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Then might you see a painted ring

Of dames that stood by Nelly; She like the pride of all the Spring,

And they, like Fleurs de Palais.
In Marli’s gardens, and St. Clou,

I saw this charming Nelly,
Where shameless nymphs, expos’d to view,

Stand naked in each allée :
But Venus had a brazen face

Both at Versailles and Meudon, Or else she had resign’d her place,

And left the stone she stood on. Were Nelly's figure mounted there, 'Twould

put

down all th' Italian : Lord! how those foreigners would stare !

But I should turn Pygmalion :
For, spite of lips, and eyes, and mien,

Me nothing can delight so,
As does that part that lies between

Her left-toe and her right-toe.

A B A L L A D
Ο Ν QU AD R I L L E.
WHI

HEN as corruption hence did go,

And left the nation free;
When Ay said ay, and No said no,

Without or place or fee;
Then Satan, thinking things went ill,
Sent forth his spirit called Quadrille.
Quadrille, Quadrille, &c.

Kings,

Kings, queens, and kaaves, made up his pack,

And four fait suits he wore ;
His troops they were with red and black

All blotch'd and spotted o’er ;
And every
house, go

where you will, Is haunted by this imp Quadrille, &c. Sure cards he has for every thing,

Which well court-cards they name,
And, statesinan-like, calls-in the king,

To help out a bad game;
But, if the parties manage ill,
The king is forc'd to lose Codille, &c.
When two and two were met of old,

Though they ne'er meant to marry,
They were in Cupid's books enrollid,

And call'd a Partie Quarrée ;
But now, meet when and where you will,
A Partie Quarrée is Quadrille, &c.
The commoner, and knight, and peer,

Men of all ranks and fame,
Leave to their wives the only care
To
propagate

their name;
And well that duty they fulfill,
When the good husband's át Quadrille, &c.
When patients lie in piteous cafe,

In comes th’ Apothecary;
And to the Doctor cries, Alas !
Non debes Quadrillare:

The

The patient dies without a pill:
For why? the Doctor 's at Quadrille, &c.
Should France and Spain again grow loud,

The Muscovite grow louder ;
Britain, to curb her neighbours proud,

Would want both ball and powder; Must want both fsvord and gun to kill : For why? the General 's at Quadrille, &c. 'The King of late drew forth his sword

(Thank God 'twas not in wrath), And malk, of many a 'fquire and lord,

An unwash'd Knight of Bath :
What are their fears of arms and skill:
They 're but nine parties at Quadrille, &c.
A party late at Cambray met,

Which drew all Europe's eyes ;
'Twas call'd in Post-Boy and Gazette

The Quadruple Allies;
But somebody took something ill,
So broke this party at Quadrille, &c.
And now God save this noble realm,

And God save eke Hanóver ;
And God fare those who hold the helm,

When as the King goes over;
But let the King go where he will,
His subjects must play at Quadrille,

Quadrille, Quadrille, &c.

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M pallion is as mustard strong ;

I fit all
Drunk as a piper all day long,

Or like a March-hare mad.
Round as a hoop the humpers flow;

I drink, yet can't forget her ;
For, though as drunk as David's sow,

I love her ftill the better.
Pert as a pear-monger

I'd be,
If Molly were but kind;
Cool as a cucumber, could see

The rest of womankind.
Like a stuck-pig I gaping stare,
And
eye

her o’er and o'er ;
Lean as a rake with fighs and care,

Sleek as a mouse before.
Plump as a partridge was I known,

And soft as silk my skin,
My cheeks as fat as butter grown ;

But as a groat now thin ! 1, melancholy as a cat,

Am kept awake to weep; But she, insensible of that,

Sound as a top can seep.

Hard Hard is her heart as flint or stone,

She laughs to fee me pale ;
And merry as a grig is grown,

And brik as bottled-ale.
The God of Love at her approach

Is busy as a bee;
Hearts, sound as any bell or roach,

Are smit and sigh like me.
Ay me! as thick as hops or hail,

The fine men crowd about her;
But soon as dead as a door-nail

Shall I be, if without her.
Strait as my leg her shape appears ;

O were we join'd together!
My heart would be scot-free from cares,

And lighter than a feather.
As fine as five-pence is her mien,

No drum was ever tighter ;
Her glance is as the razor keen,

And not the sun is brighter. As soft as pap her kisses are,

Methinks I taste them yet ;
Brown as a berry is her hair,

Her eyes as black as jet :
As smooth as glass, as white as curds,

Her pretty hand invites;
Sharp as a needle are her words;

Her wit, like pepper, bites :

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