Despise expense and sober fools,
And wake at last--within the Rules!
Aye, just by that buck-haunted house,
Where well the cheer atones the chouse;
Where not a thing by palate polish'd,
Can e'er in safety be demolish'd.
While the bill items, to your sadness,
The outrageous taxes paid to badness;
Counts all your hungers, if eschew'd
Your prudence the untempting food,
Or if you, greatly daring, dined,
The damn'd dyspepsias left behind.
Well-just by that renowned hotel
Where whiskered Tigers grimly dwell,
Where noble
and his Dolly
Bask in the dung of vulgar folly.
Where the mustachio'd sharpers shun
The gull'd friend, as the greedy dun.
Where Slang exalts his belcher'd nob,
And the smug waiter is "Dear Bob."*
Well, just by this divine abode,
A group of Cynthias block'd the road:
No sooner did they see our two,
Than
pounce on them the lasses flew !
* The waiter is accustomed to receive notes from gentlemen in “Crack Regiments," borrowing £20, and beginning "Dear Bob."
Perchance they fancied, if short-sighted,
Two things that seemed so close united--
Might be old R-th-ld, amorous soul !
Taking with Three-per-Cents a stroll.
Chang scowl'd upon them, grave and scornful---
One maid engross'd his bosom mournful---
But Ching stopt short, with sparkling features,
And leering cried, "What charming creatures!”
To you, dear reader! I must leave
The ladies' wonder to conceive,
When they perceived they had got hold of
The Twins they'd been so often told of—-
While they were chatting and conferring,
Chang vainly begg'd them to be stirring;
But finding Ching was deaf to preaching,
Sullen he ceased from all beseeching,
Folded his arms, and raised his eyes,
And grew romantic on the skies.
Heaven knows to what, or where, gay Ching
Had sought the solemn Chang to bring;
Had not three heroes of the shop,
Smith, Smythe, and Kin, pre-kin'd by Pop,
Warm from some revel nobly Bacchic,
Halted amid these ladies Sapphic;
And Popkin-(ye have all heard tell
Of Popkin, hatter, in Pall Mall—
This Popkin is the eldest hope---
The second brother deals in soap)---
And Popkin took-O dira Fata!
Freedoms with Ching's inamorata.
Sudden Ching turn'd, his eyes on fire,
(Such things in Siam wrath inspire,)
And spluttering out some new-learnt oath,
Smote the bold Popkin on the mouth.
"A ring! a battle!" Popkin cries,
And quite mistaking one for t'other, Returns the blow on Chang's raised eyes-Raised--all superior to this "pother ;"
Then Chang's wrath rose, he looked much troubled, And instantly four fists were doubled:
So fond we English are for dangers,
And for abusive words preparing, That the twin arts we teach to strangers, Are always fistycuffs and swearing.
St. George! most dreadful and most furious,
Would sure have been this combat curious,
Had not, just as our brothers finely
Backing each other, squared divinely,
Doubting whom first their strength should level,
A shout, "The watch! the watch!" arose,
And in an instant, where the Devil?---
Yes-where the Devil were their foes?
The girls were fled, the men were flying,
Popkin alone still stood defying;
But Popkin was a man long-headed,
And blows his pulse had greatly steadied---
The young Ulysses of his country,
He mingled cunning with effrontery---
So when he saw the invidious watchmen,
Like human spiders made to catch men,
Towards them he walked, and bade them note
Blood on his mouth, and muslin'd throat,
Show'd the aggressors in the Pair,
And gave them to the Charley's care-
Smoothing away the watchman's qualms
With three drops from the oil of Palms,
Bid him then keep the brothers chary,
For justice, and Sir Peter Laurie;
Swearing he 'd come, and, to their sorrow,
Prove the assault in court to-morrow;
And quite, the watchmen to engage,
Rouse them to sympathetic rage,
And make them for his injuries feel,
He
gave his name as- "Robert Peel!"
This done, he stalk'd away--the fiat
Of the stern watchmen did not find
The Twins agreed to go in quiet
To "ills they knew not of" resigned : They struggled long, they struggled hard, Nor need'st thou now learn from the bard--
It was the brothers whom the brave,
But ill-starr'd Hodges failed to save.
Behold them now within the keeping
Of that Night's rudest-ward of sorrow; Around them Vice lies drouthly sleeping,
And Misery, shivering, dreads the morrow! Ah, this wrong world! where'er we turn, Life finds the same too faithful mirror
One penance everywhere we learn,
Misfortune still confounds with Error. Let him whom Want hath proven sit, Alone, in judgment on his fellowsEv'n Blame, by true Experience lit, Grows warm, and to Compassion mellows. Mirth's well a graver Truth may boast Than aught which lurks in Melancholy; And they who laugh at Folly most,
Most often daunt the World from Folly!
END OF CHAPTER III. BOOK II.
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