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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 fell "BEAU BROCADE "!

Down from the saddle and never stirred!-
DOLLY grew white as a Windsor curd.

Slipped not less from the mare, and bound
Strips of her kirtle about his wound.

Then, lest his Worship should rise and flee,
Fettered his ankles-tenderly.

Jumped on his chestnut, BET the fleet (Called after BET of Portugal Street);

Came like the wind to the old Inn-door;-
Roused fat JOHN from a three-fold snore;—

Vowed she 'd 'peach if he misbehaved
Briefly, the "Plymouth Fly" was saved!

Staines and Windsor were all on fire:-
DOLLY was wed to a Yorkshire squire;
Went to Town at the K-G's desire!

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But whether His M-J-STY saw her or not,
HOGARTH jotted her down on the spot;

And something of DOLLY one still may trace
In the fresh contours of his "Milkmaid's" face.

GEORGE the Guard fled over the sea:
JOHN had a fit-of perplexity;

Turned King's evidence, sad to state;-
But JOHN was never immaculate.

As for the BEAU, he was duly tried,
When his wound was healed, at Whitsuntide;

Served for a day-as the last of "sights,"
To the world of St. James's-Street and "White's",

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!)

Every one knows the speech he made;
Swore that he "rather admired the Jade !"—

Waved to the crowd with his gold-laced hat;
Talked to the Chaplain after that;

Turned to the Topsman undismayed . . .
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-Thirty-Nine."



"Belle Marquise, vos beaux yeux me font mourir d'amour." MOLIERE.



As you sit there at your ease,

O Marquise !
And the men flock round your knees
Thick as bees,

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,
your "beaux yeux" flash and glow ;-
Ah, you used them on the Painter,
As you know,
For the Sieur Larose spoke fainter,
Bowing low,
Thanked Madame and Heaven for Mercy
That each sitter was not Circe,

Or at least he told you so ;

Growing proud, I say, and prouder
To the crowd that come and go,
Dainty Deity of Powder,

Fickle Queen of Fop and Beau,
As you sit where lustres strike you,
Sure to please,

Do we love you most or like you, "Belle Marquise !”


You are fair; O yes, we know it
Well, Marquise ;

For he swore it, your last poet,

On his knees; And he called all heaven to witness Of his ballad and its fitness,

"Belle Marquise !”

You were everything in ère
(With exception of sévère),—
You were cruelle and rebelle,
With the rest of rhymes as well;

You were 66 Reine," and " Mère d'Amour";
You were "Vénus à Cythère";
"Sappho mise en Pompadour,"

And "Minerve en Parabère"; You had every grace of heaven In your most angelic face,

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