The Doctor in a clean
starched
band,
His golden snuff box in
his hand,
With care his diamond ring
displays
And artful shows its
various
rays,
While grade he stalks down
____ street
His dearest Betty ____ to
meet.
Long had he
waited for this hour,
Nor gained admittance to
the bower,
Had joked and punned, and
swore and writ,
Tried all his gallantry
and wit,
Had told her oft what part
he bore
In Oxford's schemes in days
of yore,
But bawdy, politics, nor
satire
Could move this dull hard
hearted creature.
Jenny her maid could taste
a rhyme
And, grieved to see him
lose his time,
Had kindly whispered in
his ear,
"For twice two pound you
enter here;
My lady vows without that
sum
It is in vain you write
or come."
The destined
offering now he brought,
And in a paradise of
thought,
With a low bow approached
the dame,
Who smiling heard him
preach
his flame.
His gold she takes (such
proofs as these
Convince most unbelieving
shes)
And in her trunk rose up
to lock it
(Too wise to trust it in
her pocket)
And then, returend with
blushing grace,
Expects the doctor's warm
embrace.
But now this
is the proper place
Where morals stare me in
the face,
And for the sake of fine
expression
I'm forced to make a small
digression.
Alas for wretched
humankind,
With learning mad, with
wisdom blind!
The ox thinks he's for
saddle
fit
(As long ago friend Horace
writ)
And men their talents still
mistaking,
The stutterer fancies his
is speaking.
With admiration oft we
see
Hard features heightened
by toupée,
The beau affects the
politician,
Wit is the citizen's
ambition,
Poor Pope philosophy
displays
on
With so much rhyme and
little
reason,
And though he argues ne'er
so long
That all is right, his head
is wrong.
None strive
to know their proper merit
But strain for wisdom,
beauty,
spirit,
And lose the praise that
is their due
While they've th'impossible
in view.
So have I seen the
injudicious
heir
To add one window the whole
house impair.
Instinct the
hound does better teach,
Who never undertook to
preach;
The frighted hare from dogs
does run
But not attempts to bear
a gun.
Here many noble thoughts
occur
But I prolixity
abhor,
And will pursue
th'instructive
tale
To show the wise in some
things fail.
The reverend
lover with surprise
Peeps in her bubbies, and
her eyes,
And kisses both, and
tries---and
tries.
The evening in this hellish
play,
Beside his guineas thrown
away,
Provoked the priest to that
degree
He swore, "The fault is
not in me.
Your damned close stool
so near my nose,
Your dirty smock, and
stinking
toes
Would make a Hercules as
tame
As any beau that you can
name."
The nymph
grown
furious roared, "By God
The blame lies all in sixty
odd,"
And scornful pointing to
the door
Cried, "Fumbler, see my
face no more."
"With all my heart I'll
go away,
But nothing done, I'll
nothing
pay.
Give back the money."
"How,"
cried she,
"Would you palm such a
cheat
on me!
For poor four pound to roar
and bellow--
Why sure you want some new
Prunella?"
"I'll be revenged, you
saucy
quean"
(Replies the disappointed
Dean)
"I'll so describe your
dressing
room
The very Irish shall not
come."
She answered short, "I'm
glad you'll write.
You'll furnish paper when
I shite."