  squiggle-line My author is not merely blameful To leave you out—'tis downright shameful! Affording you no condescension, Beyond an incidental mention; Since none like you, one must suppose, Can take a noble by the nose; Whilst lofty thoughts you well may harbour, Having been always 'quite the barber:' And rising thus, with perfect ease, To almost any thing you please. If you're with some good-natured Duke, Why, free of course from coarse rebuke, You take upon, and call about you, Knowing he can't get on without you; So clever keeping out the duns, And ushering the 'priests and nuns!' 'Airs' may not suit his 'Grace's' whim, If friends remonstrate, he will say, "I fancy it's the rascal's way." If he be deaf, you'll keep him under By making signs, else let him wonder: If dim of sight, still all the better, You'll more than peep in every letter; Nor will it be by you denied, Most Lords have more than one 'blind side.' To some good tune you've owned this blessing, Whilst idolized for taste in dressing, Since the whole wardrobe's varied range Is yours, by turns, to 'sell or change!' Urged by the winning approbation Or of a Solomons or Nathan, You can estrange each 'chosen' waistcoat, And alienate his dearest dress-coat! Or, by the use of 'fitting' phrases, Stock half the shops with 'misfit' jaseys. You 'try it on:' howe'er becoming, If you begin just 'ha-ing, humming,' It puts him straight in such a fume, Though you've "no wish to seem capricious, There's something in it not judicious." Then for new suits you feel his pulse, The measure answers,—"Send for Stultz!" "Our stock of boots is far from nobby:" "Well! where the d——l, sir, is Hoby?" Get but the measure of his foot, You've clothes, wigs, jewels, all 'to boot!' The more you crave the more he's Frank for't, Though chiefly you've yourself to thank for't. Thus whilst whole cargoes you command, At once as 'good as' second-hand, Yet (on the other hand) 'tis true, They're 'not inferior' to new. Sweet interchange! yourself so fervent, A sample of the 'perfect servant;' Without one wish to take it 'cooler,' Having so 'Exquisite' a ruler! If vastly nice in his amours, Still all goes nicely on all fours. Large though your meed for nice attention, Prove that he made you once a present, And help yourself all nice and pleasant! Good Judges will applaud the fun, And own the thing was nicely done. Now, as your mind acquires expansion, You'll build yourself a tidy mansion; The tradesmen freely will afford,— By way of samples for your Lord, (Your delicacy not to shock it,) Both prog and furniture to stock it. Thus some opine some odd disaster, So blends the Servant with the Master, That they might doubt, amidst the pother, Whether they dined with one or t'other! Allow me now the leave to ask you,— Supposing I'd the right to task you,— Would you be Clergyman or Doctor, Attorney, Barrister, or Proctor? Be famed in arms, or shine in arts, Upon the whole a man of parts Rais'd to high fortune by the palette? Joking apart, here be some traces, Of what are called 'good Valets' places.' And now, if these be fitting words Pertaining but to Dukes and Lords, How shall the Muse presume to sing Of those who serve a Prince or King? Sweet goddess! bring th' event about, And 'place' thy 'servants' out of doubt! We'll say you mayn't have had the gumption To make this galloping consumption Of half his wealth, without a rumpus,— Or say a quarter (within compass); Still as to have, you've still been known, The devil's luck besides your own, The King or Prince a visit pays To your grandee for some few days. You're introduced, somehow or other, And 'somehow' set aside your brother, Who, e'en unsafe in his own skin, Forced to jump out,—why you jump in! All your 'attentions' are so striking, Your Master feigns a 'deep regret,' Well knowing what himself shall get: You (bless your stars for such a barter) Are bought and paid for with—the Garter! And having got just what you wish'd for, No secret make of what you fish'd for. Fortune can go but one step higher, You're made a Page, and dubb'd Esquire; And then you'll turn upon your heel, Prouder than Wellington or Peel, Since you yourself can hardly know How far your influence may go. And now your almost only care, Amidst the all-attractive glare, Is to ward off all applications From seedy friends and poor relations; While you've no end of fun and sport When clumsy people come to Court. The King will do whate'er you crave him, If you'll but just agree to 'shave him;' Which you most certainly will do More ways than one, and closely too! THE WAITING-WOMAN.
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