The Court of Cupid By the Author of the Meretriciad [i.e. Edward Thompson]. Containing the Eighth Edition of the Meretriciad, with great Additions. In Two Volumes |
 | I, II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| MERETRICIOUS MISCELLANIES. |
 | The Court of Cupid |  |
105
MERETRICIOUS MISCELLANIES.
107
AN EPITHALAMIUM On the Marriage of
SUDLEY and BEERPINT.
March, 1769.
Ye little Gods and Goddesses attend,
From Pimlico, May Fair, and gay Mile-End!
From foul Mount Pleasant pray resort in pairs,
And eke from Billingsgate to Whitehall stairs!
From Cold Bath fields, from Hockley in the hole,
From every gin'bread, apple, oyster stall!
Who knows the fortune of a lousy calf,
The fate of greasy Deborah and Ralph:
Whores now are maids, and maids are common whores,
They stink like dead dogs on the common shores,
Hold up your heads my girls, the manner such-is,
There is no knowing who will be a Dutchess!
Or who will not be one, for in one moon
Marriage is sugar sweet and melts as soon.
For Dukes obtain from Dutchess' divorce,
Sooner than I can mount upon my horse:
But here attend ye little sooty jades,
And reeling bring your ragged, rough-spun blades,
Here with your breaths of anniseed and gin,
Suck in this bridal song and thus begin.
Sudley and Beerpint now together dream,
Catch it, ye alleys, and ye bunters scream!
From Pimlico, May Fair, and gay Mile-End!
From foul Mount Pleasant pray resort in pairs,
And eke from Billingsgate to Whitehall stairs!
From Cold Bath fields, from Hockley in the hole,
From every gin'bread, apple, oyster stall!
Who knows the fortune of a lousy calf,
The fate of greasy Deborah and Ralph:
108
They stink like dead dogs on the common shores,
Hold up your heads my girls, the manner such-is,
There is no knowing who will be a Dutchess!
Or who will not be one, for in one moon
Marriage is sugar sweet and melts as soon.
For Dukes obtain from Dutchess' divorce,
Sooner than I can mount upon my horse:
But here attend ye little sooty jades,
And reeling bring your ragged, rough-spun blades,
Here with your breaths of anniseed and gin,
Suck in this bridal song and thus begin.
Sudley and Beerpint now together dream,
Catch it, ye alleys, and ye bunters scream!
Think what encouragement is this to sport,
All play at push-pin who attend at C---
Put and All-fours, and ape my Lady's hole,
Is followed tightly by each able soul.
And where's the myst'ry Moll of such a plan,
You've beat Ned oftner than e'er Ned beat Nan;
Upon an oyster barrel have I seen,
You, and he play—as black as the club Queen,
An inch of candle stuck upon the side,
Hugging with rapture you his amorous bride;
Have I not seen these freaks in alleys dire,
Where coals n'er wander'd to afford a fire;
And yet the fire of Love in dirt and rags,
Beats Sudley's virtue and her Beerpint's bags;
Catch it ye Dustmen, spread abroad the theme,
Ye gutters roll it down your shallow inky stream.
All play at push-pin who attend at C---
Put and All-fours, and ape my Lady's hole,
Is followed tightly by each able soul.
And where's the myst'ry Moll of such a plan,
You've beat Ned oftner than e'er Ned beat Nan;
Upon an oyster barrel have I seen,
You, and he play—as black as the club Queen,
109
Hugging with rapture you his amorous bride;
Have I not seen these freaks in alleys dire,
Where coals n'er wander'd to afford a fire;
And yet the fire of Love in dirt and rags,
Beats Sudley's virtue and her Beerpint's bags;
Catch it ye Dustmen, spread abroad the theme,
Ye gutters roll it down your shallow inky stream.
A whiten'd barber from the lengthen'd Strand,
Lead forth a Chimney-sweeper in each hand!
And let them bear within their sooty paws,
Sheets of white paper with the marriage laws!
Let ev'ry ballad woman next be found,
Between old Jews-place and St. Giles's Pound!
Concordant and discordant let them scream,
Thro' every street the happy bridal theme!
The chorus form'd of Covent Garden breed,
By various fathers of the Bagnio seed,
Ye mob devour it like a Gossip's dream,
Ye kennels catch the sound, and roll it down the stream!
