THE FANCY BALL.
"A visor for a visor! what care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities!"
SHAKSPEARE.
"You used to talk," said Miss Mac Call,
"Of flowers, and flames, and Cupid;
But now you never talk at all.
You're getting vastly stupid.
You'd better burn your Blackstone, Sir,
You never will get through it;
There's a Fancy Ball at Winchester—
Do let us take you to it."
I made that night a solemn vow,
To startle all beholders:
I wore white muslin on my brow,
Green velvet on my shoulders—
My trousers were supremely wide,
I learn'd to swear "by Allah"—
I stuck a poniard by my side,
And called myself "Abdallah."
Oh! a Fancy Ball's a strange affair,
Made up of silks and leathers,
Light heads, light heels, false hearts, false hair,
Pins, paint, and ostrich feathers:
The dullest Duke in all the town,
To-night may shine a droll one—
And rakes, who have not half-a-crown,
Look royal with a whole one.
Hail, blest Confusion! here are met
All tongues, and times, and faces,
The Lancers flirt with Juliet,
The Bramin talks of races;
And where's your genius, bright Corinne?
And where your brogue, Sir Lucius?
And Chinca Ti, you have not seen
One chapter of Confucius.
Lo! dandies from Kamschatka flirt
With beauties from the Wrekin—
And belles from Berne look very pert
On Mandarins from Pekin;
The Cardinal is here from Rome,
The Commandant from Seville—
And Hamlet's father from the tomb,
And Faustus from the Devil.
What mean those laughing Nuns, I pray,
What mean they, Nun or Fairy:
I guess they told no beads to-day,
And sang no Ave Mary.
From Mass and Matins, Priest and Pix,
Barred door, and window grated,
I wish all pretty Catholics
Were thus emancipated.
Four Seasons come to dance quadrilles,
With four well-seasoned sailors—
And Raleigh talks of rail-road bills,
With Timon, prince of railers.
I find Sir Charles of Aubyn Park
Equipp'd for a walk to Mecca—
And I run away from Joan of Arc,
To romp with sad Rebecca.
Fair Cleopatra's very plain,
Puck halts, and Ariel swaggers—
And Cæsar's murder'd o'er again,
Though not by Roman daggers.
Great Charlemagne is four feet high—
Sad Stuff has Bacon spoken—
Queen Mary's waist is all awry,
And Psyche's nose is broken.
Our happiest bride, how very odd!
Is the mourning Isabella,
And the heaviest foot that ever trod
Is the foot of Cinderella.
Here sad Calista laughs outright,
There Yorick looks most grave, Sir,
And a Templar waves the cross to-night,
Who never cross'd the wave, Sir.
And what a Babel is the talk!
"The Giraffe"—"plays the fiddle"—
"Macadam's roads"—"I hate this chalk"—
"Sweet girl"—"a charming riddle"—
"I'm nearly drunk with"—"Epsom salts"—
"Yes, separate beds"—"such cronies!"—
"Good heaven! who taught that man to valtz?"—
"A pair of Shetland ponies."
"Lord D——" "an enchanting shape"—
"Will move for"—"Maraschino"
"Pray, Julia, how's your mother's ape?"—
"He died at Navarino!"
"The gout, by Jove, is"—"apple pie"—
"Don Miguel"—"Tom the tinker"—
"His Lordship's pedigree's as high
As ——" "Whipcord, dam by Clinker."
"Love's shafts are weak"—"my chestnut kicks"—
"Heart broken;"—"broke the traces"—
"What say you now of politics?"—
"Change sides and to your places"—
"A five-barred gate"—"a precious pearl"
"Grave things may all be punn'd on!"—
"The Whigs, thank God, are"—"out of curl!"—
"Her age is"—"four by London!"
Thus run the giddy hours away,
Till morning's light is beaming,
And we must go to dream by day
All we to-night are dreaming;
To smile and sigh, to love and change—
Oh! in our heart's recesses,
We dress in fancies quite as strange
As these our fancy-dresses.
New Monthly Magazine.