That he wore when he went to London-Spaw, And robbed Sir MUNGO MUCKLETHRAW. Out-spoke DOLLY the Chambermaid, (Trembling a little, but not afraid,) "Stand and Deliver, O 'BEAU BROCADE'!" But the BEAU rode nearer, and would not speak, For he saw by the moonlight a rosy cheek; And a spavined mare with a rusty hide ; So never a word he spoke as yet, For he thought 'twas a freak of MEG or BET;— A freak of the "Rose" or the "Rummer" set. Out-spoke DOLLY the Chambermaid, (Tremulous now, and sore afraid,) "Stand and Deliver, O'BEAU Brocade'!”– Firing then, out of sheer alarm, Hit the BEAU in the bridle-arm. Button the first went none knows where, But it carried away his solitaire; Button the second a circuit made, Glanced in under the shoulder-blade ;- Down from the saddle and never stirred !— Slipped not less from the mare, and bound Then, lest his Worship should rise and flee, Jumped on his chestnut, BET the fleet (Called after BET of Portugal Street); Came like the wind to the old Inn-door ;- Vowed she'd 'peach if he misbehaved... Staines and Windsor were all on fire :- But whether His M-J-STY saw her or not, And something of DOLLY one still may trace In the fresh contours of his "Milkmaid's" face. GEORGE the Guard fled over the sea: Turned King's evidence, sad to state ;— As for the BEAU, he was duly tried, When his wound was healed, at Whitsuntide; Served-for a day—as the last of “sights,” Went on his way to TYBURN TREE, With a pomp befitting his high degree. Every privilege rank confers : Bouquet of pinks at St. Sepulchre's; Flagon of ale at Holborn Bar; Friends (in mourning) to follow his Car("t" is omitted where HEROES are !) THE BALLAD OF BEAU BROCADE 30 Swore that he "rather admired the Jade !"— Waved to the crowd with his gold-laced hat : Talked to the Chaplain after that; This was the finish of "BEAU BROCADE"! And this is the Ballad that seemed to hide In the leaves of a dusty "LONDONER's Guide"; "Humbly Inscrib'd (with curls and tails) By the Author, to FREDERICK, Prince of WALES : "Published by FRANCIS and OLIVER PINE; Ludgate-Hill, at the Blackmoor Sign. Seventeen-Hundred-and-Forty-Nine." UNE MARQUISE A RHYMED MONOLOGUE IN THE LOUVRE "Belle Marquise, vos beaux yeux me font mourir d'amour."-Molière. Mute at every word you utter, Servants to your least frill-flutter, "Belle Marquise!”— As you sit there growing prouder, And your ringed hands glance and go, And your fan's frou-frou sounds louder, And your "beaux yeux" flash and glow ;— Ah, you used them on the Painter, As you know, |