Lead forth a Chimney-sweeper in each hand!
And let them bear within their sooty paws,
Sheets of white paper with the marriage laws!
Let ev'ry ballad woman next be found,
Between old Jews-place and St. Giles's Pound!
Concordant and discordant let them scream,
Thro' every street the happy bridal theme!
The chorus form'd of Covent Garden breed,
By various fathers of the Bagnio seed,
Ye mob devour it like a Gossip's dream,
Ye kennels catch the sound, and roll it down the stream!
110
Let Buckhorse hold in St. Pulchre's porch,
A candle in a stick, as Hymen's torch;
Conjugal precepts let our Langhorne preach,
And work a wonder; such, to Courtiers teach!
And as he's full of prodigies and wonder,
Sighs, groans, effusions, ditties, throes, and thunder,
Let him take gentle Hymen by the fist,
And gabble marriage o'er to those who list,
He may perhaps renew miss Fanny's ghost,
Or move old Newgate to a clearer coast,
Such things by priests have oft been done before,
Witness old Thebes, old Jericho of yore:
If Doctor Langhorne doth in these succeed,
He will deserve a mitre for a meed.
Attempt, dear Doctor do, the bridal theme,
Your own dear dull Review will roll it ream by ream.
A candle in a stick, as Hymen's torch;
Conjugal precepts let our Langhorne preach,
And work a wonder; such, to Courtiers teach!
And as he's full of prodigies and wonder,
Sighs, groans, effusions, ditties, throes, and thunder,
Let him take gentle Hymen by the fist,
And gabble marriage o'er to those who list,
He may perhaps renew miss Fanny's ghost,
Or move old Newgate to a clearer coast,
Such things by priests have oft been done before,
Witness old Thebes, old Jericho of yore:
If Doctor Langhorne doth in these succeed,
He will deserve a mitre for a meed.
Attempt, dear Doctor do, the bridal theme,
Your own dear dull Review will roll it ream by ream.
In Leister-Fields, before great Saville house,
Where beggars tune a stave, and crack a louse;
Where many a mucky brat is pinch'd to cry,
And draw the charity of passers by!
Where, “black your Honour, buy pomatum” sound,
And twenty different songs at once abound:
Where Quack Doctors in gold and silver shine,
And Harlots court ye for a glass of wine:
Where clowns stand gaping often 'till they're lick'd,
And listening wenches have their pockets pick'd:
Where our good Dowager did once resort,
Until she found it was too far from Court:
Where thousands pass for business, pleasure, fun,
Some to undo because they are undone:
Here stop awhile, and hear my bridal theme,
And spread it gen'ral round, adown my Thames's stream.
Where beggars tune a stave, and crack a louse;
111
And draw the charity of passers by!
Where, “black your Honour, buy pomatum” sound,
And twenty different songs at once abound:
Where Quack Doctors in gold and silver shine,
And Harlots court ye for a glass of wine:
Where clowns stand gaping often 'till they're lick'd,
And listening wenches have their pockets pick'd:
Where our good Dowager did once resort,
Until she found it was too far from Court:
Where thousands pass for business, pleasure, fun,
Some to undo because they are undone:
Here stop awhile, and hear my bridal theme,
And spread it gen'ral round, adown my Thames's stream.
Ye Hackney Coachmen, who take ev'ry pride,
To Blackguard those who do not chuse to ride;
And ye who ply for Wilkes and Brentford Town,
Where seeds of Liberty are only sown;
Who like mad phaetons more furious drive,
If you're inspired and chalk'd with XLV.
Sing the soft theme as through the dust you roll,
And Siren like you'll bilk the greedy toll!
Warble the gentle strains as you advance,
And quite through Knightsbridge make your Cattle dance;
A word ye snotty sons of Knight'sbridge hear!
Move from Hyde park those emblematic Deer!
Their branching horns are Dignity's disgrace,
They run their antlers full into our face:
For ever blot it from the bridal theme,
And may she ebb with joys like Thames's moving stream.
To Blackguard those who do not chuse to ride;
And ye who ply for Wilkes and Brentford Town,
Where seeds of Liberty are only sown;
112
If you're inspired and chalk'd with XLV.
