University of Virginia Library

THE SKETCH OF A SKETCHER.

Some years ago, no matter how long since,
Such trifles surely no one need to mince,
The beaux and belles of this my native spot,
Were all assembled for a dance I wot;
A coxcomb officer with bushy hair,
Such (shall I call them gentlemen?) there are,
With boasted consequence, who strut and quiz,
And deem themselves of admirable fiz;
Who think their coats attractive to the eye,
And fancy ladies for their sakes must die.
I've seen some such, who lift their lofty brows,
Rattle their swords, their sabre-tash dispose,
Curl their mustachios, and assume the swing
Of fancied majesty! God bless the King!
But none of these have ever made me fear,
Nor would they had they thrust me with a spear.
Think me not proud, O men of war and fame!
I love and venerate the brave man's name,
But coxcomb impudence, in pride of dress,
Who would be great in midst of nothingness,
I cannot help it, sure I am to smile,
Whene'er I see them out of rank and file,
Strutting the gauntlet in the ball-room's blaze,
Self, self-important, swelling for the gaze.
'Twas some such man, his name, Sir, in the town,
Was formerly, and is so quite well known:
I shall not tell it, but my pencil's trace
May bring to mind the features of his face;
In dishabille, he entered with his friend,
A sir, sir Somebody! But pray attend:—
They look'd around on this, and that, and t'other,
Joked, laugh'd, and chuckled wisely with each other,
Their eyebrows lifting, then again compressing,
For no one caring, no one there addressing.
The talk of all, they seem'd to like the fun,
For sake of noteriety 'twas done.
The one in question, boasted of his skill,
At duelling a dab, was sure to kill;
And stood as high for some such mighty work,
As any Spaniard, Saracen, or Turk;
Some talent he possess'd, and so to show it,
Determined as I've done, the world should know it:—
So down he sat, and taking out his book,
Gave here and there significant a look;
Then in his hat he mark'd the faces down,
Some with a smile, and others with a frown;
The ladies blush'd, the gentlemen disturb'd,
Yet no one thought the monster could be curb'd.
At length, the doors unfolding in the room,
He saw a subject, aye! a prime one come!
'Twas Mrs. Cobbold,—true in outward gait,
(God bless my Mother now in better state!)
From habits mild, and generous, and kind,
The surest index of a noble mind;
From sedentary life, or happy tone
Of disposition, she was portly grown,
But never indolent; he little knew
How great a woman came within his view.—
The start of joy was kindled in his face,
And soon his pencil hasted to the trace.
Some ladies came to tell the hero's name,
His character, his rudeness to proclaim,
At last one said! “Look, look, he's sketching you!”
“Ah! is he? let him have a perfect view;
“Pray clear the way, I'll sit myself at ease,
“In any way for sketching he may please,
“And had I pencil, I would calmly try,
“Such impudence to baffle and defy.”
Soon came the pencil, paper, to the scratch,
The sketcher found a sketcher was his match;
With steady hand she quietly began,
To mark the outline of this outré man;
They sat few seconds, (bless my gentle mother!)
Compos'dly, fairly sketching one another.
Till barefaced impudence outwitted blush'd,
And out midst hisses of the ball-room rush'd!
Brave woman! brave! thy wisdom gave retort,
In common justice, as a woman ought.
No angry frown, no pique, or pride, or fear,
No word of murmur spake disturbance near;
The deed was done in gentleness of hand,
By spirit prompted! Such deeds must command.
Who marks in justice, lives in mercy too,
Loves while he lives, is humble, quiet, true,
Will ever find he has it in his pow'r,
To put down impudence at any hour.