Part 9 (2/2)

Silence, ye G.o.ds! to keep your tongues in awe, The Muse shall tell an accident she saw.

Pat Jennings in the upper gallery sat, But, leaning forward, Jennings lost his hat Down from the gallery the beaver flew, And spurn'd the one to settle in the two.

How shall he act? Pay at the gallery-door Two s.h.i.+llings for what cost, when new, but four?

Or till half-price, to save his s.h.i.+lling, wait, And gain his hat again at half-past eight?

Now, while his fears antic.i.p.ate a thief, John Mullens whispers, ” Take my handkerchief.”

”Thank you,” cries Pat; ”but one won't make a line.”

”Take mine,” cried Wilson; and cried Stokes, ”Take mine.”

A motley cable soon Pat Jennings ties, Where Spitalfields with real India vies.

Like Iris' bow down darts the painted clue, Starr'd, striped, and spotted, yellow, red, and blue, Old calico, torn silk, and muslin new.

George Green below, with palpitating hand, Loops the last 'kerchief to the beaver's band - Uproars the prize! The youth, with joy unfeign'd, Regain'd the felt, and felt what he regain'd; While to the applauding galleries grateful Pat Made a low bow, and touch'd the ransom'd hat.

TO THE MANAGING COMMITTEE OF THE NEW DRURY LANE THEATRE. {70}

GENTLEMEN,

Happening to be wool-gathering at the foot of Mount Parna.s.sus, I was suddenly seized with a violent travestie in the head. The first symptoms I felt were several triple rhymes floating about my brain, accompanied by a singing in my throat, which quickly communicated itself to the ears of everybody about me, and made me a burthen to my friends and a torment to Doctor Apollo; three of whose favourite servants--that is to say, Macbeth, his butcher; Mrs. Haller, his cook; and George Barnwell, his book-keeper--I waylaid in one of my fits of insanity, and mauled after a very frightful fas.h.i.+on. In this woeful crisis, I accidentally heard of your invaluable New Patent Hissing Pit, which cures every disorder incident to Grub Street. I send you inclosed a more detailed specimen of my case: if you could mould it into the shape of an address, to be said or sung on the first night of your performance, I have no doubt that I should feel the immediate effects of your invaluable New Patent Hissing Pit, of which they tell me one hiss is a dose.

I am, &c.,

MOMUS MEDLAR.

CASE, No. I.--MACBETH.

[Enter MACBETH in a red nightcap. PAGE following with a torch.]

Go, boy, and thy good mistress tell (She knows that my purpose is cruel), I'd thank her to tingle her bell As soon as she's heated my gruel.

Go, get thee to bed and repose - To sit up so late is a scandal; But ere you have ta'en off your clothes, Be sure that you put out that candle.

Ri fol de rol tol de rol lol

My stars, in the air here's a knife!

I'm sure it cannot be a hum; I'll catch at the handle, add's life!

And then I shall not cut my thumb.

I've got him!--no, at him again!

Come, come, I'm not fond of these jokes; This must be some blade of the brain - Those witches are given to hoax.

I've one in my pocket, I know, My wife left on purpose behind her; She bought this of Teddy-high-ho, The poor Caledonian grinder.

I see thee again! o'er thy middle Large drops of red blood now are spill'd, Just as much as to say, diddle diddle, Good Duncan, pray come and be kill'd.

It leads to his chamber, I swear; I tremble and quake every joint - No dog at the scent of a hare Ever yet made a cleverer point.

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