The Ladies Delight: 1732
Transcribed from British Library. Cup700.m.87 (1732) | ||
p.21, (art. 4) |
RIDOTTO al' FRESCO,
A POEM. Describing the Growth of this Tree in the Famous Spring Gardens
at Vaux-Hall, under the Care of that ingenious Botanist Dr
H---gg---r
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WHAT various Arts attempts the am'rous Swain, | ||
To force the Fair, or her Consent to gain | ||
Now Balls, now Masquerades his Care employ, | ||
And Play and Park alternately give Joy | ||
Industrious H---gg---r, whose magick Brains | ||
Still in their Shell the Recipe retains | ||
Like some good Midwife brings the Plot to light, | ||
And helps the lab'ring Swain to Celia's Sight; | ||
p.22 | For this his Eunuchs in high Buskins tread | |
And chaunt harmonious Lays for this,and Bread; | ||
For this the Assembly's fix'd; and the huge Dome | ||
Swells with the Lady's Vows, when the Stake's gone. | ||
For this he forms the vicious Masquerade, | ||
Where Damsels may securely drive their Trade, | ||
For which the Salesman, Chandler, Chairman loudly pray, | ||
And Pickpockets too, hail the joyful Day | ||
But now what Tongue can praise the mighty Worth, | ||
Who to Ridotto gave an English Birth; | ||
To him let every Templar bend the Knee, | ||
Receive a Ticket, and give up the Fee: | ||
Let Drury-Lane eternal Columns raise, | ||
And every wanton Wife resound his Praise: | ||
Let Courtiers with implicit Faith obey, | ||
And to their grand Procurer Homage pay. | ||
No more shall Duchesses to Bath repair, |
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Or fly to Tunbridge to procure an Heir; |
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Spring-Gardens can supply their every Want, | ||
For here whate'er they ask the Swain will grant, | ||
p.23 | And future Lo-ds (if they'll confess the right) | |
Shall owe their Being to this blessed Night; | ||
Hence future Wickedness shall take its Rise, | ||
(for Masquerades to this is paultry Vice) | ||
An Æra of new Crimes shall hence begin, | ||
And H---gg---r chief Devil be of Sin; | ||
No more shall Ugliness be his Disgrace, | ||
His Head mends all the Frailties of his Face: | ||
When Masques and Balls to their Conclusion drew, | ||
To this his last Resort the Hero flew; | ||
So by degrees the Errant Knights of old | ||
To Glory rose, and by Degrees grew bold; | ||
A while content the common Road they trod, | ||
'Till some great Art at last confest the God. | ||
Now Painters work, - and dine, that starv'd before, | ||
And Tallyman supply each needy Whore - | ||
Fam'd Covent-Garden droops with mournful Look, | ||
Nor can St. James's her great Rival brook: | ||
Each Duck and D---ss quacks to different Tunes, | ||
One claps her Wings for Love, the other swoons; | ||
Each Vintner storms and swears he is undone, | ||
Vollies of Oaths speak loud the Drawer's Moan; | ||
p.24 | Porter who us'd to search for needful Girls, | |
Now sucks his Fingers, or his Apron twirls, | ||
Bemoans his Loss of Business, and with Sighs, | ||
In Box imprison'd lays the useless Dice. | ||
Spring-Garden now alone does all invite, |
||
The Cit, the Wit, the Rake, the Fool, the Knight: | ||
No Lady, that can pawn her Coat or Gown, | ||
Will rest 'till she has laid the Money down: | ||
Each Clerk will to the Joints his Fingers work, | ||
And Counsellors find out some modern Querk, | ||
To raise the Guinea, and to see the Grot, | ||
And 'mongst the Belles to flaunt it at Ridott. | ||
Here Seamstresses and Maids together vie, |
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And the spruce 'Prentice shines in Sword and Tye: | ||
Bandy'd in Lace the City Dame appears, | ||
Her Hair genteelly frizzled round her Ears; | ||
Her Gown with Tyrian Dyes most richly stain'd, | ||
Glitt'ring with Orient Pearl from Orphans gain'd. | ||
My Lord, to oblige his Spouse, takes Tickets three, | ||
Crys, one's for you my Love, and one for me, | ||
p.25 | The third dispose as you shall best adjudge, | |
Shew where you're pleas'd, and where you owe a Grudge: | ||
Madam elate, thinks she'll be kind to Betty, | ||
