapers;
Rauzzini,—Prince of Badon's Stringers,—
With all his Concerts and his Singers;
The Volunteers and Sailors hearty;
Pichegru, Moreau, and Buonaparte;
The Loungers, Dashers, Drinkers, Eaters;
The M. P. Lists of lovely Creatures;
The Fairies at Miss Fleming's Ball;
The Christie who out-fairy'd all;
The Elfin-Train of Elliston,
And which her dancing Laurel won:
The popular Divine for Sunday;
The extra-Bath-Gazettes for Monday;

163

The latest Fashion that came down,
Hat, Cap, and Shoe, Pelisse, and Gown;
The hopes, and how-do-you's polite;
The visit paid, and new invite;
The little Slander of the Day,
With many an et-cetera.

QUESTION I.

“Pray, Madam, since you rattled down
To this dear, fascinating Town,
Have you yet seen that child of Fun,
The modern Proteus—Elliston?
So arch, so odd, so droll, so sly—
He's sure the Soul of Comedy!”

QUESTION II.

An Invalid, beside the Pump,
Thus question'd, leaning on his stump,—
“Pray, have you seen that Child of Sorrow,
Who makes us all dispos'd to borrow
Niobe's tears for our relief,
When he insists upon our grief?
Yet sweet the tear, and soft the sigh—
He's sure the Soul of Tragedy!”

QUESTION III.

The next, a late-invited Guest,
The transport of the heart express'd—
“Since the Bath course you have begun,
Pray have you met with Elliston?
Could you but get to hear him read,
You'd have a charming treat indeed:

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Such Taste and Feeling! all agree—
He's sure the Soul of Company!”

QUESTION IV.

“Pray,” ask'd a fourth, at Phillot's stand,—
The tumbler smoking in her hand,—
“When all his Spirits are on wing,
Have you heard Elliston yet sing
His Song of Frolic, or of Gloom?—
I'm speaking of him in a room—
By turns such pathos, humour, glee—
He's sure the Soul of Pleasantry!”
If dear Variety be sweet,
He needs must prove a constant treat,
Who can so variously excel;—
Does all things, and yet does them well.