[MAGA. October 1824.]

AirEveleen’s Bower.


Mr Bubb was a Whig orator, also a Soap Laborator,
For everything’s new christen’d in the present day;
He was follow’d and adored by the Common Council board,
And lived quite genteel with a one-horse chay.


Mrs Bubb was gay and free, fair, fat, and forty-three,
And blooming as a peony in buxom May;
The toast she long had been of Farringdon-Within,
And fill’d the better-half of the one-horse chay.


Mrs Bubb said to her Lord, “You can well, Bubb, afford
Whate’er a Common Council man in prudence may;
We’ve no brats to plague our lives, and the soap concern it thrives,
So let’s have a trip to Brighton in the one-horse chay.


“We’ll view the pier and shipping, and enjoy many dipping,
And walk for a stomach in our best array;
I longs more nor I can utter, for shrimps and bread and butter,
And an airing on the Steyne in the one-horse chay.


“We’ve a right to spare for nought that for money can be bought,
So to get matters ready, Bubb, do you trudge away;
To my dear Lord Mayor I’ll walk, just to get a bit of talk
And an imitation shawl for the one-horse chay.”


Mr Bubb said to his wife, “Now I think upon’t, my life
’Tis three weeks at least to next boiling-day;
The dog-days are set in, and London’s growing thin,
So I’ll order out old Nobbs and the one-horse chay.”


Now Nobbs, it must be told, was rather fat and old,
His colour it was white, and it had been grey;
He was round as a pot, and when soundly whipt would trot
Full five miles an hour in the one-horse chay.


When at Brighton they were housed, and had stuffed and caroused,
O’er a bowl of rack punch, Mr Bubb did say,
“I’ve ascertain’d, my dear, the mode of dipping here
From the ostler, who is cleaning up my one-horse chay.


“You’re shut up in a box, ill convenient as the stocks,
And eighteenpence a-time are obliged for to pay;
Court corruption here, say I, makes everything so high,
And I wish I had come without my one-horse chay.”


“As I hope,” says she, “to thrive, ’tis flaying folks alive,
The King and them extortioners are leagued, I say;
’Tis encouraging of such for to go to pay so much,
So we’ll set them at defiance with our one-horse chay.


“Old Nobbs, I am sartin, may be trusted gig or cart in,
He takes every matter in an easy way;
He’ll stand like a post, while we dabble on the coast,
And return back to dress in our one-horse chay.”


So out they drove, all drest so gaily in their best,
And finding, in their rambles, a snug little bay,
They uncased at their leisure, paddled out to take their pleasure,
And left everything behind in the one-horse chay.


But while, so snugly sure that all things were secure,
They flounced about like porpoises or whales at play,
Some young unlucky imps, who prowl’d about for shrimps,
Stole up to reconnoitre the one-horse chay.


Old Nobbs, in quiet mood, was sleeping as he stood
(He might possibly be dreaming of his corn or hay);
Not a foot did he wag, so they whipt out every rag,
And gutted the contents of the one-horse chay.


When our pair were soused enough, and returned in their buff,
Oh, there was the vengeance and old Nick to pay!
Madam shriek’d in consternation, Mr Bubb he swore——!
To find the empty state of the one-horse chay.


“If I live,” said she, “I swear, I’ll consult my dear Lord Mayor,
And a fine on this vagabond town he shall lay;
But the gallows thieves, so tricky, hasn’t left me e’en a dicky,
And I shall catch my death in the one-horse chay.”


“Come, bundle in with me, we must squeeze for once,” says he,
“And manage this here business the best we may;
We’ve no other step to choose, nor a moment must we lose,
Or the tide will float us off in our one-horse chay.”


So noses, sides, and knees, all together did they squeeze,
And, pack’d in little compass, they trotted it away,
As dismal as two dummies, head and hands stuck out like mummies
From beneath the little apron of the one-horse chay.


The Steyne was in a throng, as they jogg’d it along,
Madam hadn’t been so put to it for many a day;
Her pleasure it was damped, and her person somewhat cramped,
Doubled up beneath the apron of the one-horse chay.


“Oh would that I were laid,” Mr Bubb in sorrow said,
“In a broad-wheeled waggon, well covered with hay!
I’m sick of sporting smart, and would take a tilted cart
In exchange for this bauble of a one-horse chay.


“I’d give half my riches for my worst pair of breeches,
Or the apron that I wore last boiling-day;
They would wrap my arms and shoulders from these impudent beholders,
And allow me to whip on in my one-horse chay.”


Mr Bubb ge-hupped in vain, and strove to jerk the rein,
Nobbs felt he had his option to work or play,
So he wouldn’t mend his pace, though they’d fain have run a race,
To escape the merry gazers at the one-horse chay.


Now, good people, laugh your fill, and fancy if you will
(For I’m fairly out of breath, and have said my say),
The trouble and the rout, to wrap and get them out,
When they drove to their lodgings in their one-horse chay.


The day was swelt’ring warm, so they took no cold or harm,
And o’er a smoking lunch soon forgot their dismay;
But, fearing Brighton mobs, started off at night with Nobbs,
To a snugger watering-place, in the one-horse chay.