Sing the soft theme as through the dust you roll,
And Siren like you'll bilk the greedy toll!
Warble the gentle strains as you advance,
And quite through Knightsbridge make your Cattle dance;
A word ye snotty sons of Knight'sbridge hear!
Move from Hyde park those emblematic Deer!
Their branching horns are Dignity's disgrace,
They run their antlers full into our face:
For ever blot it from the bridal theme,
And may she ebb with joys like Thames's moving stream.
Ye nosegay Girls who bother all ye meet,
Unbind your flow'rs and spread them at her feet.
She cannot tread as Goddesses have trod,
Upon the common, vulgar, verdant sod;
Roses and myrtles strew before her steps,
And hail her mighty Queen of Demi-reps;
She'll add new fragrance to the herbs ye strew,
So bright a yellow, Sun-flowers never blew:
Tho' she's a blossom 'tis not colly-flow'r,
Her charms have stood the patt'ring of the show'r;
They're worse for rain and time, and time and rain,
Yet each cosmetick summer blow again:
Thy vi'lets Flora ne'er were half so sweet,
Thy deeds in Rome my Sudley's never beat:
Thou art a Goddess and an empty dream,
She is the world's great talk, the poet's theme.
Thy treasure bought thee footing in the skies,
She means to spend her all before she dies:
Thy spendings Flora in the days of Rome,
Made thee a star—which cannot be her doom;
She shines below too much, to shine above,
She's quite a bankrupt in the trade of Love,
So long she used it—she has worn it out,
As erst she cannot bear it now about—
To please the Gods indeed she'll be too stale,
The long drawn bottom of a draught of ale.
'Twill not go down—tho' e'er so thirsty grown,
We seek a fresher tap around the town.
But yet this wedding does deserve esteem,
Carrol Bawds, Harlots, Nose-gay Girls the bridal theme!
Unbind your flow'rs and spread them at her feet.
She cannot tread as Goddesses have trod,
Upon the common, vulgar, verdant sod;
Roses and myrtles strew before her steps,
And hail her mighty Queen of Demi-reps;
113
So bright a yellow, Sun-flowers never blew:
Tho' she's a blossom 'tis not colly-flow'r,
Her charms have stood the patt'ring of the show'r;
They're worse for rain and time, and time and rain,
Yet each cosmetick summer blow again:
Thy vi'lets Flora ne'er were half so sweet,
Thy deeds in Rome my Sudley's never beat:
Thou art a Goddess and an empty dream,
She is the world's great talk, the poet's theme.
Thy treasure bought thee footing in the skies,
She means to spend her all before she dies:
Thy spendings Flora in the days of Rome,
Made thee a star—which cannot be her doom;
She shines below too much, to shine above,
She's quite a bankrupt in the trade of Love,
So long she used it—she has worn it out,
As erst she cannot bear it now about—
To please the Gods indeed she'll be too stale,
The long drawn bottom of a draught of ale.
114
We seek a fresher tap around the town.
But yet this wedding does deserve esteem,
Carrol Bawds, Harlots, Nose-gay Girls the bridal theme!
115
An Imitation of the 10th Elegy of the second book of the Amours of that meretricious, polite, Roman Gentleman, PUBLIUS NASO OVID.
Remember George, with warmth 'twas said by you,No Man at once could be in love with Two.
Deceived by you: unarm'd—I had no fears;
But now, in love with two o'er head and ears.
They both are handsome; and, they both dress well;
But which I cannot say doth most excell.
My heart for this, then that, alternate burns,
By Heav'n I love these Angels in their turns.
Thus like a ship the sport of wind and tide,
My heart divided beats from side to side.
Why would you Love redouble thus my smart,
One pretty Girl's enough to tease one heart?
Love brought to Me—is bringing leaves to trees,
Stars to the skies, and waters to the seas;
116
Let that damn'd curse my Enemies befal.
This curse attend my foe (if I have one)
To deeply love, and yet to lie alone.
Love from my senses every slumber move,
O! make me active on the bed of Love?
If one sweet Girl my manhood can subdue,
Let her—if not—then bring me sweeter two.
Fine slender limbs with me and love suffice,
I want no vigour, but I may want size.
Desire still fans the flame, if strength does fade,
No Beauty slept with me and rose a maid.
