OPERA.
Scene is the City of Athens, and an old Woman lives in a hollow Tree, where she sells Gin and Gingerbread to the Grenadiers; her Name is Gammer Hocus. Then there comes a Goddess, who sells Butter and Eggs at Athens Market, upon her Uncle’s bald Mare; and as the Mare is a stumbling Jade, so she falls down before Hocus’s Tree, and hurts her Rump, and then we begin.
N. B. When the Goddess Cinderaxan falls down before Gammer Hocus’s Door, or Tree, she begins in Ricitativo——Greek Fashion.
O! mega mar, hocus the baldmare has cantedme ontoss;
* Phillàdram sukami, some Spirit offerme to suckon.
Dear Hokey behasty, forbum sufferssore by a Thumpon’t;
No baldmare my Gammon shall contuseagain by one moretoss.
* Fill.
English’d thus for the Benefit of the Ladies, though ’tis much the same in the Greek.
O my Gammer Hocus, the bald Mare has canted me one Toss;
Fill a Dram, sick am I, some Spirit offer me to suck on.
Dear Hokey be hasty, for Bum suffers sore by a Thump on’t.
No bald Mare my Gammon shall contuse again by one more Toss.
Then out comes Gammer Hocus, when the Goddess had called for a Dram in the second Line, and sings with an Air, seeing her Goddessship as dirty as the Devil.
Cinderaxan’s sablehew’d Aspect,——
Fulloffun, though the Doxey can seemcoy.
And here we leave off. Is not the Devil in the People, that they will not encourage a good Thing, when they have it before them.
Crown at Uxbridge, 1708.
An Acrostick upon something or other.
Commodious for a Haven made,
Under a rising Bank,
Nature has fix’d a Place of Trade,
To Men of any Rank.
Underwritten.
Riddle my ree, &c.
And read the four first Letters, and you’ll see.
R. M.
[ A Man hanging for Love], drawn when Painting was in its Cradle, with his Dog barking at him, viva voce. From the three Pigeons at Brentford.
The Occasion of this dangling Story, was from a Lady who hated him, and set him about it.
Go hang thyself, quoth cruel She,
Go hang thyself I say.
The Man obey’d her presently,
And made himself away.
Mary Worthless.
The Criticks do not make out whether he walk’d off, or went off, neither does the Figure determine which.
Hang me, if I will hang for any Woman,
For most of them alike are very common;
I’d sooner trudge as I have done before,
Than hang upon a d——d confounded Whore.
Underwritten.
No Matter if the Man is longer than the Gallows,
He smokes and drinks his Glass like honest Fellows.
Upon a Drinking-Glass at Charing-Cross.
Nanny Sach——l is all my Toast;
She’s all I wish for, and is all my Boast.
Egham, at the Red Lion.
Help me, ye Pow’rs, to sing my Sylvia’s Praise;
Nor P--pe nor Sw--ft can do it now a-days.
But you, nor I, or them, can ever boast,
There ever was in Europe such a Toast;
All we can say, is, Lucy rules the Roast.
At a Place not to be recorded.
A d---d confounded Bitch,
Ugly and cunning as a Witch.
Her Bill shall be preferr’d by Law;
The House we wish we’d never saw.
One Pound five and ten Pence;
Grant her Repentance;
We’ll never come here again;
And let her alone remain.
J. S.
R. S. 17 July.
1722. very truly.
I do not complain of my Phillis,
Because I know what her proud Will is;
For I know how she’ll rant,
And I know what I want;
G--d d---n her old Aunt;
I stand here, and wait for her, That still is.
On a beautiful Sempstress, in a Window at Charing-Cross.
Dolly, with Beauty and Art,
Has so hemm’d in my Heart,
That I cannot resist the Charm.
In Revenge I will stitch
Up the Hole near her Breach,
With a Needle as long as my Arm.
R.
Two Girls at a Bar, that would do’t, and one Gentleman would chatter too long.
What the Devil should we meddle
With diddle daddle, fiddle faddle;
We shall lose the Girls that please;
Go to Bed, and take your Ease.
M. C. to his Friend.
Underwritten.
I know they’ll ease you both, for I have been aboard of them.
R. C.
I shall tell best at the next Meeting:
The Proof of the Pudding is in the eating.
Blue Posts, Charing-Cross.
Use me friendly, use me kind;
I’ll be the kindest of my Sex;
I’ll love, be constant, and you’ll find,
I’ll be your own in Middlesex.
Molly Sh——r.
Underwritten.
Take care you keep her Country to yourself.
M. L.
Red Lion at Egham.
I watch and pray for dearest Nancy,
Because I always love her Fancy;
But then there comes,
Like Bailiff Bums,
The Watch with Lights we can see;
And then she’ll pray,
And I must pay,
And retreat as clean as a Tansey.
Underwritten.
For Money one may whore,
And I’ll say no more.——
R. T.
At the same Place.
I am a young Thing, just come from my Mammy.
S. L.
Underwritten
Then you want to be kiss’d, G--d d---n ye.
Captain R. T.
Bull-and-Mouth-Street.
If Virtue rules the Minds of Women,
They’ll never let you touch their Linnen;
But if they are not Virtue Proof,
Then you may kiss them oft enough.
Uxbridge, at the Crown.
Molley came up to Town precise,
Demure, yet fire in her Eyes;
So did she look confounded civil;
With Grace and Beauty like a Devil;
But soon her Eyes drew in some Hearts,
And some Things else like Cupid’s Darts,
Which gave her Pains, and many Smarts.
