Pinch'd in behind and 'fore?
Whose visage, like La Mancha's chief,
Seems the pale frontispiece to grief,
As if 'twould ne'er laugh more:
Whose dress and person both defy
The poet's pen, the painter's eye,
'Tis outre tout nature.
His Arab charger swings his tail,
Curvets and prances to the gale
Like Death's pale horse,—
And neighing proudly seems to say,
Here Fashion's vot'ries must pay
Homage of course:
Tis P-h-m, whom Mrs. H-g-s
At opera and play-house dodges
Since he gain'd Josephine;
Tailors adorn a thousand ways,
And (though Time won't) men may make Slays;
The dentist, barber, make repairs,
New teeth supply, and colour hairs;
But art can ne'er return the Spring—
And spite of all that she can do,
A Beau's a very wretched thing
At 42!
The late Princess Charlotte issued an order, interdicting
any one of her household appearing before her with frightful
fringes to their leaden heads. In consequence of this cruel
command, P-r-m, being one of the lords of the bed-chamber,
was compelled to curtail his immense whiskers. A very
feeling ode appeared upon the occasion, entitled My
Whiskers, dedicated to the princess; it was never printed,
but attributed to Thomas Moore. The Kiss, or Lady Francis W-
W-'s Frolic, had nearly produced a fatal catastrophe. How
would poor Lady Anne W-m have borne such a misfortune? or
what purling stream would have received the divine form of
the charming Mrs. H-d-s? But alas! he escaped little W-'s
ball, only to prove man's base ingratitude, for he has
since cut with both these beauties for the interesting
little Josephine, the protégée of T———y B-t, and the
sister of the female Giovanni.
Ye madly vicious, can it be!
A mother sunk in infamy,
To sell her child is seen.
Let Bow-street annals, and Tom B-t,{48}
Who paid the mill'ner, tell the rest,
It suits not with our page;
Just satire while she censures,—feels,—
Verse spreads the vice when it reveals
The foulness of the age.
'Tis half-past five, and fashion's train
No longer in Hyde Park remain,
Bon ton cries hence, away;
The low-bred, vulgar, Sunday throng,
Who dine at two, are ranged along
On both sides of the way;
With various views, these honest folk
Descant on fashions, quiz and joke,
Or mark a shy cock down{49};
For many a star in fashion's sphere
Can only once a week appear
In public haunts of town,
Lest those two ever watchful friends,
The step-brothers, whom sheriff sends,
John Doe and Richard Roe,
A taking pair should deign to borrow,
To wit, until All Souls, the morrow,
The body of a beau;
48 Poor Tom B-t has paid dear for his protection of
the Josephine: fifteen hundred pounds for millinery in
twelve months is a very moderate expenditure for so young a
lady of fashion. It is, to be sure, rather provoking that
such an ape as Lord ———should take command of the
frigate, and sail away in defiance of the chartered party,
the moment she was well found and rigged for a cruize. See
Common Plea Reports, 1823
49 The Sunday men, as they are facetiously called in the
fashionable world, are not now so numerous as formerly: the
facility of a trip across the Channel enables many a shy
cock to evade the scrutinizing eye and affectionate
attachment of the law.
But Sunday sets the pris'ner free,
He shows in Park, and laughs with glee
At creditors and Bum.
Then who of any taste can bear
The coarse, low jest and vulgar stare
Of all the city scum,
Of fat Sir Gobble, Mistress Fig,
In buggy, sulky, coach, or gig,
With Dobbin in the shay?
At ev'ry step some odious face,
Of true mechanic cut, will place
Themselves plump in your way.
Now onward to the Serpentine,
A river straight as any line,
Near Kensington, let's walk;
Or through her palace gardens stray,
Where elegantes of the day
Ogle, congee, and talk.
Here imperial fashion reigns,
Here high bred belles meet courtly swains
By assignation.
Made at Almack's, Argyle, or rout,
While Lady Mother walks about
In perturbation,
Watching her false peer, or to make
A Benedict of some high rake,
To miss a titled prize.
Here, cameleon-colour'd, see
Beauty in bright variety,
Such as a god might prize.
Here, too, like the bird of Juno,
Fancy's a gaudy group, that you know,
Of gay marchands des modes.
Haberdashers, milliners, fops
From city desks, or Bond-street shops,
And belles from Oxford-road,
Crowds here, commingled, pass and gaze,
And please themselves a thousand ways;
Some read the naughty rhymes
Which are on ev'ry alcove writ,
Immodest, lewd attempt at wit,
Disgraceful to the times.
Here Scotland's dandy Irish Earl,{50}
With Noblet on his arm would whirl,
And frolic in this sphere;
With mulberry coat, and pink cossacks,
The red-hair'd Thane the fair attacks,
F-'s ever on the leer;
And when alone, to every belle
The am'rous beau love's tale will tell,
Intent upon their ruin.
Beware, Macduff, the fallen stars!
