« 上一頁繼續 »
See first the merry P― comes
In haste without his garter.
Then lords and lordlings, 'squires and knights,
What Fenton will not do, nor Gay,
Nor Congreve, Rowe, nor Stanyan, Tom Burnet or Tom D'Urfy may, John Dunton, Steel, or any one.
If justice Philips' costive head
Some frigid rhymes disburses;
They shall like Persian tales be read,
Let Warwick's Muse with Ash-t join,
L- himself, that lively lord,
Ye ladies, too, draw forth your pen;
Now, Tonson, list thy forces all,
Review them and tell noses:
For to poor Ovid shall befal
A strange metamorphosis;
A metamorphosis more strange
Than all his books can vapour
"To what (quoth 'squire) shall Ovid change?" "To waste paper."
CLOSE to the best known author UMBRA sits,
"Who's here?" cries UMBRA: "only Johnson"-"O!
But cries as soon, "Dear Dick, I must be gone,
DUKE UPON DUKE.
AN EXCELLENT NEW BALLAD*.
TO THE TUNE OF CHEVY-CHACE.
TO lordlings proud I tune my lay,
Now, that this same it is right sooth,
From what befel John duke of Guise,
When Richard Caur de Lion reign'd,
* This very humourous ballad was occasioned by a quarrel between Nicholas lord Lechmere and sir John Guise, bart.Lord Lechmere had been representative in parliament for Cockermouth, and one of the managers against Sacheverell; he was an eminent lawyer, a staunch whig, and, having been removed from his office of queen's counsel in June 1711, was a constant opposer of her ministry. He was appointed solicitor general in Oct. 1714; chancellor of the duchy court of Lancaster for life in June 1717; attorney-general in March 1717-18; and was created baron Lechmere of Evesham, Sept. 8, 1721 dying June 18, 1727, the title became extinct.-Sir John Guise, who represented the county of Gloucester in several parliaments, died Nov. 6, 1732.
A word and blow was then enough:
If you but turn'd your cheek, a cuff;
Look in their face, they tweak'd your nose;
At ev'ry turn fell to't;
Come near, they trod upon your toes;
They fought from head to foot.
Of these the duke of Lancastere
Stood paramount in pride;
He kick'd, and cuff'd, and tweak'd, and trod
Firm on his front his beaver sate;
So broad, it hit his chin;
For why? he deemed no man his mate,
With Spanish wool he dy'd his cheek,
No vixen civet cat so sweet,
Right tall he made himself to show,
Yet courteous, blithe, and debonnair,
Was ever such a loving pair?
How could they disagree?
Oh, thus it was: he lov'd him dear,
And cast how to requite him:
And, having no friend left but this,
Forthwith he drench'd his desp'rate quill,
And thus he did indite:
"This eve at whisk ourself will play, "Sir duke! be here to night."
"Ah no! ah no!" the guileless Guise Demurely did reply;
"I cannot go, nor yet can stand,
The duke in wrath call'd for his steeds,
Lord! Lord! how rattled then thy stones,
O kingly Kensington!
All in a trice he rush'd on Guise,
Thrust out his lady dear:
He tweak'd his nose, trod on his toes,
And smote him on the ear.
But mark, how 'midst of victory
Up leap'd duke John, and knock'd him down,
Alas, O Nic.! O Nic. alas!
Right did thy gossip call thee:
For on thee did he clap his chair,
And on that chair did sit;
And look'd as if he meant therein
To do what was not fit.