Scarfs, furbelows, for routs and public days, “ Let noble dames our pageants hold in sport, And boast the soft refinements of a court, Look down with pity on the sons of earth, Who claim no title to superior birth; Be theirs the joys of fashionable strife, Be mine the pleasures of a City life! What pleasing visions swim before my sight, By day the dinner, and the dance by night! A thousand glitt'ring tapers gild the Hall, And lo! a young Adonis, straight and tall, Perchance just landed from some foreign tour, Asks me to dance a minuet-de-la-cour. Methinks I hear th' admiring gazers cry, Some Goddess has descended from on high, To raise our wonder, and to charm our sight, For sure no mortal ever stepp'd so light !'Then how 'twill give my enemies the vapours, To see it mention'd in the public papers : a 6 - Last night my Lady danc'd with such an air, Terpsichore had blush'd had she been there ; Her eyes discharg'd so many killing darts, That half the common council lost their hearts ! A crown, or ten-and-sixpence at the most, Will get a puff inserted in the Post. “ It was my passion, I remember well, sung, danc’d, play'd, far better than the rest. 6 How sweet to hear,when, as the barge we board, The folks exclaim,- My Lady! and my Lord !' They shout !—and gladly welcome our approach ! And see! they drag the horses from our coach ! For free-born Britons love these low pursuits, To show how well they imitate the brutes. And, should the Regent in his grace (God bless him!) When next the Court of Aldermen address him, Think fit, (the thought transports me with delight!) To dub my Spouse, by making him a Knight; How will the glorious news, the tidings rare, Make all our wond'ring City neighbours stare ! What busy scandal will their tongues employ, They'll almost die with envy-I with joy! ". But hark! the trumpets and the horns below! The carriage waits!—I'm summon'd to the Show!--O patience! what a flurry I am in !Here, Betty, put this patch upon my chin ! A glass of water ! I shall surely faint !Run, Betty !---you had nigh forgot the paint ! My case is trying, and my nerves are weak; Oh, shocking! here's a pimple on my cheek! This sudden greatness overcomes me quite, Heav'n keep me in my proper wits to-night!" a ECLOGUE VII. THE TRIAL. And Cives. Stop, Curio, what disaster prompts thy flight? The Ang The And The Ban He Or :1 My Curio. I have no time for parley,-once for all — From let bus'ness prove to-morrow's care, Why all the world will be assembled there; Great Garble threatens, for he owes a grudge,- Civ. Hush ! recollect that Garble is a judge ! His And Pre | And Wh i Gre Rer He bullies first;—(but mum,-) and then condemns. Cur. 'Tis hard that vice should lord it- Hard indeed! I like your errand, and commend your speed. Cur. Then come, and bear me company ;-- Agreed. They reach'd the Hall, where, in familiar chat Sir Thomas Plomer put his case ; M |