Venus aggrieved will fly to Mars;
There's mischief brewing.
What mountain of a fair is that,
Whose jewels, lace, and Spanish hat,
Proclaim her high degree,
With a tall, meagre-looking man,
Who bears her reticule and fan?
That was Maria D-,
Now the first favourite at court,
50 His lordship is equally celebrated in the wars of Mars
and Venus, as a general in the service of Spain. When Lord
M-d-ff, in the desperate bombardment of Matagorda (an old
fort in the Bay of Cadiz), the falling of a fragment of the
rock, struck by a shell, broke, his great toe; in this
wounded state he was carried about the alameda in a cherubim
chair by two bare-legged gallegos, to receive the
condolations of the grandees, and, we regret to add, the
unfeeling jeers of the British, who made no scruple to
assert that his lordship had, as usual, "put his foot in
it." The noble general would no doubt have added another
leaf to bis laurel under the auspices of the ex-smuggler,
late illustrissimo general Ballasteros, had not he suddenly
become a willing captive to the soul-subduing charms of the
beauteous Antonia of Terrifa, of whose history and
melancholy death we may speak hereafter. On a late occasion,
he has been honoured with the star of the Guelphic order
(when, for the first time in his life, he went on his
knees), as some amends for his sudden dismissal from the
bed-chamber. Noblet, who has long since been placed upon the
pension list, has recently retired, and is succeeded by a
charming little Parisian actress who lives in the New Road,
and plays with the French company now at Tottenham-street
theatre. Lord L————-has also a little interest in the
same concern. His lordship's affaires des cour with
Antonia, Noblet, and M————-, though perfectly
platonic, have proved more expensive than the most
determined votary to female attractions ever endured: for
the gratification of this innocent passion, Marr's{*} mighty
pines have bit the dust, and friendly purses bled.
And, if we may believe report,
She holds the golden key
Of the backstairs, and can command
A potent influence in the land,
But K———N best can tell;
Tis most clear, no ill betide us,
Near the Georgium sidus
This planet likes to dwell.
Lovely as light, when morning breaks{51}
Above the hills in golden streaks,
Observe yon blushing rose,
Uxbridge, the theme of ev'ry tongue,
The sylph that charms the ag'd and young,
Where grace and virtue glows.
Gay Lady H-e her lounge may take,{52}
Reclining near the Indian lake.,
And think she's quite secure;
51 The beautiful little countess, the charming goddess of
the golden locks, was a Miss Campbell, a near relation of
the Duke of Argyll. She is a most amiable and interesting
elegante.
52 Although Lord L-e is the constant attendant of Lady H-,
report says the attachment is merely platonic. His lordship
was once smitten with her sister; and having thero suffered
the most cruel disappointment, consoles himself for his loss
in the sympathizing society of Lady H———.
* Marr Forest, belonging to his lordship, producing the
finest mast pines in the empire; the noble earl has lately
cut many scores of them ami some old friends, rather than
balk his fancy.
As well might C-1-ft hope to pass
Upon the town his C——-r lass
For genuine and pure.
See Warwick's charming countess glide,{53}
With constant Harry by her side,
Along the gay parterre;
And look where the loud laugh proclaims
The cits and their cameleon dames,
The gaudy Cheapside fair,
Drest in all colours o' the shop,
Fashion'd for the Easter hop,
To grace the civic feast,
Where the great Lord Mayor presides
O'er tallow, ribands, rags, and hides,
The sultan o' the east.
The would-be poet, Ch-s L-h,{54}
Comes saunt'ring with his graces three,
The little gay coquettes.
After, view the Cyprian corps
Of well-known traders, many score,
From Bang to Angel M-tz,
A heedless, giddy, laughing crew,
Who'd seem as if they never knew
Of want or fell despair;
Yet if unveil'd the heart might be,
You'd find the demon, Misery,
Had ta'en possession there.
Think not that satire will excuse,
Ye frail, though fair; or that the muse
Will silent pass ye by:
To you a chapter she'll devote,
Where all of fashionable note
53 Lady Sarah Saville, afterwards Lady Monson, now Countess
of Warwick, a most beautiful, amiable, and accomplished
woman. By constant "Harry" is meant her present earl.
54 See Amatory Poems by Ch-os L-h. We could indulge our
readers with a curious account of the demolition of the
Paphian car at Covent Garden theatre, but the story is
somewhat musty.
Shall find their history.
"Vice to be hated, needs but be seen;"
And thus shall ev'ry Paphian queen
Be held to public view;
And though protected by a throne,
The gallant and his Miss be shown
In colours just and true.
The countess of ten thousand see,{55}
The dear delightful Savante B-,
Who once was sold and bought:
The magic-lantern well displays
The scenes of long forgotten days,
And gives new birth to thought.
Nay, start not, here we'll not relate
The break-neck story gossips prate
Within the Em'rald Isle:
No spirit gray, or black, or brown,
We'll conjure up, with hideous frown,
To chase the dimpled smile.
