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A Mercer, smart and dapper all allow,
As ever at thop-door shot off a bow.
This summer for I love a little prance-
This Summer, Gentlefolks, I've been to France,
To mark the fashions--and to learn to dance,
I, and dear Mrs. Prigthe first of graces !
At Calais, in the diligence, took places;
Travell'd thro' Boulogne, Amiens, and Chantilly,
All in a line-as Atraight as Piccadilly!
To Paris come, their dresses made me ftare
Their fav’rite colour is the French Qneen's Hair !
They're all so fine, so thabby, and to gay,
They look like chimney-swee pers on May-day!
Silks of all colours in the rainbow there!
A Joseph's coat appears the common wear.
of fume I brought home patterns; one to-night
We mcan to shew-'tis true it is but flight,
But then for summer wear, you know that's right.
A little Weaver, whom I long have known,
Has work'd it up, and begs to have it thewn
Bat pray observe, my friends-'tis not his own.
I brought it over-onay, if it miscarries,
He'll cry~" 'tis none of mine it came from Paris."
But Mou'd you like it, he'll soon let you know
'Twas spun and manufactur'd in Soho.
--'Thad a great run abroad ; which always yields
Work for our Grub-ftreet, and our Spitalfields.
France charms our Ladies, naked Bards and Beaux,
Who smuggle thence their learning and their cloaths ;
Buckles like grid-irons, and wigs on springs ;
Teles built like towers, and rumps like ottrich wings.
If this piece please, each summer l'il go over,
And leich new patterns by the Straits of Dover,
WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK,
Spoken by Mrs. YATES.
LD times, old fashions, and the fairies gone ;
Let us return, good folks, to fixty-oneTo chis blest time, ye fair, of female glory, When pleasures unfurbidden lie before ye No Sprites to fright you now, no guardian Elves; Your wise directors are your own dear selves And every fair one feels, from old to young, While these your guides, -you never can do wrong. Weak were the fex of yore — their pleasures few How much more wise, more spirited are you? Would any Lady Jane, or Lady Mary, Ere they did this or that, consult a Fairy ? Would they permit this faucy pigmy crew, For each small flip, to pinch 'em black and blue ? Well may you shudder -for, with all your charms, Were this the case-good heaven, what necks and arms !
Thus did they serve our grandames heretoforeThe very thought must make us moderns fore! Did their poor hearts for cards or dancing beat, There Elves rais'd blisters on their hands and feet : Tho' Loo the game, and fiddles play'd moft sweetlyThey could not squeeze dear Pain, nor foot Moll Peatly. Were wives with husbands but a little wilful, Were they at that same Loo a little skilful; Did they with pretty fellows laugh or Sporima Wear ruffs too small, or petticoats too short: Did they, no matter how, disturb their cloaths;. Or, over-lilied, add a little rose ! These Spiteful fairies ratiled round their beds, And put ftrange frightful nonsense in their licacy Nay, while the husband fnor'd and pruiishaunr, Hid the fond wife but me: the dear gallan:
Tho'lock'd the door, and all as ftill as night-
Pop thro' the key hole whips the Fairy Sprite,
Trips round the room—“My husband !” madam cries
" 'The devil! where !" the frighted beau replies-
Jumps thro' the window-the calls out in vain.
He, cur'd of love and cool'd with drenching rain,
Swears “ Dem him if he'll e'er intrigue again!”
There were their tricks of old-
But all allow,
No childish fears disturb our Fair Ones now
Ladies, for all this trilling, 'cwould be belt
To keep a little Fairy in your breast :
Not one that hould with moderate passions war ;
But just to tweak you-when you go too far.
MOORE'S GAMES TER.
Spoken by Mrs. PRITCHARD.
'Tis faid that Mahomet denounc'd damnation ;
But in return for wicked cards and dice,
He gave them black ey'd girls in Paradise.
Should he thus preach, good countrymen, to you, .
His converts would, I fear, be mighty few.
So much your hearts are fut on fordid gain,
The brightest eyes around you shine in vain.
Snou'd the inost heav'nly beauty bid you take her,.
You'd rather holdwo aces and a maker,
By your example, our poor sex drawn in,
Is guilty of the same unnat'ral fin;
The study now of every girl of parts,
Is how to win your money, not your hearts. -
O! in what sweet, what ravishing delights,
Our Beaux and Belles together pass their nights !
By ardont perturbations kept awake,
Eich views with longing eyes the other's -stake.
The Smiles and Graces are from Britain flown,
Our Cupid is an errant Marper grown,
A.1. fortune' fits on -; tkrca's chrone.
In all these things tho' women may be blam'd,
Sure men, the wiser men, thou'd be asham'd!
And 'tis a horrid scandal I declare,
That four strange queens shou'd rival all the fair,
Four jilts with neither beauty, wit nor parts,
O Thame! have got possession of their hearts;.
And those bold Nuts, for all their queenly pride,
Have play'd loose tricks, or else they're much belyd.
Cards were at first for benefits design'd,
Sent to amuse, and not enflave the mind.
From good to bad how easy the transition !
For what was pleasure once, is now perdition.
Fair Ladies then there wicked Gamellers fhun,
Whoever weds one, is, you see undone.
Ε, Ρ. Ι Ι O G. U E.
SIEGE OF AQUILEI A.
Spoken by Mrs, CIBBER.
In antient lore ; in Latin, nor in Greek, .
I therefore did advise him; as a friend,
To make his learning serve fome useful end:
And let me know, what rules he had observ'd,
What unities of time and place preserv'd.
He answer'd, Poetry is not an art;
'Tis Nature only frames the Poet's heart :
Still as he thinks, the scene he feels along,
And from his bosom bursts the raptur'd song..
This is the sacred oracle, the shrine
The bard consults, and here, the tuneful. Nine.
With the same fire, the hearer's soul must glow, :
Else vain to him, the tale of tragic woe.
Tbere is a temper, which is all in all :
That sounds responsive to the Poet's call.
Like Memnon's harp, which pour'd harmonious lays,
When'er its stings were touch'd by Phobus' rays.
This temper of the soul is sweet and wild;
It lobs, or smiles, as sudden as a child;
To woes imagin'd tears unfeigned gives,
And in the Poet's world of fancy lives.
Whilst thus he spoke, a bell was heard te ring;
He stop'd, and started like a guilty thing;
Ere the dread curtain rose, in halte withdrew,
And at a distance waits his doom from you.
H such a fight! I've been upon the course,
And he may talk his nonsense tell he's hoarse :
What matters an old Canterbury story?
Upon my soul Newmarket's in its glory.
Such galloping, such gambling and such betting,
Such capering, such cutting and curveering!
Oh, such a world of bothering and of noise,
So many Cambridge hacks and College boys :
Then there is such a riot and a rattle
With lifts of terrible, terrible bigb-bred calle ;
Lift of the Sporting Ladies, Sir?
This foolish Poet's no where, take my word.
He's jaded at two heats, as I'm alive,
'Tis well it's out of rule to start for five.
What signifies his farce ! 'is all a jest ;
Upon my soul Firetail's a lovely beast
So fleak, so trim, so sender and so thin,
They lead him out and then they lead him in.
Oh, if that Roman fellow now was there,
(What was his name :) that made his horfe Lord May's
He might have choice and plenty, a whole ftud
Of Senators and Consuls, thorough blood.
What neighing after one another's (pouses,
What snorting and what kicking in both houses!
Shake but the fieve, as fure as I am born,
There's none amongst 'em, but wou'd come 10.6orn.