Classic Poem

At the door, when set down, from her elegant chair,
Flounces madam, bedizen'd with much cost and care.
John , is not the coach, which stands at that door,
The duchess of Basto 's? — nay, 'tis, I am sure;
Therefore step to her house, it is scarcely a mile,
And say I'm hard by, and have sent you the while,
To know if her grace is at home, and alone,
And if my lord Whistle to Flanders be gone: —
And don't you forget to ask after Jannet ,
Her favourite dog, — and be back in a minute:
Then up stairs she stamps, and bawls out aloud,
I hope, Sir, your lady has not got a crowd;
If she has — Oh! my dear, what quite all alone?
Why, sure, ev'ry mortal is gone out of town:
I thought I should never have seen you again:
Have you heard of the news that's just come from Spain?
They say, the queen's dead — and 'tis certain the king
Will march back to his convent — and that, 'till the spring,
The camp will not form — I someway feel odd.
Do you know for Atruth that our king goes abroad?
And so, Mrs. Cibber's return'd to the stage!
I wish the director would Handel engage;
I'm quite in a rapture with sweet Montichelli ;
I wonder what's come of poor, dear Farinelli :
He ne'er will return, I very much fear.
O! pray, have you ever seen Garrick play here?
Pray, give me permission to mend up your fire.
Lord! how strangely I look! — Have you heard of the squire,
Since he went out of town — You seem grave, lady.
I think green and gold, upon slippers, looks pretty.
Of damask or velvet, which best do you like?
Oh! my nephew, at last, is to carry a pike!
I thought last night's party would never have ended;
From such stupid mortals may I be defended —
Did you mind how she look'd when I said she renounc'd?
And how, when the rubbers were over, she flounc'd?
I thought my good lady, as it then was so late,
Might have had the good manners to have ask'd us to eat,
And her sister, for breeding, so vastly admir'd;
But where little is given, there's little requir'd:
I'm sure those that mind them have little to do;
By the way, how goes matters 'twixt Bellmour and you?
I thought, long ere this, to have given you joy;
Now really, my dear, I think you're too coy:
I'll swear, he's the handsomest man in the world.
Lord! your hair, my dear child, is most frightfully curl'd:
But here comes more people; my dearest, adieu!
I hope I shall see you, when you have nought else to do.