Oft' have I spent in Love a luscious night,
And rose next morning eager for the fight:
Blest are those lives which mutual raptures spend,
Give me, ye Gods! so wish'd, so sweet an end!
Let the tough Soldier glory in his scars,
And search for Honour in the fields of Mars;
Let him who thirsts for riches cruize the main,
Let him, when ship-wreck'd sink and drink his gain.
117
And dig with rapture there my own soft grave.
Some feeling Fair, shall at my Exit cry,
“Thus did he live, thus did my Naso die.”
The BEE and POLLY. 1764.
Pretty Polly ran to see,
Pretty Chicks the hen had hatch'd;
As she went a saucy Bee,
Polly's honey'd beauties watch'd.
Pretty Chicks the hen had hatch'd;
As she went a saucy Bee,
Polly's honey'd beauties watch'd.
“Gracious heart! see where it flies?
Down poor pretty Polly drop'd,
Screaming! it has stung my thighs,
But where has the villain hop'd?”
Down poor pretty Polly drop'd,
Screaming! it has stung my thighs,
But where has the villain hop'd?”
She call'd catch it, sob'd and wept;
I shall never this survive!
I look'd, but found the Bee had crept,
Into little Cupid's hive.
I shall never this survive!
I look'd, but found the Bee had crept,
Into little Cupid's hive.
118
The WARMING PAN.
The Coach arriv'd, impatient all
For diff'rent things begin to call!
But I, who have no trade
But Love, for sweeter morsels try;
I search, and fix an am'rous eye,
Upon the Chamber Maid.
For diff'rent things begin to call!
But I, who have no trade
But Love, for sweeter morsels try;
I search, and fix an am'rous eye,
Upon the Chamber Maid.
I wait, and catch her as she flies
From Room to Room, with eager eyes:
“My Dear permit my aid!”
I seize her and she cries a-done,
I kiss her quick, and let her run;
The pretty Chambermaid.
From Room to Room, with eager eyes:
“My Dear permit my aid!”
I seize her and she cries a-done,
I kiss her quick, and let her run;
The pretty Chambermaid.
The supper comes, and Betty Grove,
'Tis Hebe waiting upon Jove;
The reck'ning next is paid.
Yawning the Passengers retire,
I, burning like the kitchen fire,
For Betty Chambermaid.
'Tis Hebe waiting upon Jove;
The reck'ning next is paid.
Yawning the Passengers retire,
I, burning like the kitchen fire,
For Betty Chambermaid.
119
Kneeling, my bed the Beauty warms,
When furious I attack her charms:
“Get out you naughty Man!”
The port is gain'd by quick surprise,
I kiss, she kicks, and faintly cries,
“O! move the warming-pan!”
When furious I attack her charms:
“Get out you naughty Man!”
The port is gain'd by quick surprise,
I kiss, she kicks, and faintly cries,
“O! move the warming-pan!”
There—there, again—the bed—it burns,
I move,—she moves—we move by turns,
“What are you at dear Man?”
Hush! there's a noise—the bed—the joy,
Hark!—hark! how sweet my amorous Boy,
Hold there—the warming-pan.
I move,—she moves—we move by turns,
“What are you at dear Man?”
Hush! there's a noise—the bed—the joy,
Hark!—hark! how sweet my amorous Boy,
Hold there—the warming-pan.
When e'er I pass the high North road,
I knock at Betty's soft abode,
Where happy I am laid:
The neatest Inn, the softest thatch,
And tell me, where a place can match,
My Pretty Chambermaid.
I knock at Betty's soft abode,
Where happy I am laid:
The neatest Inn, the softest thatch,
And tell me, where a place can match,
My Pretty Chambermaid.
120
An Epigram written by the celebrated Mons. Voltaire, on Madam Pompadour being made Mistress to Lewis the Fifteenth.
IMITATED.
In early youth this lovely maid,By art and nature form'd to please,
In Brothel, Cot, or Masquerade,
And captivate each heart with ease.
Whom, her Mama discreet and wise,
Intended for a Farmer's bed;
But Love, a better judge of eyes,
Gave to a King her Maidenhead.
121
EPIGRAM. The Marriage of Margaret and Moses.
