True real honor he displays to view,
Pays his old debts, and then begins anew.
The paying debts he knows is not the passion,
But hopes to-night to set this comely fashion.
Rais'd by a title, which in former times
The peer ne'er us'd to varnish o'er his crimes;
A noble mind he'll shew, as well as birth,
(Unlike some new made lords, just sprung from earth,)
And try his founder's virtues to inherit,
Who got his peerage by superior merit.
To ease his friends, my Lord's enlarg'd this place,
That none may shew a discontented face;
But all of you enjoy sea-room enough,
E'en the broad crest of honest Captain Bluff.
"To see a Play, I've paid most woundy dear,
Old Square Toes said, going from hence last year,
So squeez'd and press'd, was never man before,
Your W**g***e plays shall never see me more :
The Col'nel too, forsooth, must pinch my corns,
Perhaps create a harder substance, horns!"
"Alas, what's that, replies his loving wife,
My dear was hurt, my soul, my chick, my life."
Miss Dumpling next complain'd the House was small,
That some rude bear had push'd her 'gainst the wall;
"Besides, papa, a vulgar ill-bred man,
Dar'd to stoop down, and pick me up my fan;
Presumptuous wretch! who ventur'd thus to touch,
The fan presented me by Count Nonsuch.
Would my Lord B***y**re enlarge his place,
And let us quality have a sep'rate space,
I might perhaps once more adorn his plays,
Make the men's hearts with admiration blaze,
Whilst all transported at my person gaze;
And women e'en, though envious of my charms,
Extol the beauty of my face and arms.
Who's that cries one, Miss Dumpling says another,
And none their praises of my shape can smother;
Earls, Dukes, and Princes swell my conquest roll,
And I, like Venus, o'er their hearts controul.
As it now is, some monster I should dread
Might by o'er kindness indispose my head;
For sure the greatest of life's various ills,
What most the heart with spleen and rancour fills,
Is to be pester'd by your awkward clowns,
Whose gauche politeness, I return by frowns.
Better kick'd, curs'd, or famish'd by a Lord,
Than by an upstart commoner ador'd.”
Lest some tho' elsewhere should still sit on thorns,
While cuckolds here have room to spread their horns;
By me his Lordship hon'rably declares,
He'll pay his tradesmen their respective shares,
If these will send in honest, clear accounts,
And fairly state to what each bill amounts.
Thus B******re performs a noble part,
And what some here I hope will learn by heart;
A character displays on W**g**e stage,
But seldom seen in this degen'rate age.
To the Company at Hari owgate in the Summer, 1801, upon closing the Theatre there for the Season, and
written for Miss De C.'s Benefit.
our season ended, give me leave
express those thanks with which our bosoms heave: But chiefly mine, who feel to-night that glow,
Which from a grateful mind can only flow.
That debt of Gratitude now fills my heart,
And tho' the whole I cannot, I'll pay part.
Supposing then each here, like me, a Play'r,
For you I offer up this fervent pray'r;
May all you, acting on the stage of life,
As brother, husband, mother, daughter, wife
So well perform, that at death's awful hour
No poignant sorrow may life's chalice sour;
May you, ye Belles, who Harrowgate adorn,
Gather the flow'r of joy without the thorn;
Nor hasty pluck a flow'r, where'er it grows,
For fear you get the nettle, not the rose.
If then your minds on marriage are intent,
Remember well this word, 'repent, repent.'
To you, mamas, I give this short advice,
For I have known mamas by much too nice;
Let not ambitious views direct your aim,
And make your daughter wed, to get a name,
Whether she feel or not love's sacred flame.
Let wealth nor title be your only guide,
These of themselves can't make the happy bride;
But hark! some mother says, whence all this knowledge,
Sure that pert Miss was brought up at a College,
A girl so wise she surely ne'er could be,
Unless she added to her name B. D.
You quiz me, madam, but I'll quiz again,
'Tis a fair shot to try to hit the men,
Those lordly men, who thinking us fair game,
Shoot at the women's hearts with love's unerring aim.
"Tis now the season too, September time,
Would birds were shot at only in my rhyme.
B. D. implies in that great College, whence
I had my knowledge, a great want of sense.
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