Distress upon Distress : or, Tragedy in True Taste A Heroi-Comi-Parodi-Tragedi-Farcical Burlesque |
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 | Distress upon Distress : or, Tragedy in True Taste |  |
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Enter Spunge.
Spunge.
'Tis now the Dead of Night; so much the better:
Lamp, by your Leave,—shew Light to read this Letter?
Lamp, by your Leave,—shew Light to read this Letter?
Honoured Sir,
Hoping these Lines in Health will find you well,As I myself am, I make bold to tell,
If you, to Night, to our Back-door repair,
When it strikes Twelve, you'll surely find one there.
Now grizly Night, thy pitch'd Tarpaulin spread,
Black as the sooty Chimney-sweeper's Sack;
Snore, ye bed-wanting Bunters, on each Bulk;
Wake not, ye Watchmen, while I warn my Love,
Molly, Miss Molly, O Miss Molly, Molly—
But see the Casement opens, she appears,
And spreads a sparkling Light along the Lane.
Black as the sooty Chimney-sweeper's Sack;
Snore, ye bed-wanting Bunters, on each Bulk;
Wake not, ye Watchmen, while I warn my Love,
Molly, Miss Molly, O Miss Molly, Molly—
But see the Casement opens, she appears,
And spreads a sparkling Light along the Lane.
Miss.
Who's there?
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My dear, 'tis I, your True-love, Spunge.
Miss.
If I, poor Girl, do trust myself with you,
May I depend, Sir, you'll be always true?
Spunge.
By yon pale greasy Lamp that twinkling burns;
By the still Silence of this Tongue-ty'd Night;
By this sad Soul that snores, immers'd in Drink—
Miss.
O, do not swear—I do indeed believe,
So sweet a Tongue, sure, never can deceive.
Here, take this Bundle?
As he takes it, a Noise is heard within, of, Bring him along; the 'Squire is carried across the Stage, and the Watchmen seize Spunge, and carry him off last.
| Distress upon Distress : or, Tragedy in True Taste | |