Brimful of town conceits and folly,
My Lady now grew melancholy;
And when the sporting season came
Her daily looks were not the same:
That time of noisy, jovial joy,
Did ev'ry lively sense annoy,
Nor would she any reas'ning hear.—
"To Town we'll haste away, My Dear!
Let us be gone without delay:
To London let us haste away!
These rooms where staring figures sprawl
In ancient hangings on the wall,
Nay, where at noon, the shaded light
Gives dimness of approaching night,
Which nought can chearful make and gay,
Or give the semblance bright of day,
But that well-dress'd, high-minded glee
That here, alas, we never see,
Which could alone from this dull room,
Snatch the grim likeness of a tomb!
Let us be gone without delay,
To London let us haste away!"
—She gave a piteous look and sigh'd,
When, with soft grace, Sir Charles replied.
"As such is your desire, My Love,
To Town we quickly will remove;
If it will soothe my charmer's sorrow,
We will set out for Town to-morrow.
But have you thought, my dearest Dear,
That not a creature will be there?
Will you not find we shall be hurl'd
Into a lifeless, empty world;
Where, till the winter near approaches
You will see nought but Hackney coaches?
I'm sure you'll think yourself quite undone,
If you're a month alone in London.
To your gay spirit Oh how dull
On a soft window-seat to loll,
And count with your half-sleeping eye
How many Nobodies go by!
While mothers with their babies tell,
What sick'ning stuff they have to sell,
When from their ceaseless screaming noises,
You ask for what Heaven gave them voices:
Till like the fiddler in a rage,
Which you have seen in Hogarth's page,
You stop your ears, with anger burn,
And cry 'to Woodlands, let's return.'
I'd rather sit and yawn, I own,
Here in the country than in town, |
Where to dull club-rooms I must go,
E'en in the streets no creature know,
And ride alone in Rotten-Row. | } |
But be it as you wish."—"Then I,"
The Dame delay'd not to reply,
"Desire such orders you will give
That we, with prompt dispatch, may leave
This stupid spot and hurry strait
With post horse gallop through the gate,
And when we've got a dozen mile,
I then will thank you, Love, and smile. |
Yes, I will bid adieu to care,
Though not a soul in Portman-Square,
When once I see that I am there. | } |
Believe me I would rather hear
As sounds more pleasing to my ear,
Fishwomen's cries along the street,
Than noisy sportsmen when they meet,
Whose noisy, vulgar, drunken brawl
So often echoed in our Hall.
The Town, perhaps, is not so full,
But London never can be dull:
Thin as it may be, or e'en thinner,
We shall find folk to eat our dinner,
And though no crowd will throng at present,
Our little parties will be pleasant.
The Drama too presents its play
To make the evening pass away;
Blue hills delight and lawns so green
When they are painted on the scene;
O how I like the woods and rocks
When I can view them from a box!—
I'm charm'd with such a rural sight
When it is seen by candle-light.
We shall to pass our time contrive,
And keep our pretty selves alive,
Till the world rolls to Town amain:—
Then we shall be ourselves again."
—They were themselves, and suffer'd pride
Still to remain their fatal guide,
And to bring on that period near,
When Folly claim'd its full arrear. |