[THE HOUSE-WARMING!!]

A LEGEND OF BLEEDING HEART YARD.

Did you ever see the Devil dance?—Old Query.

Sir Christopher Hatton he danced with grace, He'd a very fine form and a very fine face, And his cloak and his doublet were guarded with lace, And the rest of his clothes, As you well may suppose, In taste were by no means inferior to those; He'd a yellow-starched ruff, And his gloves were of buff, On each of his shoes a red heel and a rose, And nice little moustaches under his nose; Then every one knows How he turned out his toes, And a very great way that accomplishment goes, In a Court where it's thought, in a lord or a duke, a Disgrace to fall short in "the Brawls"—(their Cachouca). So what with his form, and what with his face, And what with his velvet cloak guarded with lace, And what with his elegant dancing and grace, His dress and address So tickled Queen Bess That her Majesty gave him a very snug place; And seeing, moreover, at one single peep, her Advisers were, few of them, sharper or deeper (Old Burleigh excepted), she made him Lord Keeper!

I've heard, I confess, with no little surprise, English history called a farrago of lies; And a certain Divine, A connexion of mine, Who ought to know better, as some folks opine, Is apt to declare, Leaning back in his chair, With a sort of a smirking, self-satisfied air, That "all that's recorded in Hume, and elsewhere, "Of our early 'Annales' A trumpery tale is, "Like the 'bold Captain Smith's,' and the 'Luckless Miss Bayley's'— "That old Roger Hoveden, and Ralph de Diceto, "And others (whose names should I try to repeat o- "ver, well I'm assured you would put in your veto), "Though all holy friars, Were very great liars, "And raised stories faster than Grissel and Peto— "That Harold escaped with the loss of a 'glim'— "—That the shaft which killed Rufus ne'er glanced from a limb "Of a tree, as they say, but was aimed slap at him,— "That Fair Rosamond never was poisoned or spitted, "But outlived Queen Nell, who was much to be pitied;— "That Nelly her namesake, Ned Longshanks's wife, "Ne'er went crusading at all in her life, "Nor suck'd the wound made by the poison-tipped knife! "For as she, O'er the sea, "Towards far Galilee, "Never, even in fancy, march'd carcass or shook shanks, "Of course she could no more suck Longshanks than Cruikshanks, "But, leaving her spindle-legged liege-lord to roam, "Stayed behind, and suck'd something much better at home,— "That it's quite as absurd To say Edward the Third, "In reviving the Garter, afforded a handle "For any Court-gossip, detraction, or scandal, "As 'twould be to say That at Court t'other day, "As the fête which the newspapers say was so gay, "His Great Representative then stole away "Lady Salisbury's garters as part of the play,— "—That as to Prince Hal's being taken to jail, "By the London Police, without mainprize or bail, "For cuffing a judge, It's a regular fudge; "And that Chief-Justice Gascoigne, it's very well known, "Was kicked out the moment he came to the throne,— "—Then that Richard the Third was a 'marvellous proper man'— "Never killed, injured, or wrong'd of a copper, man!— "Ne'er wished to smother The sons of his brother,— "Nor ever stuck Harry the Sixth, who, instead "Of being squabashed, as in Shakspeare we've read, "Caught a bad influenza, and died in his bed, "In the Tower, not far from the room where the Guard is "(The octagon one that adjoins Duffus Hardy's); "—That, in short, all the 'facts' in the Decem Scriptores, "Are nothing at all but sheer humbugging stories."

Then if, as he vows, both this country and France in, Historians thus gave themselves up to Romancing, Notwithstanding what most of them join in advancing Respecting Sir Christopher's capering and prancing, 'Twill cause no surprise If we find that his rise Is not to be solely ascribed to his dancing! The fact is, Sir Christopher, early in life, As all bachelors should do, had taken a wife, A Fanshawe by family,—one of a house Well descended, but boasting less "nobles" than nous; Though e'en as to purse He might have done worse, For I find, on perusing her Grandfather's will, it is Clear she had "good gifts beside possibilities,"[79] Owches and rings, And such sort of things, Orellana shares (then the American Stocks), Jewell'd stomachers, coifs, ruffs, silk-stockings with clocks, Point-lace, cambric handkerchiefs, nightcaps, and—socks— (Recondite apparel contained in her box), —Then the height of her breeding And depth of her reading Might captivate any gay youth, and, in leading Him on to "propose," well excuse the proceeding: Truth to tell, as to "reading," the Lady was thought to do More than she should, and know more than she ought to do; Her maid, it was said, Declared that she read (A custom all staid folks discourage) in bed; And that often o' nights Odd noises and sights In her mistress's chamber had giv'n her sad frights, After all in the mansion had put out their lights, And she verily thought that hobgoblins and sprites Were there, kicking up all sorts of devil's delights;— Miss Alice, in short, was supposed to "collogue"—I Don't much like the word—with the subtle old rogue, I 've heard call'd by so many names—one of them's "Bogy"— Indeed 'twas conceived, And by most folks believed, —A thing at which all of her well-wishers griev'd— That should she incline to play such a vagary, Like sage Lady Branxholm, her contempo-rary, (Excuse the false quantity, reader, I pray), She could turn a knight into a waggon of hay, Or two nice little boys into puppies at play, Raison de plus, not a doubt could exist of her Pow'r to turn "Kit Hatton" into "Sir Christopher;" But what "mighty magic," or strong "conjuration," Whether love-powder, philtre, or other potation She used, I confess, I'm unable to guess,— Much less to express By what skill and address She "cut and contrived" with such signal success, As we Londoners say, to "inwiggle" Queen Bess, Inasmuch as I lack heart To study the Black Art; Be that as it may,—it's as clear as the sun, That, however she did it, 'twas certainly done!

