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Rosalind Farewell, Monsieur Traveller : Look, you lisp, and wear strauge suits; disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your Nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think that you have swain in a Gondola.

As You Like it, Act IV. Sc. I.

Annotation of the Commentators.
That is, been at Venice, which was much visited by the young
English gentlemen of those times, and was then what Paris is now
---the seat of all dissoluteness. S. A.

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'Tis known, at least it should be, that throughout

All countries of the Catholic persuasion,
Some weeks before Shrove Tuesday comes about,

The people take their fill of recreation,
And buy repentance, ere they grow devout,

However high their rank or low their station, With fiddling, feasting, dancing, drinking, masquing, And other things which may be had for asking.


The moment night with dusky mantle covers

The skies (and the more duskily the better,) The time less liked by husbands than by lovers

Begins, and prudery flings aside her fetter; And gayety on restless tiptoe hovers,

Giggling with all the gallants who beset her ; And there are songs and quavers, roaring, humming, Guitars, and every other sort of strumming.


And there are dresses splendid, but fantastical,

Masks of all times and nations, Turks and Jews, And harlequins and clowns, with feats gymnastical,

Greeks, Romans, Yankee-doodles, and Hindoos; All kinds of dress, except the ecclesiastical,

All people, as their fancies hit, may choose, But no one in these parts may quiz the clergy, Therefore take heed, ye Freethinkers! I charge ye.


You'd better walk about begirt with briers,

Instead of coat and smallclothes, than put on A single stitch reflecting upon friars,

Although you swore it only was in fun; They'd haul you o'er the coals, and stir the fires

Of Phlegethon with every mother's son, Nor say one mass to cool the cauldron's bubble That boild your bones, unless you paid them double.


But saving this, you may put on whate'er

You like by way of doublet, cape, or cloak, Such as in Monmouth-street, or in Rag Fair,

Would rig you out in seriousness or joke;
And even in Italy such places are

With prettier names in softer accents spoke,
For, bating Covent Garden, I can hit on

hat's call'd“ Piazza” in Great Britain.


This feast is named the Carnival, which being

Interpreted, implies “farewell to flesh :”
So call'd, because the name and thing agreeing,

Through Lent they live on fish both salt and fresh. But why they usher Lent with so much glee in,

Is more than I can tell, although I guess 'Tis as we take a glass with friends at parting, In the stage-coach or packet, just at starting.


And thus they bid farewell to carnal dishes,

And solid meats, and highly spiced ragouts, To live for forty days on ill-dress’d fishes,

Because they have no sauces to their stews, A thing which causes many“ poohs” and “pishes,"

And several oaths (which would not suit the Muse,) From travellers accustom'd from a boy To eat their salmon, at the least, with soy;


And therefore humbly I would recommend

“ The curious in fish-sauce,” before they cross The sea, to bid their cook, or wife, or friend,

Walk or ride to the Strand, and buy in gross (Or if set out beforehand, these may send

By any means least liable to loss,)
Ketchup, Soy, Chili-vinegar, and Harvey,
Or, by the Lord ! a Lent will well nigh starve ye

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