Vol. I.
Poetical Essays for JANUARY, 1731.
21
From Fog’s Journal, Jan. 9.
An Ode on Twelfth Day. In Imitation of an Ode on New Year's-Day.
Past Two o’Clock, and a frosty Morning.
Recitativo.Once more the Bell-man bids us wake, With Prophesy of Ale and Cake; Tells us before we sleep again, Tom shall be King, and Nancy Queen, While good Sir Knight a Knave appears, And Madam the Slut's Ensign wears. Such Kings and Queens should Colly sing, Such Worthies in his numbers ring;While both the British soil and Foreign Shores,To form the Cake, unite their grateful Stores.
Air. Ye grateful Footmen, bless the Day, That such Preferments give; Ye joyful Cook-maids drink away, While ye your Title lives. Good Ale you to the Brewer owe, The Cake’s the Baker’s care, And all above, and eke below, Combine to give good fare.
Recitativo.Tom thinks himself a real Monarch grown,And, pleas'd looks round the Kitchen as his own.While Nancy with him royal Honour shares,And on the other Maids majestick stares.The New King's Health is first, the Queen's succeed:And most he triumphs, who most freely feeds.Then all are truly great when Ale suppliesThe want of Riches and of Dignities,And the exhausted Jugg gives victories.Turn happy Will, Jack, Kate, and Doll, your eyes On yon Two Chairs, and there observeHow well the new rais’d prince the place supplies Which both, as you must own, deserve.
Air.Behold in each pleas'd face what lovely graces shine,How on their little realm they look with air benign, Such, Will, must you and Kate appear, If Fortune the ensuing Year, Convinces us she is not blind, By proving to your merit kind.
Recitativo.In vain above Three Hundred Days have pass’dBetween this joyful Twelfth Day and the last,No Scene like this has chear’d your Hearts and Eyes,Where shall we find such bliss beneath the Skies?All that Sir William and my Lady ask,Is, that when all have well perform’d their Task,With silent pace, without your Shoes you’ll treadAnd each go peaceably, tho' drunk to bed.
Air. Hail! merry Monarch, hail!Like this may ev'ry annual CakeYou merrier still and merrier make, 'Till Cakes themselves shall fail.
Recitativo.May you all long your Places keep;May no makebate amongst you creep, With Peace destroying Tale.
A HYMN to the LAUREAT,
Introduced in the Whitehall and London Evening Posts, Jan. 9. thus
Sir, By giving a Place in your Paper to the following Unfashionable Hymn you will very much oblige Sir,
your Humble servt.
Cibber, accept these feeble lays From an unskilfull muse,Who tries with artless Note, to praise What envious men abuse.
Nature and Art in thee combine; Thy Comedies excell:With Wit and Sense replete, they shine, And read politely well.
Who sees th' inconstant[1] Loveless range, But mourns Amanda’s fate?Each female Heart approves his change, And pants for such a state.
When Lady Betty[2] treads the stage, All modish prudes submit:What Foppington adorns our age, With the same Grace and Wit?
In Townley[3] see the modern Wife! How full of Vice! how blam'd!How ruin'd by the modern Life! How valu'd, when reclaim'd!
May empty Journals weekly rail; May all dull bards repine:If Wit unequall'd shou’d prevail, The Laurel's justly thine.
