By the roll of his eye As Old Nick put it by, It was clear he had made up his mind what to do In respect to the course he should have to pursue, When his hoof would allow him to put on a shoe!!
No, although the Lord Keeper held under the crown, house And land in the country—he'd never a Town-house, And, as we have seen, His course always had been, When he wanted a thing, to solicit the Queen, So now, in the hope of a fresh acquisition, He danced off to Court with his "Humble Petition."
"Please your Majesty's Grace, I have not a place "I can well put my head in, to dine, sup, or sleep! "Your Grace's Lord Keeper has nowhere to keep, "So I beg and intreat, At your Majesty's feet, "That your Grace will be graciously pleas'd for to say, "With as little delay As your Majesty may, "Where your Majesty's Grace's Lord Keeper's to stay— "—And your Grace's Petitioner ever will pray!"
The Queen, when she heard This petition preferred, Gave ear to Sir Christopher's suit at a word;— "Odds Bobs, my good Lord!" was her gracious reply, "I don't know, not I, Any good reason why "A Lord Keeper, like you, should not always be nigh "To advise—and devise—and revise—our supply— "A House! we're surprised that the thing did not strike "Us before—Yes!—of course!—Pray, whose House would you like? "When I do things of this kind, I do them genteelly, "A House?—let me see! there's the Bishop of Ely! "A capital mansion, I'm told, the proud knave is in, "Up there in Holborn, just opposite Thavies' Inn— "Where the Strawberries grow so fine and so big, "Which our Grandmother's Uncle tucked in like a pig, "King Richard the Third, which you all must have read of— "The day,—don't you know?—he cut Hastings' head off— "And mark me, proud Prelate!—I'm speaking to you, "Bishop Heaton!—you need not, my lord, look so blue— "Give it up on the instant! I don't mean to shock you, "Or else by ——!—(The Bishop was shocked!)—I'll unfrock you!!"
The Queen turns abruptly her back on the group, The Courtiers all bow as she passes, and stoop To kiss, as she goes, the hind flounce of her hoop, And Sir Christopher, having thus danced to some tune, Skips away with much glee in his best rigadoon! While poor Bishop Heaton, Who found himself beaten, In serious alarm at the Queen's contumelious And menacing tone, at once gave him up Ely House, With every appurtenance thereto belonging, Including the strawberry beds 'twas so strong in; Politely he bow'd to the gratified minion, And said, "There can be, my good lord, in opinion No difference betwixt yours And mine as to fixtures, And tables, and chairs— We need no survey'rs— Take them just as you find them, without reservation, Grates, coppers, and all, at your own valuation!"
Well! the object is gain'd! A good Town-house obtained! The next thing to be thought of, is now The "house-warming" party—the when and the how— The Court ladies call, One and all, great and small, For an elegant "Spread," and more elegant Ball, So, Sir Christopher, vain as we know of his capering, No sooner had finished his painting and papering, Than he sat down and wrote A nice little pink note To every great Lord, whom he knew, and his spouse, "From our poor place on Holborn-hill (late Ely House), "Lord Keeper and Dame Alice Hatton request "Lord So-and-so's (name, style, or title exprest) "Good company on The next Eve of St. John, "Viz.: Friday week, June 24th, as their guest, "To partake of pot-luck, And taste a fat buck. "N.B. Venison on table exactly at 3, "Quadrilles in the afternoon, R. S. V. P. "For my good Lord of So-and-so these, and his wife; "Ride! ride! for thy life! for thy life! for thy life!" Thus courtiers were wont to indorse their expresses In Harry the VIIIth's time, and also Queen Bess's. The Dame, for her part, too, took order that cards Should be sent to the mess-rooms of all the Hussards, The Household troops, Train-bands, and horse and foot Guards.
Well, the day for the rout At length came about, And the bells of St. Andrew's rang merrily out, As horse-litter, coach, and pad-nag, with its pillion, (The mode of conveyance then used by the "Million,") All gallant and grand, Defiled from the Strand, Some through Chancery (then an unpaved and much wetter) Lane, Others through Shoe (which was not a whit better) Lane; Others through Fewtar's (corrupted to Fetter) Lane; Some from Cheapside, and St. Mary-le-Bow, From Bishopsgate Street, Dowgate Hill,[82] and Budge Row. They come and they go, Squire and Dame, Belle and Beau, Down Snore Hill (which we have since whitewashed to Snow), All eager to see the magnificent show, And sport what some call "a fantastical toe;" In silk and in satin, To batten and fatten Upon the good cheer of Sir Christopher Hatton.
A flourish, trumpets!—sound again!— He comes, bold Drake, the chief who made a Fine hash of all the pow'rs of Spain, And so serv'd out their Grand Armada: With him come Frobisher and Hawkins, In yellow ruffs, rosettes, and stockings.
Room for my Lord!—proud Leicester's Earl Retires awhile from courtly cares, Who took his wife, poor hapless girl! And pitch'd her neck and heel down stairs; Proving, in hopes to wed a richer, If not her "friend," at least her "pitcher."
A flourish, trumpets! strike the drums! Will Shakspeare, never of his pen sick, Is here—next Doctor Masters comes, Renown'd afar for curing men sick,— Queen's Serjeant Barham[83] with his bums And tipstaves, coif, and wig forensic; (He lost, unless Sir Richard lies, his Life at the famous "Black Assizes.")