At Bingham's to-night I am bidden repair.
My one silken pelisse is all in a tangle,
And I know I have lost my Parisian bangle:
Not a whif of hair-powder to light up my head—
Methinks 'twould be better to get into bed!
My slippers the parrot has quite eaten up—
Oh! why am I bidden to come in to sup?
Now, Rebecca, do try make the child stop its wailing;
At the thought of the company courage is failing!
There's a chair going past and a coach with a clatter.