Now, they're all very well, titles, honour, and rank, Still we can't but admit, if we choose to be frank, There's no harm in a snug little sum in the Bank! An old proverb says, "Pudding still before praise!" An adage well known I've no doubt in those days, And George Colman the Younger, in one of his plays, Makes one of his characters loudly declare That "a Lord without money,"—I quote from his "Heir- At-Law"—"'s but a poor wishy-washy affair!"— In her subsequent conduct I think we can see a Strong proof the Dame entertain'd some such idea, For, once in the palace, We find Lady Alice Again playing tricks with her Majesty's chalice In the way that the jocose, in Our days, term "hocussing;" The liquor she used, as I've said, she kept close, But, whatever it was, she now doubled the dose! (So true is the saying, "We never can stay, in Our progress, when once with the foul fiend we league us.") —She "doctor'd" the punch, and she "doctor'd" the negus, Taking care not to put in sufficient to flavour it, Till, at every fresh sip That moisten'd her lip, The Virgin Queen grew more attach'd to her Favourite.

"No end" now he commands Of money and lands, And, as George Robins says, when he's writing about houses, "Messuages, tenements, crofts, tofts, and outhouses," Parks, manors, chases, She "gives and she grants, To him and his heirs, and his uncles and aunts;" Whatever he wants, he has only to ask it, And all other suitors are "left in the basket," Till Dudley and Rawleigh Began to look squally, While even grave Cecil, the famous Lord Burleigh, Himself, "shook his head," and grew snappish and surly. All this was fine sport, As our authors report, To dame Alice, become a great Lady at Court, Where none than her Ladyship's husband look'd bigger, Who "led the brawls"[80] still with the same grace and vigour, Though losing a little in slimness and figure; For eating and drinking all day of the best Of viands well drest, With "Burgess's Zest," Is apt, by degrees, to enlarge a man's vest; And, what in Sir Christopher went to increase it, he 'd always been rather inclined to obesity; —Few men in those times were found to grow thinner With beefsteaks for breakfast and pork-pie for dinner.

Now it's really a difficult problem to say How long matters might have gone on in this way, If it had not unluckily happened one day That NICK,—who, because He'd the gout in his claws, And his hoofs—(he's by no means so young as he was, And is subject of late to a sort of rheumatic a- -ttack that partakes both of gout and sciatica,)— All the night long had twisted and grinn'd, His pains much increased by an easterly wind, Which always compels him to hobble and limp, Was strongly advised by his Medical Imp To lie by a little, and give over work, For he'd lately been slaving away like a Turk, On the Guinea-coast, helping to open a brave trade In Niggers, with Hawkins[81] who founded the slave-trade, So he call'd for his ledger, the constant resource Of your Mercantile folk, when they're "not in full force;" —If a cold or catarrh makes them husky and hoarse, Or a touch of gout keeps them away from "the Bourse," They look over their books as a matter of course.

Now scarce had Nick turn'd over one page, or two, Ere a prominent item attracted his view, A Bill!—that had now been some days overdue, From one Alice Hatton, née Fanshawe—a name Which you'll recognise, reader, at once as the same With that borne by Sir Christopher's erudite dame! The signature—much more prononcée than pink, Seem'd written in blood—but it might be red ink— While the rest of the deed He proceeded to read, Like ev'ry "bill, bond, or acquittance" whose date is Three hundred years old, ran in Latin,—"Sciatis (Diaboli?) omnes ad quos hæc pervenient"— —But courage, dear Reader, I mean to be lenient, And scorn to inflict on you half the "Law-reading" I picked up "umquhile" in three days' Special-pleading, Which cost me—a theme I'll not pause to digress on— Just thirty-three pounds six-and-eightpence a lesson— "As I'm stout, I'll be merciful," therefore, and sparing All those technicalities, end by declaring The Deed so correct As to make one suspect, (Were it possible any such person could go there) Old Nick had a Special Attorney below there: 'Twas so fram'd and express'd no tribunal could shake it, And firm as red wax and black ferret could make it.