That such snug things as private boxes, rear
Their modest fronts, and gain admission here !
Yet, private boxes, (blush my virgin muse,)
Are worse, far worse, than any licens'd stews,
For these, in snug retreats elude the eye,
And manage little matters decently;
But those, unblushing take you by surprize, :)
Your only chance, is shutting up your eyes,
Or winking at their shameful mysteries:
And then, the hapless cuckold may not see,
His wife, enraptúr'd on his lordship's knee;
Nor wretched fathers view the dire disgrace.
Of darling daughters in a peer's embrace.
But few I ween, who go to see a play,
Will shut their eyes, nor send a glance astray,
And stripling youths, and virgins still will throw,
Inquiring glances tow'rds the private row,
Throb with desire, nor cease, unhappy elves
Till they can tell the secret, best themselves. Hon
Compar'd with them, whate'er the poets sing,
Pandora's box was quite a harmless thing.

Besides, if I remember right, we find,
There, hope most fortunately staid behind; ;
But ah! what hope have we, deluded souls!
To hunt the vermin from these filthy holes,
And thro' them turn the tide of public rage,
To sweep pollution from the guilty stage,
So long as managers and actors clear... '
From this foul trade, their thousands every year,
And hoary letchers, fashionable dames,
Lords, Dukes, and Earls, can there indulge their flames,
Or throw the dice, or cheat, and win at loo,
Unseen, unheard, and unsuspected too?

Shame on the times, when noble lords combine, With sordid actors, in the mean design, To pamper lust, and pocket paltry pence, . : At ev'ry honest Englishman's expence; Deprave the taste, and feeling of the town, : And level public morals to their own, Call rights and liberties, and such grave things, Mere foolish words, to frighten foolish kings; And oh! become, (unheard of speculation) The pimps and pandars of the British nation!!

CAR

To

Wake, Mother Windsor! wake! assert your rights, Nor let these rogues purloin your trade o' nights, Ye pimps, ye punks, ye bawds where'er ye dwell, Ye ghosts of those, who 're burning now in hell, Arise! awake! and pour your loudest yell! ) Howl round the lobbies, in the boxes glare,.. Nor let a private strumpet ogle there!

They come, they come, I see the vision rise, And Covent Garden echoes with their cries, To brazen pots and pans, in cadence sweet, The Q. P. dancing with alternate fèet. Full in the front, see Cambridge leads them on, Hurls her pale wig, and damns the tyrant John; “ Behold in me your general,” she roars, “ Confide in me, ye bullies and ye whores! “ What! shall they bilk poor women of their trade, “ Nor leave for starving pimps, a single maid ? “ Shall private boxes emulate the “Key,' “ Monopolizing our iniquity ? “ Forbid it fate! no, rather let me rot, “ By ev'ry fav’rite customer forgot!"

· Furious they hear, and from ten thousand throats,

In one discordant blast, proclaim their votes ;
Onward they march, increasing as they go,
Like city kennels, that with filth o'erflow,
In fog, and smoke, the wanton zephyrs flirt, .
With tatter'd shifts, and remnants of a shirt
On broomstieks rear’d, with various ensigns proud,
The consecrated banners of the crowd.
And here my muse might tell in tuneful rhyme,
(But that in truth she's rather prest for time)
Of mighty hosts, and chiefs whose deathless styles,
In Wapping records blaze, and fam'd St. Giles,
Might tell what strength emerg'd from Barbican,
Storm'd in the rear, or lightend in the van;
Of streets, of lanes, of alleys and of holes,
Whose smirch'd inhabitants came here in shoals; ..
Might tell-but let them in oblivion lie,
'Till rescued thence, by greater bards than I.

But see, what tumult! hark, what dreadful din! They gain the house, and rush resistless in : Now thro' the lobby take their furious way, And fill e'en Jemmy Brandon with dismay;

He flies—but ah! consummate in retreat,
He fies indeed, but to retort defeat;
He knows each turn and winding of the house,
And creeps thro' holes that wou'd escape a mouse.
The crowd divides--of victory secure-
But Brandon storms them from a private door;
Behind him throng a most infernal crew,
Grisly and fierce, and terrible to view;
Monsters they seem, and arm’d with iron claws,
The dread avengers of forgotten laws.
Appallid the O. P's. for a moment stand,
For well they know of old the hated band,
But, red with port, and redder still with ire,
Lo! Captain Clifford, stirs the slumbʼring fire,
Flies to the charge, and renovates the fray;
But fortune, fickle fortune, walks away-
In vain with Kitty Cambridge hand in hand,
He fights, he swears, and reeling tries to stand,
Prone in the dust, lo! vanquished Clifford lies,
And Brandon grins, and glories in his prizem
Oh! spare ye visions, spare my aching sight,
Nor sear my eye-balls with that horrid night,
When Jemmy Brandon triumph'd o'er the right!)