With friends like these the 'Squire began
His new career, and thus it ran,
With others whom he chanc'd to light on
In trips to Tunbridge or to Brighton,
Swells at most public places known
And as gay triflers 'bout the town;
Who might, perhaps, at times resort
To Billiard-rooms or Tennis-court,
Where lively grace, and easy skill
Might flatter Fortune to their will.
Freeborn these gay companions sought,
Who soon their brisk disciple taught
How to direct his lively course
By the snug compass in his purse; |
In short, who tutor'd his quick sense
In the gay world to make pretence
By modest, well-dress'd impudence. | } |
—Ye Dandies, Bucks or by what name
Bond Street re-echoes with your fame;
Whether in Dennet, Gig or Tandem,
In five-cap'd coats you bang at random,
With such nice skill that you may break
Your own, or Dulcinea's neck:
Or, when lock'd arm in arm you meet,
From the plain causeway to the street,
Drive Ladies in their morning walk,
While you enjoy your lounging talk:
Then saunter off to pass your hours
In roving through those gaudy bowers
Where purchas'd pleasure seems design'd
To occupy the thoughtless mind: |
And, having idled through the day,
To quicken dull night's weary way,
You seek the mask, the dance or play;— | } |
With you our Hero did contrive
To keep himself and time alive;
But now and then too prone to trace
Those scrapes that border on disgrace,
And threat the unreflecting plan
Of the best would-be Gentleman! |
From such as these he was not free,
As we, I fear, shall shortly see,
In this so busy history. | } |
—To him no social life was known,
His home, his friends were through the town
Who were seen wand'ring here and there,
Caring for no one, no one's care;
Prepared no pleasures to receive
But coin could buy or chance might give;
And would prove lively or were dull,
As the silk purse was drain'd or full.
For though deck'd out with all the art
That Fashion's journeymen impart,
They never pass'd the tonish wicket
Of High-life, but by purchas'd ticket
Obtain'd by the resistless bribe
To Traitors of the livried tribe,
Which, by some bold disguise to aid,
Might help them through a masquerade;
Or, with some sly, well-fram'd pretence
And varnish'd o'er with impudence,
A proud admittance might obtain
With chance to be turn'd out again:
Nor was the luckless Freeborn spar'd,
When he the saucy trial dar'd.
—One night, the hour we need not tell,
Into a trap the coxcomb fell.
As through the streets he rattled on
Lamps with inviting brilliance shone;
The music's sound, the portal's din
Told 'twas a joyous scene within:
The second bottle of the night,
Might have produced a double sight,
And two-fold courage to pursue
The splendid prospect in his view,
He, therefore bade the Hack approach,
And at the door present the coach;
Then made a push, got through the hall,
And quickly mingled with the ball.
—Whether his face was too well known
Among the dashers of the town,
Who do not an admittance gain
Among the more distinguish'd train,
Whose social habits will exclude
The mere street-trampling multitude,
Who, like the insects of a day,
Make a short buzz and pass away:
Or whether the intruding sinner
Eat as he seem'd to want a dinner;
Or if it did his fancy suit
To line his pocket with the fruit;
Or if he let some signal fly,
Not usual in such company,
Or if his spirits were so loud
As to alarm the polish'd crowd;
Whatever was the Spell that bound him,
Suspicion more than hover'd round him; |
For, he replied with silent stare,
As he was taken unaware,
When he was ask'd how he came there. | } |
Nor did he show a visage bold
When, in a whisper, he was told,
But still with steady look express'd
By the stern Master of the feast,
If he wish'd not to play a farce
To make his pretty figure scarce. |
—That such a part he might not play
Which menac'd e'en the least delay,
He thought it best to glide away; | } |
And, to avoid the threat'ning rout,
As he push'd in, he darted out. |
| |
A tonish Matron who ne'er fail'd
Where she was ask'd and cards prevail'd,
My Lady Dangle was her name,
And 'twas the fancy of the dame
Still to retain the antique plan
At night to dance in a Sedan
Sedans, so known the fair to coop,
When clad in the expanding hoop,
Snug chairs borne on by sturdy feet,
Once seen in ev'ry courtly street;
And one a most uncommon sight,
Was waiting at the door to-night;
Which, in all due array, was come,
To bear my Lady Dangle home.
The Chairmen lifted up the top,
When Freeborn, with a sprightly hop,
And his cloak wrapp'd around his face,
Made bold to seize the vacant place:
The bearers, not intent to know,
Whether it were a Belle or Beau,
Went on—a cheary footman bore
A flambeau, blund'ring on before:
While, ere the 'Squire, in this sad scrape,
Had time to plan his next escape,
A heap of Paviour's stones which lay
Directly in the Chairmen's way,
Gave them a fall upon the road,
With their alarm'd, mistaken load.
Each Watchman sprang his rousing rattle,
But as no voices call'd for battle,
They did the best without delay
To set the party on their way:
While the attendants on the chair,
Half-blinded by the flambeau's glare,
First rais'd their weighty forms and then
Set the Sedan upright again:
Nor e'er attempted to explore
The hapless head that burst the door.
But such was Freeborn's falling fate,
Which such confusion did create
Within the region of his brain,
He did not know his home again:
Nay, when the wearied Chairmen stopp'd,
Into the house he stagg'ring popp'd;
Then to and fro got up the stairs,
And, straddling o'er opposing chairs, |
He star'd, but knew not he was come
To Lady Dangle's Drawing Room,
But wildly thought himself at home. | } |
Then on a sofa threw his length,
Thus to regain exhausted strength,
And grunted, groan'd and drew his breath,
As if it were the hour of death. |
| |
Sir David Dangle, whom the gout
Had kept that night from going out,
Was sitting in all sick-man's quiet,
Nor dreaming of a scene of riot
When, waken'd into wild amaze,
He did on the strange vision gaze,
While the bold reprobate intrusion
Threw all the house into confusion.
In rush'd domestics one and all,
Who heard the bell's alarming call;
While stamping crutch and roaring voice
Encreas'd the Knight's awak'ning noise
That he might quick assistance stir
Against this unknown visiter.
But while the household struggled hard
To keep him still, and be his guard,
Till he thought fit to lay before 'em
The cause of all his indecorum;
My Lady came to set all right
And check the hurry of the night:
She then, to soothe his rude alarms
Clasp'd her dear Knight within her arms,
Those arms which, for full forty years,
As from tradition it appears,
Had sometimes strok'd his chin and coax'd him,
And now and then had soundly box'd him.
"It is," she said, "some heated rake,
Who has occasion'd the mistake.
But loose your hands, I do protest,
To be thus us'd, he's too well drest |
For though his face I do not know
He does some air of fashion show,
Playing his pranks incognito." | } |
—"It may be so," the Knight replied,
And then he shook his head and sigh'd:
"I'm not a stranger to the game,
When I was young, I did the same."
—Beside Sir David, Madam sat:
To charm his flurry with her chat
Her tongue pour'd forth its ready store
And talk'd the busy evening o'er;
Their biscuits took and, nothing loth,
Moisten'd them well with cordial broth;
Thus, till bed call'd, enjoy'd their quaffing,
He with hoarse chuckle—she with laughing. |
