One Sunday I went out, and as I walk’d up Holborn Hill,
(I like to be particular,) the streets were very muddy,
When just about the half way up, quite shock’d I stood stock still;
A lady slipt down flop before me, fat and plump, and ruddy.
She was in the kennel sprawling,
To me for assistance calling,
Quick was I pulling, hauling;
She did wish to shun day.
The mud had spoil’d her Sunday dressing,
“Dear,” she said, “’tis quite distressing.
Lawk! I am a pretty mess in;
Look,” said Mrs. Monday.
As soon as she recover’d, she return’d her thanks so free,
And in my ears no voice was e’er so sweet, tho’ she did tumble;
She said, that when she started, she was going out to tea,
But stopt by this unfortunate and unlucky tumble.
Mobs of people now surrounded,
She and me were both confounded;
Low lived jokes and jeers abounded,
Tho’ it was a Sunday.
Heeding not their taunts and titters,
I ask’d her if my taste would fit her’s.
Would she have some brandy-bitters,
“I will,” said Mrs. Monday.
We both went in to Thompson’s then, and had a glass a piece,
The people still were grinning all, to see her clothes so dirty;
Her face with perspiration look’d, as if ’twere dipp’d in grease;
Her age was, I suppose, about some two or three and thirty.
Her face look’d just like one that’s muddled,
Clothes on her were completely huddled,
All at once she got quite fuddled;
Shocking for a Sunday!
Thank’d me for my being so handy,
Declar’d that I was quite the dandy,
Drank three glasses more of brandy;
Shocking! Mrs. Monday.
What was I to do? egad! I could not get away,
She stuck to me as tight as wax, and liquor drank the faster;
And every glass she swallow’d down, she call’d on me to pay,
And then compell’d to see her home, safe out of her disaster.
Thro’ the streets by jeers saluted,
Mob at every step recruited,
While they halloo’d, laugh’d, and hooted,
Shocking! for a Sunday;
Ev’ry step made mis’ry double,
Took her home through every hubble,
And got, for all my care and trouble,
Blow’d up by Mr. Monday.
ALL TO ASTONISH THE BROWNS.
There liv’d, and maybe living still,
In one of the streets of the town,
A respectable man who was call’d
By the neighbours, “Gentleman Brown.”
Very grand parties he gave,
At which in champagne, you might drown,
Now he cut such a dash, all the street,
Was jealous of Gentleman Brown.
Jokery, jeering, quiz,
To the story I’m telling, oh list,
How happy we mortals might be,
If jealousy did not exist.
The Caggs’ who resided next door,
Were ever in sneers and in frowns,
And bursting with spleen when they saw
Such fine goings on at the Browns.
One night Mrs. C. said to Caggs,
“Some husbands are such stingy clowns,
Or they would give dinners and balls,
And show off as well as the Browns.”
Jokery, jeering, quiz.
In the course of your life, find you may,
That a man has no power, when his wife
Is determined to have her own way.
“Consider my income!” said Caggs,
“Don’t talk in that way, Mr. C.
I warrant I’d make it suffice,
If you would but leave it to me.
Last Monday, I saw, well enough,
When the tradesmen were going their rounds,
Although they had money from us,
I’m sure they had none from the Browns.”
Jokery, jeering, quiz.
It’s one of the greatest of ills,
When tradesmen will send in their bills,
And nothing else but their bills.
Caggs submitted to his better half,
Or rather two thirds, I should say,
And she soon sent her orders about,
Determined to make a display.
Her daughters were full of delight,
On Sunday they sported new gowns,
And exclaimed, as they went to the church,
“How we shall astonish the Browns!”
Jokery, jeering, quiz.
What pleasures arise in the breast,
When we, as we walk through the streets,
Are conscious of being well dressed!
Preparations were made for a feast,
Tinted cards, highly glazed and embossed,
Invited the neighbours, who came,
And many in wonder were lost.
Champagne, Ices, Claret, Milk punch,
And cakes ornamented with crowns,
Soups, jellies, and scented pastilles,
And all to astonish the Browns.
Jokery, jeering, quiz,
Most people are fond of a feast,
And they love them that give ’em the most,
More than those folks who give ’em the least.