A GEORGIAN SNUFF-BOX

THOUGH fallen from your high degree, Once tapped by princely fingers, You breathe of more than burnt rappee. Round you a memory lingers Of those wild days of wine and wit, Of patch, peruke and passion, When sprightly Oldfield ruled the Pit And Hervey led the Fashion. When Walpole trimmed the ship of State To meet each Tory billow, When Poet Pug lampooned the great, When Pulteney played spadillo, When Worthless Moll amused the Court With philosophic chatter, When Bolingbroke pledged deep in port “The King across the water.” When flashed the lightnings of the Dean To blind the eyes of Stella, When scoffing Congreve vowed with spleen The wares of Gay prunella; When, sated with the board’s delights— For Georgian bucks were gluttons— The town sparks sought the shades of White’s Or tossed the dice at Button’s. When tabinets were all the vogue For feminine adorning, When Irish Biddy raised her brogue And clacked her pails at morning; When long and loud the conflict raged Betwixt the Maccaroni, As each his diva’s cause engaged— Faustina or Cuzzoni? Old snuff-box could you thrill to speech, In gossip none were greater, Whose chronicles exceed the reach Of Tatler or Spectator; But ah! as dumb as dead Queen Anne, You lie in peace unbroken, A remnant of the Georgian span, A Hanoverian token.