  squiggle-line I pity you with all my heart! Your ladies play so mean a part, As now-a-days old clothes to barter For china, trinkets, scented water, Or use them up for chairs and screens, Less'ning an honest servant's means; Besides yet shabbier plans than these, The prevalence of locks and keys! Making you live, all hugger-mugger, On bohea slops and coarse brown sugar. There's yet another 'plaguy way,' With ladies of the present day, Of lessening your hilarity— By 'giving way' to charity! To make it up there's ways for certain,— Perchance your Lord, if in his hey-day, May like you better than his Lady, Though she's an angel,—vastly stupid! But that's a freak of Master Cupid, (To whom, of course, you constant pray, And offer vows both night and day). He makes too free in hapless hour, And from that moment's in your power. To keep your countenance endeavour, Lift up your hands, cry "Well, I never! In all my life knew such assurance; This cruelty is past endurance." Swear that you'd neither bring disgrace Upon a poor, but virtuous race, "Nor have an 'impetation' hurl'd 'Aginst' your honour, for the world!" Then see that ready cash enhances What he may choose to call 'advances.' Five guineas for the least gradation That leads to aught like adoration; And have at least a hundred down And don't, without loud indignation, Be 'throw'd in such a flusteration;' Make him fork out, or (ruthless lingo), You'll "tell your Lady,—yes, by jingo!" In such a family, if handsome, Some one will offer for your ransom; If stricken deep, the effects will show forth In Chaplain, Steward, Gent, and so forth. If from my Lord you've apprehension Of what you can't genteelly mention,— You must consider, with all def'rence, To which of 'em to give the pref'rence: My Lord's own gentleman, we'll say, You've sense enough to keep at bay, Because you stand of sin in fear, And think him also insincere. Only one caution, and I've done; Beware of—my Lord's eldest son! You may, if you've sufficient gnous, Be future Lady of his house; But if a common rake, then shun him, Or thought him worth the least attention, Entailing ills too bad to mention! But whilst I feel this anxious strife About your settling well in life, Still let us both remember, that of Some other things we ought to chat of. Perchance some morn your Lady's ill, And should be kept exceeding still; Yet footmen call from friends of wealth, To make inquiries of her health. Go bolt up stairs; if not awake, Give her at least a gentle shake: If she's offended, blame her blindness To such a Lord or Lady's kindness; 'Tis time enough if fiercely curb'd, To say, "She cannot be disturb'd." If your young Mistress be an heiress, 'Jimini!' what a chance then there is. If you don't get five hundred cool When she gets married, you're a fool. Ask where's the mortal can resist her? Yet make her fear that still you shan't, Unless you're call'd a 'confidante.' Put her in mind she's rich enough To please herself,—has got the stuff; Can choose from all mankind her prize, Where'er she deigns to cast her eyes; That friends are apt to feign rebuke For love bestow'd e'en on a Duke; That love's the dearest, sweetest thrall— Almighty Love is all in all! That worlds of gentlemen complete Would die to languish at her feet; That spite of fortune, or of birth, "Love's—love's a heaven upon earth!" Then a long string of rhymes run o'er From Byron and 'dear Tommy Moore,' Wishing—so much you dote upon 'em— That you could recollect 'more on 'em.' Then while your rhapsody she blames, Though plain you've set her all in flames, Of which, when giving some intense sign, "Who'd bleed to death to own her sway Down on his knees, that very day." How to her honour 'twou'd redound, To give him forty thousand pound! Till in the dreams of 'sweet fifteen,' She feels half way to Gretna Green. Take care that ev'ry body know shall The sort of goods at your disposal; How great a favourite you are,— Consulted with the utmost care. Oft to the Park a visit pay, The fellows will find out the way, And oftentimes, when much distrest, Confide their secrets to your breast; There place a note,—away you bound! And fling it back upon the ground, Unless the truly sapient ninnies Shall with it lodge at least two guineas: Yet still, to make it seem more funny, Pretend you never found the money. You drop the note; your Lady'll find it, Then swear, to make the joke the better, You never knew you had the letter; You only just remember this, A saucy fellow snatch'd a kiss, And must, without the 'slightest leave,' Have left it, 'somehow,' in your sleeve. Another way you yet can turn it; She needn't read it,—she can burn it. No |
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