Should they behold her at a play,
As she's trick'd-up on holy-day;
When the whole family combine
For public pride to make her shine?
Her locks, which long before lay matted,
Are on this day comb'd out and platted: A diamond bodkin in each tress,
The badges of her nobleness;
For every stone as well as she,
Can boast an ancient pedigree.
These form'd the jewel erst did grace
The cap of the first Grave o' th' race;
Preferr'd by Graffin Marian
T'adorn the handle of her fan;
And, as by old record appears,
Worn since in Renigunda's years:
Now sparkling in the frokin's hair,
No rocket breaking in the air
Can with her starry head compare.
Such ropes of pearl her arms incumber,
She scarce can deal the cards at Ombre.
So many rings each finger freight,
They tremble with the mighty weight.
The like in England ne'er was seen,
Since Holbein drew Hal and his queen.
But, after these fantastic flights,
The lustre's meaner than the lights,
The thing that bears this glittering pomp
Is but a tawdry ill-bred romp,
Whose brawny limbs and martial face
Proclaim her of the Gothic race,
More than the mangled pageantry
Of all the father's heraldry.
But there's another sort of creatures,
Whose ruddy look and grotesque features
Are so much out of nature's way,
You'd think them stamp'd on other clay;
No lawful daughters of old Adam.
'Mongst these behold a city madam,
With arms in mittins, head in muff,
A dapper cloak and reverend ruff:
No farce so pleasant as this maukin,
And the soft sound of High-dutch talking.
Here, unattended by the Graces,
The Queen of Love in a sad case is.
Nature, her active minister,
Neglects affairs, and will not stir;
Thinks it not worth the while to please,
But when she does it for her ease.
Ev'n I, her most devout adorer,
With wandering thoughts appear before her: And, when I'm making an oblation,
Am fain to spur imagination
With some sham London inclination:
The bow is bent at German dame;
The arrow flies at English game.
Kindness, that can Indifference warm,
And blow that calm into a storm,
Has in the very tenderest hour
Over my gentleness a power,
True to my country-women's charms, When kiss'd and press'd in foreign arms.
REV. SIR JOHN DOLBEN, BART. D. D.
SIR John, or Doctor, choose you
Or Friend, a better name than either:
Had it pleas'd dame or madam Fortune,
T' have thrown me in some place opportune,
To see, and hear, and talk with you
And wake sometimes an hour or two;
Or say it hours were six or seven,
(For Will can joke from morn to even)
No need had been to pump for metre,
To furnish out an idle letter?
For then, instead of 'diting poesy,
I might have prated viva voce.
Then haply, had the way between's
Been miles and way-bits under teens,
I might have view'd fair Finedon's tow'rs,
Its walks, and avenues, and bow'rs,
The sweet abode of you and yours;
The noble furniture have seen,
The living furniture I mean;
For what is all the costly traffic,
That comes from India, Spain, or Afric,
Compar'd to sprightly wit and beauty,
That always pleasant is and new t' you?
Then had I seen in ev'ry kind,
Such beauties both of face and mind,
As oft are read of in romances,
The creatures of poetic fancies,
But save at Finedon, hardly found
On English, or un-English ground;
Then had I—but I cry you mercy,
For I must be content with hearsay,
Nor hope to see such sights as there are,
Unless I liv'd a great deal nearer.
But miles there are twenty and thirty,
Both woundy long, and plaguy dirty,
Which I, the laziest thing alive,
Could hardly pass in days twice five.
Would Pegasus let me bestride him,
And teach me skill, when up, to ride him;
Or had I wings well glu'd and corded,
Better than Icarus or Ford had,
Away I'd fly, nor stay to bait,
Until I knock'd at Finedon gate.
Then woe be to the beef and claret,
For by my faith I would not spare it ;
Nor should I, once possession taken,
Contrive or care to save your bacon.
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