THE MASQUERADE; OR, LABOUR IN VAIN. TUNE." MASKS ALL." NCE Jupiter's Lady, call'd Juno the Scold, At Toilet imagin'd herself to look old; In a pet put a Veil on to hide her disgrace, Then scheem'd how each Beauty shou'd shadow her 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 ; '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, Pale Miss Affectation was order'd, in haste, encore. '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. TUNE. SHANBUY. "HO' Austria and Prussia, France, Flanders, THO' and Russia, Have Heroes who claim an attention; On the long list of Fame, as I look'd at each name, Who was worthy her pen, Nor cou'd she doubt who must the Man be; She unfolded the scroll, And on top stood the Marquis of Granby 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. With a smile, seem to curl, And cheerfully answ'ring as can be, "Sir, this point's pretty clear, "We all lov'd the Marquis of Granby." By order of Fate I was bid to translate "The trumpet of Fame shook the air to proclaim "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. Grief, away with your tears, see his Lineage appears What more can we say? Encore loud and loud as loud can be; 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. Fa, la, la. About Life and Living have said and will say 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, Both Biters and Bubbles are equally humm'd.. 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, By Terror of Parents, or tempted by Gain, 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, Joy ever must be in Satiety lost; Fa, la, la. Fa, la, la. It is- -it has slipp'd me, what 'tis I'd be at, THE LONDON HUNT. TUNE. "Come rouse, Brother Sportsmen, &c." Fa, la, la. 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, Like Pageants, the Nimrods of Nabobs behold! |