Underwritten.
Thou Puppy, ——
The Fire of her Eyes occasioned the Flame of her Heart,
And drew the Fire to her lower Part.
R. L.
From the same Place.
After a tedious Journey, and my Supper,
And dam——d uneasy with my Crupper,
Jenney came up to warm my Bed,
A pretty Girl; but I was dead,
Or else I’d had her Maidenhead.
R. T.
Swan at Uxbridge.
Who’s been here,
The Devil I fear;
For he’s left the Bottles clear.
R. Est——n, 1710.
Underwritten.
’Twas so; for nothing so like the Devil as an empty Bottle.
G. S. 1711.
Boghouse at Uxbridge.
If a Man should breathe backwards, and happens to stink,
You may say, if you will, it is natural Instinct.
Underwritten.
You may quibble upon the Word Instinct, if you will; but I think ’tis better out than in, considering the Case.
I. M. of Oxon.
Betty Careless, her Prayers: From her Chambers in Drury-Lane, on a Wall, written with a Piece of Charcoal.
Grant us good lusty Men, ye gracious Pow’rs!
Or else stop up those craving Things of ours!
From the Plough Ale-House in Fore-Street, near Cripplegate, written upon a Wall.
Good Bread and Meat, strong Beer withal,
Will make a T d more lasting;
Therefore I think he is a Fool,
That goes out in a Morning fasting.
Tom. Rudge.
We suppose he wants to eternize his Memory by eating a Breakfast.
When I lay with my bouncing Nell,
I gave her an Inch, and she took an Ell:
But I think in this Case it was damnable hard,
When I gave her an Inch, she’d want more than a Yard.
Hampstead, at the Flask.
Nothing so certain as the Uncertainties of this Life, says one of the Greek Philosophers.
Hoxton, on a Wall.
What Difference between Kings T---ds and mine?
One may be costive, one be full of Slime;
Yet equally will any Hog that feeds,
Produce good Pork by feeding on our Needs.
Underwritten.
You nasty Dog, you may eat your Pork yourself.
Hampstead, at the Flask.
Tell me why, ye gen’rous Swains?
Tell me, ye Nymphs upon the Plains?
Why does Sylvia leave the Green?
Has she done any Thing obscene?
They all reply’d, Your Sylvia’s gone;
For she will do’t with ev’ry one.
From the Red Lyon at Egham.
She that thinks upon her Honour,
Needs no other Guard upon her.
Underwritten.
She that has a Man upon her,
Never thinks upon her Honour.
In Trinity College Boghouse, Dublin.
You who instead of Fodder, Fingers use,
Pray lick ’em clean, and don’t this Wall abuse.
Under which is written;
These House-of-Office Poets, by the L---d,
Instead of Laurel, should be crown’d with T---d.
In a Window, at the Sign of the Four Crosses, on the Road to West Chester.
Host! wou’d you paint your Crosses to the Life,
Pull down your Sign, and then hang up your Wife.
On A Window at Canbury-House.
The Breast of ev’ry British Fair,
Like this bright, brittle, slippery Glass,
A Diamond makes Impression there,
Though on the Finger of an Ass.
On a Person of Quality’s Boghouse.
Good Lord! who could think,
That such fine Folks should stink?
On a Window at Bushy-Hall, Hertfordshire.
Love is like Blindman’s Buff, where we pursue,
We know not what we catch, we know not who;
And when we grasp our Wish, what Prize is won?
Our Eyes are open’d, and the Play is done.
Some Love Verses being first written on a Window in Brook-Street, and scratched out, occasioned the following:
Good grave Papa, you hope in vain,
By blotting this to mend her;
She who writes Love upon the Pane,
Will soon leap out at Window.
On the Middle Temple Boghouse.
Well sung of Yore, a Bard of Wit,
That some Folks read, but all Folks sh---t;
But now the Case is alter’d quite,
Since all who come to Boghouse write.
On the same Place.
Because they cannot eat, some Authors write;
And some, it seems, because they cannot sh--te.
On a Glass at the Devil Tavern, Temple-Bar.
The stubborn Glass no Character receives,
Except the Stamp the piercing Brilliant gives.
A female Heart thus no Impression takes,
But what the Lover tipp’d with Diamond makes.
At Launder’s Coffee-House, in the Old Play-House Passage.
Dear Pat, ’tis vain to patch or paint,
Since still a fragrant Breath you want;
For though well furnish’d, yet all Folks
Despise a Room whose Chimney smokes.
White-Hart at Watford.
Parody of four Lines of Dryden.
Glass with a Diamond does our Wit betray;
Who can write sure on that smooth slippery Way?
Pleas’d with our scribling we cut swiftly on,
And see the Nonsense, which we cannot shun.
In a Window at the Kings-Arms Tavern, Fleet-Street.
Both mine and Women’s Fate you’ll judge from hence ill,
That we are pierc’d by ev’ry Coxcomb’s Pencil.
Written in a Window at a private House, by a desponding Lover in the Presence of his Mistress.
This Glass, my Fair’s the Emblem of your Mind,
Which brittle, slipp’ry, pois’nous oft we find.
Her Answer underneath.
I must confess, kind Sir, that though this Glass,
Can’t prove me brittle, it proves you an Ass.
Sent by an unknown Hand.
O ye Powers above!
Who of Mortals take Care,
Make Women less cruel,
More fond, or less fair.
Was Helen half so fair, so form’d for Joy,
Well fought the Trojan, and well burnt was Troy.