To hide the Slips she made with Spark i'th'City: | ||
But Stallion Tom, who well knew how to scold, | ||
And by his Mistress's Favour grown too bold, | ||
Swears if he has it not, he will reveal, | ||
And to his Master tell a dismal Tale; | ||
Madam, reluctant, gives him up the Paper, | ||
He at her Folly laughs, and cuts a Caper. | ||
Sylvia, a Lady, kept by twenty Beaux, |
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Who never yet would brook the Marriage Noose, | ||
By each a Ticket offer'd, scorns 'em all, | ||
In hopes some Fool a last will Victim fall, | ||
And kindly offer Treat and Ticket too, | ||
Which to her Charms she thinks most justly due; | ||
At last a brisk young Templar full of Fire, | ||
Whom Writs with Money, Wine with Love inspire, | ||
Address'd the Dame, she yields his glowing Charms, | ||
And for a Ticket flies into his Arms: | ||
So every dapper Fop and brawny Rake |
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Will Tickets to their Ladies Presents make; | ||
p.26 | To Sin, the only certain Dedication, | } |
To every gentle Mistress in the Nation, | ||
From Suburb Whore, to ranting Dame of Fashion; | ||
For none's so niece as to refuse the Suit, | ||
But grasps the Tree tho' 'tis forbidden Fruit. | ||
Near where the Thames in pleasant Windings runs, |
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Near where the famous Glass-house fiercely burns, | ||
(which to the Love of poor desponding Swains, | ||
An Emblem terrible, but just retains.) | ||
Near where fam'd Vaux was to have fled, | ||
With lighted Match, soon as he'd done the Deed; | ||
Whence some pretend to say by second Sight | } | |
That it foreshew'd the Fate attend this Night, | ||
Cause here the Fair will many Matches light. | ||
Spring-Gardens lie shaded with verdant Trees, |
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That nod their reverend Heads at every Breeze: | ||
Embassadors like Turks hence send Express, | ||
And Ministers of State like Devils dress | ||
p.27 | Should some wild Indian see the various Scene, | |
He'd swear all Nations of the Earth do here convene, | ||
And take for quite reverse this medley Farce, | ||
Think Strumpets Saints, or catstick'd Beau a Mars. | ||
But now the Dancers nimble Feet go round, |
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And with just Measures beat the passive Ground, | ||
Each one inclines to different Delights | ||
Musick the Fair, Sweetmeats the Beau invite; | ||
The Templar wisely does his Care enroll, | ||
Pockets the Pheasant, and eats up the Fowl; | ||
Nor will return to join the giddy Rout, | ||
'Till he has eat and drank his Guinea out. | ||
Now Dancing fires the Nymph to softer Joys; |
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The Musick's dull, the Wine and Sweetmeat cloys; |
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Strephon streight takes the Hint, withdraws a-while, | ||
By soft Endearments does her Grief beguile; | ||
Soon they return more vig'rous than before, | ||
Do what they will, she cannot be a Whore. | ||
p.28 | For Mahomet may dream of heavenly Stews, | |
Where Virgin Rose, soon as it's lost, renews, | ||
And shake with every Breath of Air serene, | ||
As trembling for the Rapes they've daily seen; | ||
When if those past can shake their Height profound, | ||
Ridotto sure will fell 'em to the Ground; | ||
Here Art to Nature join'd makes it compleat, | ||
And Pyramids and Trees together meet; | ||
Statues amidst the thickest Grove arise, | ||
And lofty columns tow'ring to the Skies; | ||
Then next an Obelisk its Shade displays, | ||
And rustic Rockwork fills each empty Space; | ||
Each joins to make it noble, and excells | ||
Beaufets for Food, Grotto's for something else. | ||
But Hark! the Doors on jarring hinges turn, |
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All enter in, and the blest Scene's begun; | ||
A thousand lights their livid Flames display, | ||
Pour forth their Blaze, and form a mimick Day: | ||
Sudden a motley Mixture fills the Place, | ||
And Footmen shine as lordly as his Grace; | ||
