Come to our Fête and bring with thee

Thy newest, best embroidery.

Come to our Fête and show again

That pea-green coat, thou pink of men,

Which charmed all eyes that last surveyed it;

When Brummel's self inquired "who made it?"—

When Cits came wondering from the East

And thought thee Poet Pye at least!

  Oh! come, (if haply 'tis thy week

For looking pale,) with paly cheek;

Tho' more we love thy roseate days,

When the rich rouge-pot pours its blaze

Full o'er thy face and amply spread,

Tips even thy whisker-tops with red—

Like the last tints of dying Day

That o'er some darkling grove delay.

  Bring thy best lace, thou gay Philander,

(That lace, like Harry Alexander,

Too precious to be washt,) thy rings,

Thy seals—in short, thy prettiest things!

Put all thy wardrobe's glories on,

And yield in frogs and fringe to none

But the great Regent's self alone;

Who—by particular desire—

For that night only, means to hire

A dress from, Romeo Coates, Esquire.[1]

Hail, first of Actors! best of Regents!

Born for each other's fond allegiance!

Both gay Lotharios—both good dressers—

Of serious Farce both learned Professors—

Both circled round, for use or show,

With cock's combs, wheresoe'er they go![2]

  Thou knowest the time, thou man of lore!

It takes to chalk a ball-room floor—

Thou knowest the time, too, well-a-day!

It takes to dance that chalk away.[3]

The Ball-room opens—far and nigh

Comets and suns beneath us lie;

O'er snow-white moons and stars we walk,

And the floor seems one sky of chalk!

But soon shall fade that bright deceit,

When many a maid, with busy feet

That sparkle in the lustre's ray,

O'er the white path shall bound and play

Like Nymphs along the Milky Way:—

With every step a star hath fled,

And suns grow dim beneath their tread,

So passeth life—(thus Scott would write,

And spinsters read him with delight,)—

Hours are not feet, yet hours trip on,

Time is not chalk, yet time's soon gone!

  But, hang this long digressive flight!—

I meant to say, thou'lt see that night

What falsehood rankles in their hearts,

Who say the Prince neglects the arts—

Neglects the arts?—no, Strahlweg,[4] no;

Thy Cupids answer "'tis not so;"

And every floor that night shall tell

How quick thou daubest and how well.

Shine as thou mayst in French vermilion,

Thou'rt best beneath a French cotillion;

And still comest off, whate'er thy faults,

With flying colors in a Waltz.

Nor needest thou mourn the transient date

To thy best works assigned by fate.

While some chef-d'oeuvres live to weary one,

Thine boast a short life and a merry one;

Their hour of glory past and gone

With "Molly put the kettle on!"[5]

  But, bless my soul! I've scarce a leaf

Of paper left—so must be brief.

  This festive Fête, in fact, will be

The former Fête's facsimile;[6]

The same long Masquerade of Rooms,

All trickt up in such odd costumes,

(These, Porter,[7] are thy glorious works!)

You'd swear Egyptians, Moors and Turks,

Bearing Good-Taste some deadly malice,

Had clubbed to raise a Pic-Nic Palace;

And each to make the olio pleasant

Had sent a State-Room as a present.

The same fauteuils and girondoles—

The same gold Asses,[8]pretty souls!

That in this rich and classic dome

Appear so perfectly at home.

The same bright river 'mong the dishes,

But not—ah! not the same dear fishes—

Late hours and claret killed the old ones—

So 'stead of silver and of gold ones,

(It being rather hard to raise

Fish of that specie now-a-days)

Some sprats have been by Yarmouth's wish,

Promoted into Silver Fish,

And Gudgeons (so Vansittart told

The Regent) are as good as Gold!

  So, prithee, come—our Fête will be

But half a Fête if wanting thee.

[1] An amateur actor of much risible renown.

[2] The crest of Mr. Coates, the very amusing amateur tragedian here alluded to, was a cock; and most profusely were his liveries, harness, etc. covered wit this ornament.

[3] To those who neither go to balls nor read The Morning Post, it may be necessary to mention, that the floors of Ballrooms, in general, are chalked for safety and for ornament with various fanciful devices.

[4] A foreign artist much patronized by the Prince Regent.

[5] The name of a popular country-dance.

[6] "Carleton House will exhibit a complete facsimile in respect to interior ornament, to what it did at the last Fête. The same splendid draperies," etc.—Morning Post.

[7] Mr. Walsh Porter, to whose taste was left the furnishing of the rooms of Carletone House.

[8] The salt-cellars on the Prince's own table were in the form of an Ass with panniers.

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