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TUNE.-" MASKS ALL."
NCE Jupiter's Lady, callid Juno the Scold,
In a pet put a Veil on to hide her disgrace,
face. Sing tantararara Masks all.
First England review'd, there,' amaz'd Madam saw Many Faces and Forms without failure or flaw; Then others discover'd whose Features were spread, All tasty, all pasty, with caustics of lead,
Those last pleas'd the Queen, who declar'd, with a
smile, The Folly of Fashion shou'd lead in this Isle ; The great gifts of Fove they were dup'd to despise, And natural Beauty by Art they disguise.
'Tis an Empire, she said, of Dress, Drinking, and
Song; Of Bathing--because we are bit by Bon Ton : Her scheme, she foretold, would succeed with the
town, For whatever's imported must always go down.
A Card flew to Pan, who was skill'd in these matters, To model some Masks from the Portraits of Satyrs ; Of Proserpine ask'd Merry Andrew's Shade, Without a Buffoon there is no Masquerade, 13
Pale Miss Affectation was order’d, in haste,
'Twas the Thing, for 'twas foreign, it must be ador’d,It gagg'd depos'd Wit; when will Wit be restor'd ? When Englishmen-(thus it was Truth bid me say, Will shew to their own Understandings fair play. The World is no more than one vast Masquerade, Where, by best concealments, best fortunes are made; But why shou'd Plain Dealing pretend to complain, Reformation to Labour is--Labour in vain.
Sing tantararara Masks all.
THE MARQUIS OF GRANBY.
THO' and Russia,
HO' Austria and Prussia, France, Flanders,
and Russia, Have Heroes who claim an attention ; On the long list of Fame, as I look'd at each name, A Briton I thought she shou'd mention.
A Man among Men,
Who was worthy her pen,
As I saw not the whole,
She unfolded the scroll,
Old Time shook his Scythe, as he tott'ring stood by,
His Iron Teeth dreadfully grated ; Yet the sad-looking Crone clear'd his brow from a
frown, When Fame had my business related.
The cheeks of the Churl,
With a smile, seem to curl, And cheerfully answ'ring as can be,
Say, single-lock'd Seer,
“ Sir, this point's pretty clear, “We all lov'd the Marquis of Granby.”
By order of Fate I was bid to translate
“'That Hero to happier station; “ The trumpet of Fame shook the air to proclaim “Her Granby's beatification.
" He shines now a Star,
“ Near the Planet of War," Illustrious Soldier befriend us,
Be thy influence our Shield,
And, when dar'd to the Field, May thy Martial Spirit attend us.
1 Grief, away with your tears, see his Lineage appears
We remember those looks, and adore 'em ;
What more can we say ?
? Encore ! loud and loud as loud can be; To the brim fill it
up, It is Gratitude's Cup, Off it goes, To the Offspring of Granby.
CONCLUSION OF THE HUMBUG.
TO THE SAME TUNE.
THE Sages of old, and the Learn'd of this day,
Fa, la, la. About Life and Living have said and will say
Fa, la, la. About and about it, about and about, They ev'ry thing say, but can make nothing out.
Fa, la, la.
Rail on if you please, when the Knowing-ones win,
Let those who will hunt after Fame, and such dreams, Break their rest, necks; or hearts, in the chace of
those schemes ; Shou'd they what they wish to be ever become, They will find all they long’d for, alas ! but a Hum. By Terror of Parents, or tempted by Gain, The Lady resigns to some jessamy Swain; When Husbands such delicate creatures become, When Husbands ! no, no! for 'tis there lies the hum.
When Beauty, all brilliant, shines Queen of the Ring, Such Grace and such Taste, and such-oh! she's
the Thing! How happy her Husband !-he may be, -but mum, For sometimes such happiness is but a Hum.
What a Rout'mong the Rich at an only Son's Birth,
The Profit of Life is out-ballanc'd by Cost,
Fa, la, la. Joy ever must be in Satiety lost;
Fa, la, la. It is it has slipp'd me, what 'tis I'd be at, So a Bumper I'll drink, there's no Humbug in that.
Fa, la, la.
THE LONDON HUNT.
HO' far from Field Sports, we will Field Sports
apply, Hark! hark! social Sportsmen, hark forward and try; Nor think we want Game, tho'we're settl'd in Town, Its Follies are Game, which we here will hunt down.
We break Cover first, and throw off'mong the Great, By Babblers surrounded, call's Flatt'rers of State; Whip them off, for they're vermin unworthy a chace, Their Patron's dishonour, and Bounty's disgrace.
Like Pageants, the Nimrods of Nabobs behold!