Letting alone more rational patter— Not to mention that feather'd wit, The Starling, who speaks when his tongue is slit ; And other Dicky Gossips of birds, That talk with as much good sense and decorum "Try it-buy it-say ten and six, To'magnify sounds' on such marvellous scales, Charity Sermons, short or long,— Lecture, speech, concerto, or song, All noises and voices, feeble and strong, From the hum of a gnat to the clash of a gong, Or, supposing by chance You wish to dance, Why, it's putting a Horn-pipe into your ear! Buy it-try it! The last New Patent, and nothing comes nigh it, Only try till the end of June, And if you and the Trumpet are out of tune, I'll turn it gratis into a Funnel !" In short, the pedlar so beset her,— Lord Bacon couldn't have gammon'd her better, With flatteries plump and indirect, And plied his tongue with such effect,— A tongue that could almost have butter'd a crumpet, The deaf Old Woman bought the Trumpet. * The Pedlar was gone. * With the Horn's assistance, She heard his steps die away in the distance; And then she heard the tick of the clock, The purring of puss, and the snoring of Shock; And she purposely dropped a pin that was little, And heard it fall as plain as a skittle! 'Twas a wonderful Horn, to be but just! Trumpet in hand, or up to the cavity;- It couldn't have ripp'd up more depravity! Depravity! mercy shield her ears! In the ways of vice were no raw beginners; From the very Brass Band of human sinners! Ribald jest and blasphemous curse (Bunyan never vented worse), With all those weeds, not flowers, of speech Chiefly active in rows and mobs, Picking Possessive Pronouns' fobs, And Interjections as bad as a blight, Or an Eastern blast, to the blood and the sight; And smacking of vulgar lips where Gin, A jargon so truly adapted, in fact, To each thievish, obscene, and ferocious act, From their ugly mouths it will certainly come Alas! for the voice of Virtue and Truth, While the charity chap, With his muffin-cap, His crimson coat, and his badge so garish, "Twas awful to hear, as she went along, Or supposing she listen'd-as gossips will- The dark allusion, or bolder brag Of the dexterous "dodge," and the lots of "swag," Till the heart seem'd merely a strop "for the knife;" The human liver, no better than that Which is sliced and thrown to an old woman's cat; And the head, so useful for shaking and nodding, To be punch'd into holes, like "a shocking bad hat " That is only fit to be punch'd into wadding! In short, wherever she turn'd the horn, The sober Quaker, averse to quarrels, Truss'd by Decorum and stuff'd with morals- Nob or Snob, The Squire on his cob, Or Trudge and his ass at a tinkering job, With muffins to sell, Her ear was kept in a constant tingle! But this was naught to the tales of shame, Foul, and dirty, and black as ink, That her ancient cronies, with nod and wink, Lapp'd up in "Catty packages," too, As surely as Scarification and Cupping; Turn over new leaves Without much amending their lives or their tea- Were such vile and horrible anecdotes heard, Women! the wretches! had soil'd and marr'd For the marriage tie they had no regard, (Like Madame Laffarge, who with poisonous pinches Kept cutting off her L by inches), And as for drinking, they drank so hard That they drank their flat-irons, pokers, and tongs! 'The men-they fought and gambled at fairs; And would their own mothers and wives for a button- Backsliding in spite of all moral skid, But deserved to be whipp'd, imprison'd, or hung, To publish at Colburn's, or Longman's, or Murray's. |