Marg'ret to Moses wed, and pray'd to God,Her spouse might have both Aaron's beard and rod.
122
The following Epitaph was pin'd to a Lady's bed curtains upon her Wedding Night.
ENGLISHED.
123
In the joyful hope of the resurrection of the flesh;
A virgin of surpassing beauty,
No charm was wanting to compleat her mind,
No ornament her body;
The fire of love she stir'd in ev'ry breast:
Yet to herself was all this worth unknown.
Folded at last within the arms of him
She most desir'd,
Nature she joyfully repaid,
And,
Pleasing sunk to rest.
[The following Epitaph was pin'd to a Lady's bed curtains upon her Wedding Night.]
AGAIN [ENGLISHED].
Beneath these stones sweet Stella lies,Fill'd with the hope the flesh will rise:
By beauty fashion'd, knowledge led,
In manners elegantly bred.
To heav'n no girl look'd with such grace,
So perfect in her mind, and face,
She, love in every breast inspir'd,
Nor knew it tho' the world admir'd.
124
Of him, she pray'd might have her charms.
That nature, Nature gave she paid,
Sigh'd with a smile and pleasing laid.
ROGER and MOLLY.
Beneath a weeping willow's shade,
Melting with love fair Molly laid,
Her cows were feeding by:
By turns she knit, by turns she sung,
While ever flow'd from Molly's tongue:
“How deep in love am I.”
Melting with love fair Molly laid,
Her cows were feeding by:
By turns she knit, by turns she sung,
While ever flow'd from Molly's tongue:
“How deep in love am I.”
Young Roger chanc'd to stroll along,
And hearing Molly's am'rous song,
And now and then a sigh:
Straight o'er the hedge he made his way,
And join'd with Molly in her lay;
“How deep in love am I!”
And hearing Molly's am'rous song,
And now and then a sigh:
Straight o'er the hedge he made his way,
And join'd with Molly in her lay;
“How deep in love am I!”
The quick surprize made Molly blush,
“How rude, she cried;—now pray be hush?
“Yet show'd a yielding eye:
“My needle's bent,—my worsted's broke,
“Roger, I only meant in joke,
“How deep in love am I.”
“How rude, she cried;—now pray be hush?
125
“My needle's bent,—my worsted's broke,
“Roger, I only meant in joke,
“How deep in love am I.”
“You're rude—get out—I won't be kist,
“Pray don't—yes do?—begone—persist!
“Roger, I vow I'll cry!
“What are you at?—you rogueish swain?
“He answer'd in a dying strain:
“How deep in love am I.”
“Pray don't—yes do?—begone—persist!
“Roger, I vow I'll cry!
“What are you at?—you rogueish swain?
“He answer'd in a dying strain:
“How deep in love am I.”
The DISAPPOINTMENT.
With all the rapture which can fire love's breast,I kept the hour design'd to make me blest:
Courtier ne'er watch'd so much the monarch's nod,
Pilgrim ne'er sought with greater zeal his God:
Each petticoat that rustled by, my heart
Bounded as if 'twould from its centre start!
To ev'ry form spied by the glimm'ring lamp
I ran, which seen, but caus'd a greater damp:
126
I turn'd,—for damn the Jilt she never came.
A PARODY.
[In infancy I knew a spot]
In infancy I knew a spot,
Where flowers ne'er had blown;
Where creeping moss had never got,
Where seed was never sown.
But when to years maturer grown,
The spot was deck'd with flowers,
Seed flourish'd whensoever sown,
And lik'd reviving showers.
Where flowers ne'er had blown;
Where creeping moss had never got,
Where seed was never sown.
But when to years maturer grown,
The spot was deck'd with flowers,
Seed flourish'd whensoever sown,
And lik'd reviving showers.
Within this little snug retreat,
A cooling fountain plays:
Here, Venus did Narcissus treat,
And spent their youthful days.
The stream, they nam'd the milky way,
Cause of its cooling pow'r,
Here Titus sigh'd to lose a day!
And I to lose an hour.
A cooling fountain plays:
Here, Venus did Narcissus treat,
And spent their youthful days.
The stream, they nam'd the milky way,
Cause of its cooling pow'r,
Here Titus sigh'd to lose a day!
And I to lose an hour.
