Such was the very PRETTY conversation
That pass'd between the PRETTY misses,
While unobserv'd, the glory of our nation,
Close by them hung Sir Joshua's matchless pieces
Works! that a Titian's hand could form alone—
Works! that a Reubens had been proud to own.
Permit me, ladies, now to lay before ye
What lately happen'd—therefore a true story:—
A STORY.
Walking one afternoon along the Strand,
My wond'ring eyes did suddenly expand
Upon a pretty leash of country lasses.
"Heav'ns! my dear beauteous angels, how d'ye do?
Upon my soul I'm monstrous glad to see ye."
"Swinge! Peter, we are glad to meet with you;
We're just to London come—well, pray how be ye?
"We're just a going, while 'tis light,
To see St. Paul's before 'tis dark.
Lord! come, for once, be so polite,
And condescend to be our spark."
"With all my heart, my angels."—On we walk'd,
And much of London—much of Cornwall talk'd.
Now did I hug myself to think
How much that glorious structure would surprise,
How from its awful grandeur they would shrink
With open mouths, and marv'ling eyes!
As near to Ludgate-Hill we drew,
St. Paul's just opening on our view;
Behold, my lovely strangers, one and all,
Gave, all at once, a diabolic squawl,
As if they had been tumbled on the stones,
And some confounded cart had crush'd their bones.
After well fright'ning people with their cries,
And sticking to a ribbon-shop their eyes,
They all rush'd in, with sounds enough to stun,
And clattering all together, thus begun:—
"Swinge! here are colors then, to please!
Delightful things, I vow to heav'n!
Why! not to see such things as these,
We never should have been forgiv'n.