Here is an Opera Dancer, or Singer, maintained by us in all the luxury of extravagance; and in the back ground a maimed soldier and sailor, who were asking alms, and thrown down by the insolence of the opera singer's chairman; yet the sailor lost his arm with the gallant Captain Pierson, and the soldier left his leg on the plains of Minden. Instead of paying a guinea to see a man stand on one leg—would it not be better employed were it given to a man who had but one leg to stand on? But, while these dear creatures condescend to come over here, to sing to us for the trifling sum of fifteen hundred or two thousand guineas yearly, in return for such their condescension, we cannot do too much for them, and that is the reason why we do so little for our own people. This is the way we reward those who only bring folly into the country, and the other is the way, and the only way, with which we reward our deliverers. [The picture taken off.] Among the number of exotics, calculated for this evening's entertainment, the head of an opera composer, or burletta projector, should have been exhibited, could I have been lucky enough to hit upon any droll visage for that exhibition: but, after many experiments, I was convinced that no head for that representation could be so truly ridiculous as my own, if this assembly do me the honour to accept it. [Takes up the music-frame and book.]
Suppose me, for once, a burletta projector, Who attempts a mock musical scrap of a lecture. Suppose this thing a harpsichord or a spinnet; We must suppose so, else there's nothing in it; And thus I begin, tho' a stranger to graces. Those deficiencies must be supplied by grimaces, And the want of wit made up by making of faces.
[Changes wigs and sits down.] Come, Carro, come, attend affetuoso, English be dumb, your language is but so so;
Adagio is piano, allegro must be forte,
Go wash my neck and sleeves, because this shirt is dirty
Mon charmant, prenez guarda,
Mind what your signior begs,
Ven you wash, don't scrub so harda,
You may rub my shirt to rags.
Vile you make the water hotter—
Uno solo I compose.
Put in the pot the nice sheep's trotter,
And de little petty toes;
De petty toes are little feet,
De little feet not big,
Great feet belong to de grunting hog,
De petty toes to de little pig.
Come, daughter dear, carissima anima mea,
Go boil the kittle, make me some green tea a.
Ma bella dolce sogno,
Vid de tea, cream, and sugar bono,
And a little slice
Of bread and butter nice.
A bravo bread, and butter
Bravissimo—————-imo.
END OF PART II. [ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]
PART III.
[Discovers two ladies on the table.] In spite of all the sneers, prints, and paragraphs, that have been published to render the ladies' headdresses ridiculous, sure, when fancy prompts a fine woman to lead the fashion, how can any man be so Hottentotish as to find fault with it? I hope here to be acquitted from any design of rendering the ladies ridiculous; all I aim at is to amuse. Here is a rich dressed lady without elegance.—Here is an elegant dressed lady without riches; for riches can no more give grace than they can beget understanding. A multiplicity of ornaments may load the wearer, but can never distinguish the gentlewoman. [Gives off the delicate lady.] This is a representation of those misled ladies whose families having gained great fortunes by trade, begin to be ashamed of the industry of their ancestors, and turn up their nose at every thing mechanical, and call it wulgar. They are continually thrusting themselves among the nobility, to have it said they keep quality company, and for that empty qualification expose themselves to all the tortures of ill treatment; because it is a frolic for persons of rank to mortify such their imitators. This is vanity without honour, and dignity at second-hand, and shews that ladies may so far entangle the line of beauty, by not having it properly unwound for them, till they are lost in a labyrinth of fashionable intricacies. [Gives the head off. Takes the head of Cleopatra.]
Here is a real antique; this is the head of that famous demirep of antiquity, called Cleopatra, This is the way the ladies of antiquity used to dress their heads in a morning. [Gives the head off.] And this is the way the ladies at present dress their heads in a morning. [Takes the head.] A lady in this dress seems hooded like a hawk, with a blister on each cheek for the tooth-ach. One would imagine this fashion had been invented by some surly duenna, or ill-natured guardian, on purpose to prevent ladies turning to one side or the other; and that may be the reason why now every young lady chooses to look forward. As the world is round, every thing turns round along with it; no wonder there should be such revolutions in ladies' head-dresses. This was in fashion two or three years past; this is the fashion of last year [takes a head up]; and this the morning headdress [takes the head] of this present anno domini. These are the winkers, and these are the blinkers. But, as the foibles of the ladies ought to be treated with the utmost delicacy, all we can say of these three heads, thus hoodwinked, is, that they are emblems of the three graces, who, thus muffled, have a mind to play at blindman's buff together. [Gives the heads off.]