A Century of Parody and Imitation

by Unknown

FASHION.

(MILTON)

Hence, loath'd vulgarity,

Of ignorance and native dullness bred,

In low unwholesome shed,

'Mongst thieves and drabs, and street-sweeps asking charity:

Find some suburban haunt,

Where the spruce 'prentice treats his flashy mate,

And smoking cits debate:

Or at a dowdy rout, or ticket-ball,

Giv'n at Freemasons' Hall,

With tawdry clothes and liveries ever flaunt.

But come, thou nymph of slender waist,

Known early by the name of Taste,

*  *  *  *  *

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee

Steed, and light-hung Tilbury,

Undiscoverable rouge,

Polish'd boots, and neckcloth huge,

(Such as might deck a Dandy's cheek,

And draw the gazers for a week.)

Mackintosh's racy phrase,

And wit, that peerless Ward might praise.

Come, and let your steps be bent

With a lively measurement,

And bring the proper airs and graces,

That make their way in certain places:

And, if I give thee honour due,

Fashion, enroll me with the few,

With Spencer, Sydney Smith, and thee

In a select society:

To ride when many a lady fair in

Her morning veil begins her airing,

And with the nurse and children stow'd

Drives down the Park, or Chelsea road:

Then to stop in spite of sorrow,

And through the window bid good-morrow

Of vis-à-vis, or barouchette,

Or half-open landaulet:

While little Burke, with lively din,

Scatters his stock of trifles thin;

And at the Bridge, or Grosvenor Gate,

Briskly bids his horses wait;

Oft listening how the Catalani

Rouses at night th' applauding many,

In some opera of Mozart,

Winning the eye, the ear, the heart.

Then in the round room not unseen,

Attending dames of noble mien,

Right to the door in Market-lane,

Where chairmen range their jostling train,

And footmen stand with torch alight,

In their thousand liveries dight,

While the doorkeeper on the stairs,

Bawls for the Marchionesses' chairs

And young dragoons enjoy the crowd,

And dowagers inveigh aloud,

And lovers write a hasty scrawl

Upon the ticket of a shawl.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,

As the circling crowd it measures;

Virgins old with tresses grey,

That in corkscrew curls do stray;

Ladies, on whose softer breast

Gallants receive a hope of rest;

Little feet with sandals tied,

Shallow heads and shoulders wide;

Necks and throats of lovely form,

Bosom'd high in tippet warm,

Where some beauty spreads her snare,

The envy of surrounding fair.

Hard by, the Op'ra being past,

To some small supper let me haste,

Where ladies, wits, and poets met,

Are at their various banquet set,

Of fifty little tempting messes,

Which the neat-handed Gunter dresses:

And there with satisfaction see

The pullet and the early pea,

Or, if the sultry dog-star reign,

The melon ice and cool champagne.

Sometimes, to a late delight

Argyll advertisements invite,

Where the wreathèd waltz goes round,

Or English tunes more briskly sound,

To twice a hundred feet or more,

Dancing on the chalky floor:

And wise mamma, well pleased to see

Her daughter paired with high degree,

Stays till the daylight glares amain:

Then in the carriage home again,

With stories told, of many a bow,

And civil speech from so and so.

She was ask'd to dance, she said,

But scarcely down the middle led,

Because his Lordship only thought

How soonest to find out a spot,

Where, seated by her side, unheard,

He whisper'd many a pretty word,

Such as no poet could excel!

Then, having paid his court so well,

Most manifestly meaning marriage,

He fetch'd the shawls and call'd the carriage,

Handed her from the crowded door

And watch'd till she was seen no more.

Thus done the tales, the flutt'ring fair

Go up to bed, and curl their hair.

Country houses please me too,

And the jocund Christmas crew,

Where chiefs of adverse politics

Awhile in social circle mix,

And tenants come, whose county franchise

Connects them with the higher branches,

Since all the great alike contend

For votes, on which they all depend.

Let Affability be there,

With cordial hand and friendly air,

And private play and glittering fête,

To make the rustic gentry prate,—

Such joys as fill young ladies' heads,

Who judge from books of masquerades.

Then will I to St. Stephen's stray,

If aught be moved by Castlereagh,

Or matchless Canning mean to roll

His thunders o'er the subject soul.

And sometimes, to divert my cares,

Give me some flirt, with joyous airs,

Married a girl, a widow now,

Such as will hear each playful vow,

Too young to lay upon the shelf:

Meaning—as little as myself:—

Still speaking, singing, walking, running,

With wanton heed and giddy cunning.

With a good mien to testify

Her converse with good company,

That Chesterfield might lift his eyes

From the dark Tartarus where he lies,

Beholding, in her air and gait,

Graces that almost compensate

The blunders of his awkward son,

And half the harm his book has done.

These delights if thou canst give,

Fashion, with thee I wish to live.