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THE BALLAD OF "BEAU BROCADE.”
"Hark! I hear the sound of coaches !"
EVENTEEN hundred and thirty-nine :-
First great GEORGE was buried and gone ;
LONDON then, as the “Guides ”aver,
And people of rank, to correct their “ tone,”
Those were the days of the War with Spain,
WHITEFIELD preached to the colliers grim,
WALPOLE talked of " a man and his price”;
Those, in fine, were the brave days when
And of all the knights of the gentle trade
This they knew on the whole way down;
(For timorous cits on their pilgrimage Would “ club" for a “Guard” to ride the stage ;
And the Guard that rode on more than one
Open we here on a March-day fine,
There was Barber Dick with his basin by ;
Portly product of Beef and Beer,
Straining and creaking, with wheels awry,
Lumbering up from Bagshot Heath,
Passengers heavily armed inside ;
Tried !-but a couple of miles away,
Tried successfully, never a doubt,-
Cloak-bags rifled, and cushions ripped, -
Even a Methodist hosier's wife
Highwayman's manners no less polite,
Sorry to find the company poor,
Plucked them all at his ease, in short :-
Sympathy ! horror ! and wonderment !
Hosier's wife led into the Bar ;
Followed the tale of the hundred-and-one
Ensign (of BRAGG's) made a terrible clangour :
Robber, of course, was “ BEAU BROCADE";
Devonshire DOLLY, plump and red,
Spoke it out boldly, staring hard :“Why did n't you shoot then, GEORGE the Guard ?"
Spoke it out bolder, seeing him mute :-
Portly JOHN grew pale and red,
Gasped that “ DOLLY was surely cracked," (JOHN was afraid of her—that 's a fact !)
GEORGE the Guard grew red and pale,
“ Shoot? Why-Rabbit him!-did n't he shoot ?” Muttered-—"The Baggage was far too 'cute !"
“ Shoot? Why he 'd flashed the pan in his eye !"
Nor could a further reply be made,
And JOHN the Host, in his wakefullest state,
But nobody's virtue was over-nice
And wherever Purity found abode,
“Forty” followed to “Thirty-nine.” Glorious days of the Hanover line !