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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 didn't you shoot then, GEORGE the Guard ?”
Spoke it out bolder, seeing him mute :-
Portly JOHN grew pale and red,
(JOHN was afraid of her, people said ;)
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,
For GEORGE was in league with "Beau Brocade"!
And JOHN the Host, in his wakefullest state,
But nobody's virtue was over-nice
When WALPOLE talked of " a man and his price" ;
And wherever Purity found abode,
'Twas certainly not on a posting road.
"Forty" followed to "Thirty-nine." Glorious days of the Hanover line!
Princes were born, and drums were banged; Now and then batches of Highwaymen hanged.
"Glorious news !"-from the Spanish Main; PORTO-BELLO at last was ta'en.
"Glorious news !"-for the liquor trade ; Nobody dreamed of "BEAU BROCADE."
People were thinking of Spanish Crowns;
Nobody dreamed of " BEAU BROCADE," (Only DOLLY the Chambermaid !)
Blessings on VERNON! Fill up the cans; Money was coming in "Flys" and " Vans."
Possibly, JOHN the Host had heard ;
And DOLLY had possibly tidings, too,
Plump as ever, but stern of eye,
Lingering only at JOHN his door,
Saddling the gray mare, Dumpling Star;
(The old horse-pistol that, they say, Came from the battle of Malplaquet;)
Loading with powder that maids would use, Even in "Forty," to clear the flues;
And a couple of silver buttons, the Squire
These she wadded-for want of better
With the B-SH-P of L-ND-N's "Pastoral Letter";
Looked to the flint, and hung the whole,
Thus equipped and accoutred, DOLLY
Such was the name of a ruined abode,
Thence she thought she might safely try,
But, as chance fell out, her rein she drew,
By the light of the moon she could see him drest In his famous gold-sprigged tambour vest;
And under his silver-gray surtout,
The laced, historical coat of blue,
That he wore when he went to London-Spaw, And robbed Sir MUNGO MUCKLETHRAW.
Out-spoke DOLLY the Chambermaid,
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.