 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
234
EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF THE GUARDIANS
Spoken by Mr. Harley in the character of Hint
At home, abroad, in gossip, or in print,
Who has not felt the magic power of Hint?
Say, lovely maid, what earthly power can move
That gentle bosom like a hint of love?
Say, thou spruce beau, oppressed with loads of raiment,
What half so shocking as a hint for payment?
A hint of need, drawn forth with sad concessions,
Stops the full flow of friendship's loud professions:
A hint of Hyde Park Ring from testy humours,
Stops Hint itself, when most agog for rumours.
Where'er I go, beaux, belles of all degrees,
Who has not felt the magic power of Hint?
Say, lovely maid, what earthly power can move
That gentle bosom like a hint of love?
Say, thou spruce beau, oppressed with loads of raiment,
What half so shocking as a hint for payment?
A hint of need, drawn forth with sad concessions,
Stops the full flow of friendship's loud professions:
A hint of Hyde Park Ring from testy humours,
Stops Hint itself, when most agog for rumours.
Come buzzing round me like a swarm of bees:
My crafty hook of sly insinuation
I bait with hints, and fish for information.
“What news, dear Hint? it does us good to see
Your pleasant face: we're dying with ennui.”
“Me! bless you! I know nothing.” “You're so sly;
You've something in your head:” “Indeed not I.
'Tis true, at Lady Rook's, just now I heard
A whisper pass. . . . I don't believe a word
A certain lady is not over blameless,
Touching a certain lord that shall be nameless.”
“Who? who? pray tell.” “Excuse me.” “Nay, you shall.”
235
“You mean my Lady Plume and Lord Fal-lal,”
“Lord Smirk and Mrs. Sparkle,” “Lady Simple,
And young Lord Froth,” “Lord Whip and Mrs. Dimple.” (In an Irish accent)
“D'ye mean my wife, sir? give me leave to mention
There's no ill meaning in Lord Sly's attention:
Sir, there's my card: command me: I'll attend,
And talk the matter over with a friend.”
“Dear Major! no such thing: you're right in scorning
Such idle tales: I wish you a good-morning.”
Away I speed: from lounge to lounge I run,
With five tales loaded where I fished for one;
And, entre nous, take care the town shall know,
The Major's wife is not quite comme il faut.
But Hyde Park Ring my cunning shuns in vain,
If by your frowns I die in Drury Lane.
If die I must, think not I'll tamely fall:
Pit, boxes, gallery, thus I challenge all.
Ye critics near me, and ye gods afar!
Fair maid, spruce beau, plump cit, and jovial tar!
Come one and all, roused by my valorous greeting,
To-morrow night to give bold Hint the meeting:
Bring all your friends—a host—I'll fit them nicely,
Place—Drury Lane—time, half-past-six precisely.
If by your frowns I die in Drury Lane.
If die I must, think not I'll tamely fall:
Pit, boxes, gallery, thus I challenge all.
Ye critics near me, and ye gods afar!
Fair maid, spruce beau, plump cit, and jovial tar!
Come one and all, roused by my valorous greeting,
To-morrow night to give bold Hint the meeting:
Bring all your friends—a host—I'll fit them nicely,
Place—Drury Lane—time, half-past-six precisely.
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |