Part 6 (1/2)

PHILANDER.

I.

Sobriety, cease to be sober, {56} Cease, Labour, to dig and to delve; All hail to this tenth of October, One thousand eight hundred and twelve! {57} Ha! whom do my peepers remark?

'Tis Hebe with Jupiter's jug; O no, 'tis the pride of the Park, Fair Lady Elizabeth Mugg.

II.

Why, beautiful nymph, do you close The curtain that fringes your eye?

Why veil in the clouds of repose The sun that should brighten our sky?

Perhaps jealous Venus has oiled Your hair with some opiate drug, Not choosing her charms should be foiled By Lady Elizabeth Mugg.

III.

But ah! why awaken the blaze Those bright burning-gla.s.ses contain, Whose lens with concentrated rays Proved fatal to old Drury Lane?

'Twas all accidental, they cry, - Away with the flimsy humbug!

'Twas fired by a flash from the eye Of Lady Elizabeth Mugg.

IV.

Thy glance can in us raise a flame, Then why should old Drury be free?

Our doom and its doom are the same, Both subject to beauty's decree.

No candles the workmen consumed When deep in the ruins they dug; Thy flash still their progress illumed, Sweet Lady Elizabeth Mugg.

V.

Thy face a rich fire-place displays: The mantel-piece marble--thy brows; Thine eyes are the bright beaming blaze; Thy bib, which no trespa.s.s allows, The fender's tall barrier marks; Thy tippet's the fire-quelling rug, Which serves to extinguish the sparks Of Lady Elizabeth Mugg.

VI.

The Countess a lily appears, Whose tresses the pearl-drops emboss; The Marchioness, blooming in years, A rose-bud enveloped in moss; But thou art the sweet pa.s.sion-flower, For who would not slavery hug, To pa.s.s but one exquisite hour In the arms of Elizabeth Mugg?

VII.

When at Court, or some Dowager's rout, Her diamond aigrette meets our view, She looks like a glow-worm dressed out, Or tulips bespangled with dew.

Her two lips denied to man's suit Are shared with her favourite Pug; What lord would not change with the brute, To live with Elizabeth Mugg?

VIII.

Could the stage be a large vis-a-vis, Reserved for the polished and great, Where each happy lover might see The nymph he adores tete-a-tete; No longer I'd gaze on the ground, And the load of despondency lug, For I'd book myself all the year round To ride with the sweet Lady Mugg.

IX.

Yes, she in herself is a host, And if she were here all alone, Our house might nocturnally boast A b.u.mper of fas.h.i.+on and ton.

Again should it burst in a blaze, In vain would they ply Congreve's plug, {57} For nought could extinguish the rays From the glance of divine Lady Mugg.