CHIT-CHAT.

AN IMITATION OF THEOCRITUS.

IDYLL. XV. Ενδοι Πραξινόα, &c.

BY ROBERT LLOYD.

MRS. BROWN.

Is Mistress SCOT at home, my dear?

SERVANT.

MA'M, is it you? I'm glad you're here.
My Miffefs, tho' refolv'd to wait,

Is quite unpatient-'tis fo late.

She fancy'd you would not come down,
-But pray walk in, MA'м-Mrs. BROWN.

MRS. SCOT.

Your fervant, MADAM.

Well, I swear

I'd giv'n you over-Child, a chair.

Pray, MA'M, be feated.

MRS. BROWN.

5

Lard! my dear,

10

I vow I'm almost dead with fear.

There is fuch fcrouging and fuch Squeeging,

The folks are all so disobliging;

Born 1733; dyed 1764.

And then the waggons, carts and drays
So clog up all these narrow ways,
What with the bustle and the throng,
I wonder how I got along.
Befides the walk is fo immenfe-
Not that I grudge a coach expence,
But then it jumbles me to death,
-And I was always fhort of breath.
How can you live fo far, my dear?
It's quite a journey to come here.

MRS. SCOT.

Lard! MA'M, I left it all to Him,

Husbands, you know, will have their whim.

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22

He took this house. This house! this den.- 25

--

See but the temper of fome men.
And I, forfooth, am hither hurl'd,
To live quite out of all the world.
Hufband, indeed!

MRS. BROWN.

Hift! lower, pray,

The child hears every word you say.

See how he looks

MRS. SCOT.

Jacky, come here,

There's a good boy, look up, my dear.

'Twas not papa we talk'd about.

-Surely he cannot find it out.

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MRS. BROWN.

See how the urchin holds his hands.

Upon my life he understands.

-There's a fweet child, come, kiss me, come,

Will Jacky have a fugar-plumb?

MRS. SCOT.

This Perfon, MADAM, (call him so,

35

And then the child will never know)

40

From house to houfe would ramble out,

And every night a drunken-bout.

For at a tavern he will spend
His twenty fhillings with a friend.

Your rabbits fricaffeed and chicken,

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With curious choice of dainty picking,
Each night got ready at the Crown,
With port and punch to wash 'em down,
Would scarcely ferve this belly-glutton,
Whilft we must starve on mutton, mutton.

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MRS. BROWN.

My good man too-Lord blefs us! Wives
Are born to lead unhappy lives,-
Altho' his profits bring him clear
Almost two hundred pounds a year,
Keeps me of cash so short and bare,
That I have not a gown to wear;
Except my robe, and yellow fack,
And this old luteftring on my back.

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-But we've no time, my dear, to waste.
Come, where's your cardinal, make haste.
The KING, God bless his majefty, I fay,
Goes to the house of lords to-day,
In a fine painted coach and eight,
And rides along in all his state.

And then the QUEEN

MRS. SCOT.

бо

Aye, aye, you know, 65

Great folks can always make a show.
But tell me, do--I've never seen
Her present majefty, the QUEEN.

MRS. BROWN.

Lard! we've no time for talking now,
Hark!-one-two-three-'tis twelve I vow. 70

MRS. SCOT.

KITTY, my things,-I'll foon have done,
It's time enough, you know, at one.
-Why, girl! fee how the creature stands !
Some water here, to wash my hands.

-

-Be quick-why sure the gipfy fleeps! -Look how the drawling daudle creeps. That bafon there-why don't you pour? Go on, I fay-stop, ftop-no more— Lud! I could beat the huffey down, She's pour'd it all upon my gown.

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-Bring me my ruffles-can'ft not mind?

And pin my handkerchief behind.

Sure thou haft aukwardness enough,

Go-fetch my gloves, and fan, and muff.

-Well, heav'n be prais'd-this work is done, 85
I'm ready now, my dear-let's run.
Girl,-put that bottle on the fhelf,
And bring me back the key yourself.

MRS. BROWN.

That clouded filk becomes you much,
I wonder, how you meet with fuch,
But you've a charming tafte in drefs.
What might it cost you, Madam?

MRS. SCOT.

00

Guefs.

MRS. BROWN.

Oh! that's impoffible-for I

Am in the world the worst to buy.

MRS. SCOT.

I never love to bargain hard,
Five fhillings, as I think, a yard.
-I was afraid it should be gone-
'Twas what I'd fet my heart upon.

MRS. BROWN.

Indeed you bargain'd with fuccefs,
For its a moft delightful dress.
Befides, it fits you to a hair,

And then 'tis flop'd with such an air.

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