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. |
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| I. |
| II. |
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AN EPITHALAMIUM On the Marriage of
SUDLEY and BEERPINT.
March, 1769.
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 | The Court of Cupid |  |
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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:
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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,
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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!
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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;
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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;
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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;
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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.
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We seek a fresher tap around the town.
But yet this wedding does deserve esteem,
Carrol Bawds, Harlots, Nose-gay Girls the bridal theme!
| The Court of Cupid | |