Dramatic Scenes :: :: University of Virginia Library

Who'll sell me a drum or a trumpet?
Who'll buy?—here are colours, a pair.
Here's drink for all those who'll be soldiers,
(And a shilling) at Vanity Fair.

360

Here's a glass for an eye that don't need it;
A mask for a face that can stare;
And a place in a Railway Direction,
(And so much a-year, you may swear).

Here's a virgin, rich, frightful, and fifty;
Here's a lord, with his pockets all bare,
(A young giant,)—if only he's thrifty,
He's sure of a sale at the fair.

Will you sell me some health, you physician?
You, sir, with your head full of hair,
(Not your own) will you puzzle the plaintiff,
And set right my wrongs, at the fair?

Here's a place for Sir Jeremy's cousin;
He swore (as you know he can swear)
That my enemies bribed right and left, when
I came in a member for—where?

Here's my lady's own maid:—Is it ready,
The pension, rewarding her care?
All secrets she knows, and is steady;
And is dumb—on a certain affair.

O father, why droopeth your daughter,
So young, yet so faded by care?
“She is come to be sold, my fine fellow,
Draw near! she's the prize of the fair.”

361

And she, neither bashful nor forward,
With something of ton in her air?
O widow, unbosom your beauty;
I would tender soft words, did I dare;

But I dare not;—and so, as the daylight
Is fading to eve, it is time
To cease, and be thinking of dinner,
And to change both our dress and the rhyme.

Come, good friends, take what's before you;
Meat and drink, and welcome warm:
Here's a health to them that bore you,
And a curse for him that means you harm.

Deeply dive into your pockets;
Count no silver, spare no gold;
Here is all the world of wonders,
Each thing to be bought and sold.

Friendship—who will bid for friendship?
Honour—look, it may be bought:
Love—a rare and curious specimen,
Found where it was never sought.

362

But no need to show each article.
Here's a figure for your grounds!
Spirit show, if you've a particle:
Shall I say “a thousand pounds?”

Look! She lives. Who bids? What beauty!
Mark the outline of her form!
Come, sirs, you have each a duty
Towards your country to perform.

Thank you, sir,—ten thousand—twenty—
Thirty—fifty—a hundred! There,
Gone!—Where shall the lot be sent t' you?
'Tis the prize, sir, of the fair!