To see the sad Effect and Power of Change, | ||
Ladies turn'd Men, in Breeches freely range: | ||
p.29 | Young smooth-chin'd Beaux turn Priests and Fryars, | |
And Nun's chaste Habits hide our Country 'Squires. | ||
Belles, Beaux, and Sharpers here together play, | ||
And Wives throw their Spouses Wealth away; | ||
And when their Cash runs low, and Fate runs cross, | ||
They then cornute 'em to retrieve their Loss. | ||
Dice and Intrigue so mutually are blended, |
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That one begins as soon as t'other's ended: | ||
A City Heiress blooming, rich, and fair, | ||
Picks up the Cards and Counters with great Care; | ||
Against her sate a smooth young Baron, | ||
Wit he had none, Beauty he had his share on, | ||
A soft clear Skin, a dapper Neck and Waist, | ||
In all Things suited to the modern Taste; | ||
And most polite, like all our modish Brood, | ||
That is, a very Fool, who's very leud: | ||
He ogles Miss, she squints, and turns aside, | ||
Nor can her Mask her rising Blushes hide; | ||
At last (as Bargains here are quickly made) | ||
She yields to be Caress'd, tho' still afraid; | ||
She cries, a private Room's for them most fit, | ||
For Reputation is the Glory of a Cit: | ||
p.30 | This only is the Place, where in a Trice, | |
Some Angle steals the Wounds of friendly Vice; | ||
The Nymph finds a Relief for all her Pains, | ||
And the lost Maidenhead's restor'd again. | ||
But who is he in Bower close confin'd, |
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With a kind Fair t'unbend his troubled Mind; | ||
Sure by his Air, his Beauty, and his Grace, | ||
It Phoebus is, or some of heavenly Race. | ||
A petty Courtier, of small Estate and Sense, |
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Stood hearkening by, and cry'd it was the P-ce. | ||
Your Pardon, Sir, I knew it not before, |
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For my Mistake depended on his Whore, | ||
One had Latona, to'ther has L-r. | ||
Next to the Grotto let us bend our Eye, |
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The Grotto Patron of Iniquity, | ||
Speak O ye Trees with kind refreshing Shade, | ||
How many Whores have at your Roots been made; | ||
Alas, how small the Number to what now, | ||
This one, this happy Night alone will shew | ||
So many, that each conscious Dryad flees, | ||
Lest she too should be ravish'd thro' the Trees. | ||
p.31 | Next rattling Dice invite th'attentive Ear, | |
Lords loudly Laugh, as loud the Bullies swear: | ||
The Country Knight o'th'Shire sells his Estate, | ||
And here with Heart intrepid meets his Fate; | ||
So they withdrew to quench their glowing Flame, | ||
And to preserve the Honour of her Name; | ||
For oh! sad Fate as they ascend the Stairs, | ||
At the Room Door her good Mamma appears; | ||
Soon as she spies her Child with Looks demure, | ||
She charges her to keep her Vessel pure: | ||
Miss pertly answers to avoid her Doom, | ||
Mamma, whose Hat and Wig is in the Room? | ||
The good old Dame yields at the just Reproach, | ||
Cries - - - Well my Dear, don't take too much! | ||
Thus various Joys soon waste the fleeting Night, |
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And Sleep and Lust the Croud to Bed invite; | ||
Some in their Truckle-Beds to snore all Day, | ||
Others in Gambols with their Wh-es to play | ||
p.32 | The Dunghill Trapes, trickt up like virtuous Trull, | |
If by good Chance, she gets a Dupe or Cull; | ||
On Tallyman intrudes twelve Hours more, | ||
And for a clean Shift presumes to run a Score. |
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Sages may say, that Arts and Sciences fail, |
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And Ignorance and Folly have weigh'd down the Scale: |
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In England they have given new Arts a Rise, |
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And what in Science wants, increase in Vice, | ||
And to be great as Angels when they fell, | ||
(If not exceed) at least they equal Hell. | ||
FINIS |
VAUXHALL GARDENS 16611859