His bushy beard, and shoe-strings green, a Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it. What, in the very first beginning! A house there is (and that's enough) But rustling in their silks and tissues. The first came cap-a-pie from France, The other Amazon kind heav'n Had arm'd with spirit, wit, and satire But Cobham had the polish giv'n, And tipp'd her arrows with good-nature To celebrate her eyes, her air Coarse panegyrics would but tease her, Melissa is her Nom de Guerre. Alas, who would not wish to please her! With bonnet blue and capuchine, And aprons long, they hid their armour; And veil'd their weapons, bright and keen, In pity to the country farmer. Fame, in the shape of Mr. P-t,* Who prowl'd the country far and near, My Lady heard their joint petition, The Heroines undertook the task, Through lanes unknown, o'er stiles they ventur'd, Rapp'd at the door, nor stay'd to ask, But bounce into the parlour enter'd. The trembling family they daunt, They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle, Each hole snd cupboard they explore, And o'er the bed and tester clamber; The allusion here is to Mr. Robert Purt, a Fellow of King's College, Cambridge; who died of the small-pox, April, 1752, soon after the publication of the Poem. He was a neighbour of Mr. Gray's, when the latter resided at Stoke. Into the drawers and china pry, Papers and books, a huge imbroglio! Under a tea-cup he might lie, Or creas'd, like dogs-ears, in a folio. On the first marching of the troops, So Rumour says: (who will, believe?) Short was his joy. He little knew The words too eager to unriddle, The Poet felt a strange disorder; Transparent bird-1.me form'd the middle, And chains invis.ble the border. So cunning was the apparatus, The powerful pct-hooks did so move him, That, will he, nill he, to the Great House He went, as if the Devil drove him. Yet on his way (no sign of grace, The Godhead would have back'd his quarrel; 'Gainst four such eyes were no protection. The Court was sate, the Culprit there, And from the gallery stand peeping: Such as in silence of the night Come (sweep) along some wirding entry, (Styack* has often seen the sight) Or at the chapel-door stand entry: In peaked hoods and mantles tamish'd, The Peeress comes. The audience stare, The Bard, with many an artful fib, And all that Groom‡ could urge against him. * The Housekeeper. + The Steward. + Groom of the Chamber. But soon his rhetoric forsook him, He stood as mute as poor Macleane.* Yet something he was heard to mutter, 'How in the park beneath an old tree, (Without design to hurt the butter, Or any malice to the poultry,) 'He once or twice had penn'd a sonnet; Yet hop'd, that he might save his bacon: Numbers would give their oaths upon it, He ne'er was for a conjuror taken.' The ghostly prudes, with hagged face, She smil'd, and bid him come to dinner. Jesu-Maria! Madam Bridget, Why, what can the Viscountess mean? (Cried the square-hoods in woful fidget) The times are alter'd quite and clean! 'Decorum's turn'd to mere civility; [Here 500 Stanzas are lost.] * A famous highwayman hanged the week before. |