Hilaria. The Festive Board

by Unknown

RUNNYMEDE PILLAR.

Air, I can’t for my Life guess the Cause of this Fuss.

To celebrate deeds of renown, ’tis agreed

That a pillar on fam’d Runnymede be erected:

Men of Parts of all parties then here may proceed,

To relate how this wonderful work is effected.

The pillar’s to stand in Middlesex land,

Bushy Park’s centre’s the sweet pleasure ground;

A strong-fenc’d retreat, well water’d and sweet,

Where Adam first fell, Runnymede’s to be found.

CHORUS.

Rare Runnymede such pleasures producing,

No language of mortals is equal to tell;

Tho’ Moses declines it, my Muse thus defines it:

The paradise where our progenitors fell.

When the midwife, our welcome deliverer, came,

Runnymede witness’d a great revolution;

From bondage she brought us, and Nature, dear dame,

To Britain’s brave sons gave their good Constitution:

For blessings like these, let gratitude seize

The critical minute its ardour to shew;

The stones first prepare the pillar to rear,

Then discharge in this mede the just debt that we owe.

Rare Runnymede, &c.

When Eve, with a mixture of fear and surprise,

Beheld the huge pillar of Adam erected,

Her bare bosom heav’d, and gave vent to soft sighs,

While with curious eye she the structure inspected.

O’erjoy’d did she trace the moss round its base,

But its altitude did her chaste senses appal;

Eve fainted away, and Moses doth say,

That her apron of fig-leaves flew up in the fall.

Rare Runnymede, &c.

Adam’s instinct divine display’d powers that prove,

Mighty man most sagacious of Nature’s creation;

Eve’s distress he beheld, and, in pity, Love

His column convey’d to its dear destination.

What follow’d, you’ll find, is wisely design’d,

And the Hercules’ Pillar of Pagan renown

Ne’er long could stand in Middlesex land,

Adam’s basis gave way, so the Pillar fell down.

Rare Runnymede, &c.

By the magical touch of his heaven-tun’d lyre,

Amphion, the Theban King, wonders effected;

Stones erst in confusion his sounds did inspire,

They danc’d, and we’re told tow’ring walls were erected.

Such harmonic sway this Mede doth display,

And from chaos, thus transient, can order restore;

A quick resurrection succeeds the defection,

To meet the same fate that befel it before.

Rare Runnymede, &c.

That architect, old Mother Phillips I mean,

Doth cases prepare of a curious constructure,

From the fury of fire standing Pillars to screen,

As light’ning’s disarm’d by th’ attractive Conductor:

But curst be her traffic for things polygraphic;

To vend for original, Pillars she plann’d;

Monuments base usurping the place,

Where alone the proud pillar of Nature should stand.

Rare Runnymede, &c.

Tho’ partisans differ, in this all agree,

From Reason’s clear light, and from Nature’s dictation,

That the Mede, at this moment, my mind’s eye doth see,

Is alone the sweet spot for the proud pillar’s station.

There stout may it stand, resisting Time’s hand:

And, Nature, great architect, as thee we prize!

From fire protect it, when down don’t neglect it,

Let it rise but to fall, let it fall but to rise.

Rare Runnymede, &c.

THE
BANKRUPT BAWD.

Tune, Vicar of Bray.

Near Jermyn-street a Bawd did trade,

In credit, style, and splendor,

Well known to ev’ry high-bred blade,

And those of doubtful gender:

How Nature once, in marring mood,

Her body form’d, I’ll tell ye,

Upon her back a swelling stood,

To mock her barren belly.

CHORUS.

For some succeed, and others fail,

That into commerce enter,

So sew are chaste, and many frail,

In this great trading Center.

In coney skins her commerce lay,

A charming stock she’d laid in;

She ne’er to smugglers fell a prey,

Her practice was fair trading:

These skins when dress’d were red and white,

The fur of each fair creature,

Of diff’rent hues, hath day and night

Kept warm man’s naked nature.

For some succeed, &c.

The trading stock of this old Bawd

A vital stab sustain’d, sir;

The news like wild-fire flew abroad,

Each customer complain’d, sir;

Some coney-skins lay with a lot,

By caution uninspected;

So quarantine, alas! forgot,

Foul plague the whole infected.

For some succeed, &c.

Now old and young her shop forsook,

Insolvent was her plight, sir,

When Habeas Corpus Catchpole took

Her body off by night, sir;

From Banco Regis civil law,

To liquidate her debt, sir,

Between the sheets this old Bawd saw

Of London’s fam’d Gazette, sir.

For some succeed, &c.

To give each creditor his due,

Three men, the Lord’s Anointed,

Jack Wilkes, Lord Sandwich, and old Q.,

Were Assignees appointed:

But, luckless Bawd! the after day

Her stock on fire they found, sir;

So ’twas agreed she could not pay

A cundum in the pound, sir.

For some succeed, &c.

The skin (her own) this Bawd had left,

Each Assignee did handle;

’Twas found of all its fur bereft,

By singing flame of candle:

Some butter’d bunns conceal’d within,

Old Q.’s keen eye beset, sir;

So Wilkes defin’d this coney skin

A fund for floating debt, sir.

For some succeed, &c.

By headlong lust her claimants led,

They seiz’d her mortal treasure;

The furless coney skin was spread,

A dividend past measure.

Now all came in, not one stood out;

The Bawd was set at large, sir;

Her coney skin (of worth, no doubt)

Did ev’ry man discharge, sir.

For some succeed, &c.