127
Around this fount a shady grove,
To lovely Venus dear:
Where all the loves and graces rove,
And wanton all the year.
The only grove where Ida's dove,
Is known to build her nest:
Wherein the little God of love,
Creeps, from his mother's breast.
To lovely Venus dear:
Where all the loves and graces rove,
And wanton all the year.
The only grove where Ida's dove,
Is known to build her nest:
Wherein the little God of love,
Creeps, from his mother's breast.
A smoother plain, beyond the fount
Extends than Tempe sweet,
Whereon appears a little mount,
Which Cupid makes his seat.
Two snowy mountains rise above,
Fairest beneath the skies:
Which Venus nam'd the hills of love,
Because, when prest they rise.
Extends than Tempe sweet,
Whereon appears a little mount,
Which Cupid makes his seat.
Two snowy mountains rise above,
Fairest beneath the skies:
Which Venus nam'd the hills of love,
Because, when prest they rise.
LYDY—Cherning.
Brim full of love fat Lydy sat,
Cheeks like a blooming plumb;
Sweating with all a maiden's strength,
To make the butter come.
Cheeks like a blooming plumb;
Sweating with all a maiden's strength,
To make the butter come.
128
In vain she chern'd, in vain she try'd;
O would our Roger come!
For nothing but a Roger's strength,
Can make my butter come.
O would our Roger come!
For nothing but a Roger's strength,
Can make my butter come.
Within the pantry Roger skulk'd,
And heard this am'rous hum;
Then fixing fast on Lydy's chern,
He made her butter come.
And heard this am'rous hum;
Then fixing fast on Lydy's chern,
He made her butter come.
Lydy cried out—O Roger,—on—
That day may I be dumb;
If once I toil—when you so soon,
Can make my butter come.
That day may I be dumb;
If once I toil—when you so soon,
Can make my butter come.
129
AN EPITAPH, Written in the year 1766, Upon the Death and Burial of a MAID.
Beneath these stones a lovely Maid's repos'd,Who, while alive a secret ne'er disclos'd:
She on her back is still supinely laid,
The pious posture of a dying Maid.
130
On the Death of KITTY FISHER.
Of St. Peter 'twas said in the days of the Jews,In Judea no Fisher could stand in his shoes:
But this I'll affirm, and I'm sure with no drift:
That he, ne'er like St. Kitty, was put to the shift!
Nay, I'll bett Bishop Warburton fifty to ten,
He, never like her, was the Fisher of Men.
131
A Translation of some Part of the first Book of Voltaire's Pucelle d'Orleans.
Of Saints you bid me sing—'tis all in vain,My voice is feeble, and withal prophane.
Sing, then O! sing of Joan the fair, the fine,
Who did, 'tis said, such prodigies divine!
She first establish'd with her virgin hands,
The Flow'r-de-luce, the pride of Gallia's lands;
The branch she stole, left England in the lurch,
And canoniz'd it in the Rheimean church.
She shew'd in all a pious, lovely face,
Was known to be the Rowland of her Race.
For vig'rous courage she surpass'd all praise,
Beneath the placket and within the stays.
O grant an ev'ning for a wanton feat,
The Wench as fair as mutton, and as sweet.
Great Joan of Arc a lyon's heart possest,
You'll see it plainly, do but read the rest!
132
Rare 'mongst the rarests: but, amidst her heats
This was the lab'ring work, the grand affair,
To keep her little maidenhead a year.
133
A SMOCK in the TEETH.
The magick charms which smile beneath the smock,
Have Romans brought to the Tarpeian rock:
Wisdom's white hairs have into exile drove,
And the world's Conquerors dissolv'd in Love.
The first great quarrel was for Helen's charms,
And her white smock drew all the Greeks in arms:
Ten bloody years Troy stood the adverse shock,
And ow'd at last her ruin to a smock.
To save this smock was all the Trojan's pride,
The Greeks fought with it in their teeth, and died.
Have Romans brought to the Tarpeian rock:
Wisdom's white hairs have into exile drove,
And the world's Conquerors dissolv'd in Love.
The first great quarrel was for Helen's charms,
And her white smock drew all the Greeks in arms:
Ten bloody years Troy stood the adverse shock,
And ow'd at last her ruin to a smock.
