Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/457
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THE PICTURE.
439
Was it the beanties of her face combined—
A face—(since similes I have begun on)
Not like a face that I can call to mind,
Except the one beneath the Regent's cannon!
No, gentle friends; although such beauties might
Have warmed the bosom of an anchorite,
The charm that made our knight all milk and honey,
Was that infallible specific—Money!
Peter, whom want of brass had made more brazen,
In moving terms began his love to blazon;
Sigh after sigh, in quick succession rushes,
Nor are the labours of his lungs in vain,
Her cheek soon crimsons with consenting blushes,
Red as a chimney-pot just after rain!
A face—(since similes I have begun on)
Not like a face that I can call to mind,
Except the one beneath the Regent's cannon!
No, gentle friends; although such beauties might
Have warmed the bosom of an anchorite,
The charm that made our knight all milk and honey,
Was that infallible specific—Money!
Peter, whom want of brass had made more brazen,
In moving terms began his love to blazon;
Sigh after sigh, in quick succession rushes,
Nor are the labours of his lungs in vain,
Her cheek soon crimsons with consenting blushes,
Red as a chimney-pot just after rain!
The licence bought—he marries her in haste;
Brings home his bride, and gives his friends a gay day;
All his relations, wondering at his taste,
Vowed he had better had the Pig-faced Lady!
Struck with this monstrous lump of womankind,
The thought of money never crossed their mind.
Brings home his bride, and gives his friends a gay day;
All his relations, wondering at his taste,
Vowed he had better had the Pig-faced Lady!
Struck with this monstrous lump of womankind,
The thought of money never crossed their mind.
The dinner o'er, the ladies and the bride
Retired, and wine and chat went round jocosely;
Sir Peter's brother took the knight aside,
And questioned him about the matter closely.
"Confound it, Peter! how came you to pitch
On such an ugly, squinting, squabby witch p
A man like you, so handsome and so knowing:
Your wits, my friend, must surely be a-going!
Who could have thought you such a tasteless oaf,
To wed a lump of odd-come-shorts and bits,
That Madame Nature in her merry fits,
Had jumbled into something like a face!
With skin as black as if she charcoal fed on,
Crooked and crusty, like an outside loaf;
A remnant of an ourang-outang face—
Eve's grandmother, with the serpent's head on!
What spell could into such a hobble throw you?"
"Just step upstairs," says Peter, "and I'll show you."
Retired, and wine and chat went round jocosely;
Sir Peter's brother took the knight aside,
And questioned him about the matter closely.
"Confound it, Peter! how came you to pitch
On such an ugly, squinting, squabby witch p
A man like you, so handsome and so knowing:
Your wits, my friend, must surely be a-going!
Who could have thought you such a tasteless oaf,
To wed a lump of odd-come-shorts and bits,
That Madame Nature in her merry fits,
Had jumbled into something like a face!
With skin as black as if she charcoal fed on,
Crooked and crusty, like an outside loaf;
A remnant of an ourang-outang face—
Eve's grandmother, with the serpent's head on!
What spell could into such a hobble throw you?"
"Just step upstairs," says Peter, "and I'll show you."
Upstairs they went;—"There, there's her picture say.
Is it not like her, sir?—Your judgment, pray."—
"Like her, Sir Peter!—take it not uncivil,
'Tis like her—and as ugly as the devil;
With just her squinting leer:—but, hang it! what
A very handsome Frame it's got!
Is it not like her, sir?—Your judgment, pray."—
"Like her, Sir Peter!—take it not uncivil,
'Tis like her—and as ugly as the devil;
With just her squinting leer:—but, hang it! what
A very handsome Frame it's got!