In fleeting numbers, as we pass,
We find these shadows in our glass,
We move, and they're no more.
But see where chief of folly's train,
55 The beautiful and accomplished countess is a lovely
daughter of Hibernia; her maiden name was P-r, and her
father an Irish magistrate of high respectability. Her first
matrimonial alliance with Captain F-r proved unfortunate; an
early separation was the consequence, which was effected
through the intervention of a kind friend, Captain J-s of
the 11th. Shortly afterwards her fine person and superior
endowments of mind made an impression upon the earl that
nothing but the entire possession of the lady could allay.
The affair of Lord A- and Mrs. B- is too well known to need
repetition—it could not succeed a second time. Abelard F-
having paid the debt of nature, there was no impediment but
a visit to the temple of Hymen, on which point the lady was
determined; and the yielding suitor, wounded to the vital
part, most readily complied. It is due to the countess to
admit, that since her present elevation, her conduct has
been exemplary and highly praiseworthy.
Conceited, simple, rash, and vain,
Comes lib'ral master G-e,{56}
A dandy, half-fledged exquisite,
Who paid nine thousand pounds a night
To female Giovanni.
Reader, I think I hear you say,
"What pleasure had he for his pay?"
Upon my word, not any;
For soon as V-t-s got the cash,
She set off with a splendid dash
From Op'ra to Paris;
Left Cl-t and this simple fool,{67}
Who no doubt's been an easy tool,
To spend it with Charles H-s.
See, Carolina comes in view,
A Lamb, from merry Melbourne's ewe,
Who scaped the fatal knife.
H-ll-d's blue stocking rib appears,
Who makes amends in latter years
For early cause of strife.
Catullus George, the red-hair'd bard,
Whose rhymes, pedantic, crude, and hard,
He calls translations,
Follows the fair; a nibbling mouse
From Westminster, by Cam Hobhouse
Expell'd his station.
Now twilight, with his veil of gray,
The stars of fashion frights away
The carriage homeward rolls along
To music-party, cards and song,
56 A very singular adventure, which occurred in 1823. The
enamoured swain, after settling an annuity of seven hundred
pounds per annum upon the fair inconstant, had the
mortification to find himself abandoned on the very night
the deeds were completed, the lady having made a precipitate
retreat, with a more favoured lover, to Paris. The affair
soon became known, and some friends interfered, when the
deeds were cancelled.
57 Captain citizen Cl-t, an exquisite of the first order,
for a long time the favourite of the reigning sultana.
And many a gay delight.
The Goths of Essex-street may groan,{58}
Turn up their eyes, and inward moan,
They dare not here intrude;
Dare not attack the rich and great,
The titled vicious of the state,
The dissolute and lewd.
Vice only is, in some folks' eyes,
Immoral, when in rags she lies,
By poverty subdued;
But deck her forth in gaudy vest,
With courtly state and titled crest,
She's every thing that's good.
"Doth Kalpho break the Sabbath-day?
Why, Kalpho hath no funds to pay;
How dare he trespass then?
How dare he eat, or drink, or sleep,
Or shave, or wash, or laugh, or weep,
Or look like other men?"
My lord his concerts gives, 'tis true,
The Speaker holds his levee too,
And Fashion cards and dices;
But these are trifles to the sin
Of selling apples, joints, or gin—
58 The present times have very properly been stigmatized as
the age of cant. The increase of the puritans, the
smooth-faced evangelical, and the lank-haired sectarian,
with their pious love-meetings and bible associations, have
at last roused the slumbering spirit of the constituted
authorities, who are now making the most vigorous efforts to
impede the progress of these anti-national and hypocritical
fanatics, who, mistaking the true dictates of religion and
benevolence, have, in their inflamed zeal, endeavoured to
extirpate every species of innocent recreation, and have
laid formidable siege to honest-hearted mirth and rustic
revelry. "I am no prophet, nor the son of one; "but if
ever the noble institutions of my country suffer any
revolutionary change, it is my humble opinion it will result
from these sainted associations, from these pious opposers
of our national characteristics, and the noblest institution
of our country, the foundation stone of our honour and
glory, the established church of England. There is (in my
opinion) more mischief to be apprehended to the state from
the humbug of piety than from all the violence of froth,
political demagogues, or the open-mouthed howl of the most
hungry radicals. Let it be understood I speak not against
toleration in its most extended sense, but war only with
hypocrisy and fanaticism, with those of whom Juvenal has
written—"Qui aurios simulant el baechemalia vivinit."
Low, execrable vices.
Cease, persecutors, mock reclaimers,
Ye jaundiced few, ye legal maimers
Of the lone, poor, and meek;
Ye moral fishers for stray gudgeons,
Ye sainted host of old curmudgeons,
Who ne'er the wealthy seek!
If moralists ye would appear,
Attack vice in its highest sphere,
The cause of all the strife;
The spring and source from whence does flow
Pollution o'er the plains below,
Through all degrees of life.