To save this smock was all the Trojan's pride,
The Greeks fought with it in their teeth, and died.
When smock inspir'd, the Bard he sung the best,
Without it Ovid's works had had no zest:
Give Bays to Bards, to Kings the laurel wreath,
But let me have the smock within my teeth!
Without it Ovid's works had had no zest:
Give Bays to Bards, to Kings the laurel wreath,
But let me have the smock within my teeth!
134
WILKES'S RIGGLE.
A New Country Dance,
As danc'd by all the Folks of Fashion, at the fashionable end of the Town, in the year 1769.
The set was select, for the Dancers were chose,For their beauties, their passions, and not for their cloaths;
Some small altercation the Belles did advance,
Who should stand at the top and lead down the new Dance;
But that was remov'd, when young Oss---y came
With a Dutchess, divorc'd for the strength of her flame.
Lady Sarah the sweet, and lord William stood next,
But Sir Charles kept his seat and look'd damnably vext.
135
Tho' third of the Fair—had the fairest of faces;
She will out-dance old Venus—the Muses—and Graces.
Sweet B---l---ke looked both kind and askance,
My Lord, he kept teazing my Lady to dance;
With raptures he star'd, and with raptures he swore,
Since, he lost her he lov'd her by Heavens the more.
Pretty P---t, 'twas a pity look'd down with some shame,
Two gabbering Plenipos laid in their claim;
And she was too kind to refuse or to blame.
Mrs. G---r stood up, but they all 'gan to pout,
A woman like her, to attend such a rout,
When Panton bawl'd out he'd lay fifty to ten,
That she out-danc'd the women, and tir'd all the men:
O! let her they cried with a sneer and a giggle,
Who knows but she'll shine in the new fashion riggle.
136
The one in white sattin, the other black silk:
One coo'd like a pidgeon, one look'd like a rook,
Together they danc'd, as they out danc'd the Duke.
Lady W---e appear'd very low in the sett,
Enough faith to put e'en a Queen in a pet;
She pouted, and thought she had right to rebuke,
I will be at top as I jigg with a Duke.
The Dutchess of K---n appear'd very low,
For one who had made such a bustle and show;
But, 'twas time to grow cool since she put on the wife,
'Tis the Devil to dance in the autumn of life:
Beneath this fair covey stood dame H---n,
Like St. George and a Soldier my Lord B---n:
Lady V--- made an effort to dance the first sett,
Tho' ready to faint at the thoughts of a sweat.
Like Flora my Lady Ann H---n stood,
A fine luscious armfull of beauty and blood:
137
As handsome as Arne faith, and not a deal fatter.
Lady A---r, and S---t---e were brighten'd with red,
But were grave that young Billy and Neddy were dead.
The musick well tun'd, and the sett quite compleat,
Each drew on his gloves, and then chalk'd o'er his feet;
The whisper went round, and the girls 'gan to giggle,
When Oss'-y bawl'd out—come, come give us the riggle?
He led her down as light as cork,
When she began to giggle;
And said at ev'ry step and jerk,
Play up Wilkes's riggle.
Lead two couple down my Lord!
“Very well upon my word,
Now cross over figure in!
“To have lost it were a sin,
138
“Charming, charming, gallant swain.
Hands around my pretty troop!
“Lady Sarah mind your hoop;
“Who in one can dance with ease?
Hands across pray if you please!
“Lord! that is a charming sack;
Now my Lord pay back to back!
“We've no need, you find of guides;
Open,—and lead out at sides!
“O! we've done it in a trice;
“Can you dance the figure twice?
“Ask not beauty how or why,
“I will jigg it 'till I die.
Feet unto the fiddle run,
Wilkes's riggle's all the fun:
On the light fantastic toe,
Trip it softly as you go!
O! it is a heav'nly dance,
Quite the fashion too in France.
Is your Lordship out of breath?
“I could dance it to my death.
Pray dear Oss'---y do not wonder,
Pleas'd I am or up or under:
139
I resign the name of Dutchess:
Thus continue all your life,
And I'll prove a faithful wife.
Lady Sarah with your fan,
Gently tap your fav'rite man!
Now begin, and jigg it thro',
Beat my Lord, my Lady do!
The END.
| The Court of Cupid | |