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88 LORD B. AND THE EUNUCH.
And from the days of Adam 'tis the case,
'Signor Squalini,' cry'd the lord,
'The op'ra is begun, upon my word
'Mlons. signor, arid hear me—mind,
'As soon as ever you shall find
'A singer's voice above or under pitch,
'Just touch my toe, or give my arm a twitch.'
'Iss, iss, my lor, (the eunuch straight reply'd)
Now to the opera, music's sounds to hear,
Proceeded—Near the orchestra they sat,
With all the keenness of a hungry cat.
Now came an out-of-tunish note
The eunuch twitch'd his lordship's coat:
Full-mouth'd at once his lordship roar'd out— 'psha!' The orchestra, amaz'd, turn round To find from whence arose the critic sound,
When, lo! they heard the lord, and saw!
The eunuch kept most slily twitching,
THE FEMALE PRATTLER.
From morn to night, from day to day,
At all times, and in ev'ry place, You scold, repeat, and sing and say,
Nor are there hopes you '1l ever cease. Forbear, my Fannia ; oh, forbear,
If your own health or ours you prize; For all mankind that hear you, swear
Your tongue's more killing than your eyes. Your tongue's a traitor to your face,
Your fame 's by your own noise obscur'd; All are distracted while they gaze,
But, if they listen, they are cur'd. Your silence would acquire more praise
Than all you say, or all you write; One look ten thousand charms displays;
Then hush! and be an angel quite.
As Quin anil Foote, one day walk'd out
To view the country round,
Hard by the village-pound.
And said, I'll bet a penny,
I'll make this piece a guinea.
The shilling soon was thrown;
For there is one pound one.
Should in your head be found,
A COURT AUDIENCE.
Old South, a witty churchman reckon'd,
Was preaching once to Charles the Second,
But much too serious for a court
Who at all preaching made a sport.
He soon pcrcciv'd the audience nod,
Deaf to the zealous man of God!
The doctor stopp'd ; hegan to call,
'Pray wake the carl of Lauderdale.
'My lord! why, 'tis a monstrous thing!
'You snore so loud—you'll 'wake the king.'
THE TENDER HUSBAND.
Lo, to the cruel hand of fate,
My poor dear Grizzle meek-soul'd mate,
Resigns her tuneful breath— Tho' dropp'd her jaw, her lip tho' pale, And blue each harmless finger nail,
She *s beautiful in death.
As o'er her lovely limbs I weep,
How wonderfully tame!
With all the lightning's flame.
Death was, indeed, a daring wight,
To lift his dart to hit her;
I thought he fear'd to meet her.
Still is that voice of late so strong,
And beat in sounds the spheres!
Have sooth'd my ravish'd ears!
Ah me! indeed I'm much inclin'd
Nor hurt her dear repose;
And touch her precious nose.
Here let me philosophic pause—
Hi THE TENDER HUSBAND.
When lady's breath retires, Its fate the flaming passions share. Supported by a little air,
Like culinary fires!
'Whene'er 1 hear the bagpipe's note, Shall fancy fix on Grizzle's throat,
And loud instructive lungs: O Death, in her, tho' only one, Are lost a thousand charms unknown,
At least a thousand tongues.
Soon as I heard her last sweet sigh, And saw her gently closing eye,
How great was my surprise! Yet have I not with impious breath, Accus'd the hard decrees of death,
Nor blam'd the righteous skies
Why do I groan in deep despair,
Ah! why my bosom smite?
Whatever is, is right.
Oh, doctor! you are come too late; No more of physic's virtues prate,
That could not save my lamb: Not one more bolus shall be giv'n— Yon shall not ope her mouth by heav'n
And Grizzle's gullet cram.
Enough of bolusses, poor heart,
Before she clos'd her eyes;
She shall not seek the skies.