Classic Poem

Kind-hearted friends — behold these sobs and sighing!
I'd ask your pardon — but — I can't for crying.
'Twas vile in me your honours to offend,
And if you'll make me better — why — I'll mend.
'Twas wholly to my Brother-Bluster owing;
He was the man did do this sad misdoing ;
He was the man whose proud indignant spirit,
Hating a rival, strove to hide my merit.
Ah Brother! Brother! think on Johnny Gay,
Think on the moral giv'n us in his play;
And let's like Peachum, and his brother Lockit,
Our own affronts — with others money, pocket.

Enter Mrs. Midnight in haste.

Great is the noise, and clam'rous is the clash,
When two such weighty wights together dash!
Wit 's mirth oft takes its rise from folly 's ire,
As flint strikes steel , and quarrels into fire .
I, even I, old woman as I am,
Have just pretence your poetry to damn;
To fix the standard between wrong and right,
And call you both a couple of — Good night.

They bow to Mrs. Midnight, and then retire; after which, the old lady sings the following simile

While Garrick smart, and blustring Barry jar,
Like rough and smooth, or oil and vinegar,
I, like an hard-boil'd egg come in between,
And mix their matters, as I intervene;
I form ( for rhyme's sake add, with JUST INTENTION)
Betwixt the fighting fluids a convention;
Which being thus conjoin'd, please ev'ry palate,
And make a pretty figure in a sallad.