Salmagundi (Huddesford, 1791)/The Barber's Nuptials
THE BARBER'S NUPTIALS.
In Liquorpond Street, as is well known to many,An artist resided who shav'd for a penny,Cut hair for three halfpence, for three pence he bled,And would draw for a groat ev'ry tooth in your head.
What annoy'd other folks never spoil'd his repose,'Twas the same thing to him whether stocks fell or rose,For blast and for mildew he car'd not a pin;His Crops never fail'd, for they grew on the Chin.
Unvex'd by the cares that ambition and state has,Contented he dined on his daily potatoes; And the pence that he earn'd by excision of bristleWere nightly devoted to whetting his whistle.
When copper ran low he made light of the matter,Drank his purl upon tick at the Old Pewter Platter,mRead the News, and as deep in the Secret appear'dAs if he had lather'd the Minister's beard.
But Cupid, who trims men of every station,And 'twixt barbers and beaux makes no discrimination;Would not let this superlative Shaver alone,'Till he tried if his heart was as hard as his hone.
The Fair One, whose charms did the Barber enthral,At the end of Fleet Market of Fish kept a stall:As red as her cheek no boil'd lobster was seen,Not an eel that she sold was as soft as her skin.
By love strange effects have been wrought, we are told,In all countries and climates, hot, temperate, and cold;Thus the heart of our Barber love scorch'd to a coal,Tho' 'tis very well known he liv'd under the Pole.
First, he courted his charmer in sorrowful fashion,And lied, like a lawyer, to move her compassion:He should perish, he swore, did his suit not succeed,And a Barber to slay was a barbarous deed.
Then he alter'd his tone and was heard to declare,If valour deserv'd the regard of the Fair,That his courage was tried, tho' he scorn'd to discloseHow many brave fellows he'd took by the nose.
For his politics too, they were thoroughly known,A patriot he was to the very back bone; Wilkes he gratis had shav'd, for the good of the nation,And he held the Whig Club in profound veneration.
For his tenets religious, he well could expoundEmanuel Sweedenbourg's myst'ries profound,And new doctrines could broach with the best of 'em all,For a perriwig-maker ne'er wanted a Caul.
Thus this Knight of the Bason confounded togetherCourage, politics, love, inspiration, and lather:But his hard-hearted mistress, she set him at nought;No gudgeon was she, nor so easily caught.
Indignant she answer'd: "No chin-scraping sot"Shall be fasten'd to me by the conjugal knot,"No!—to Tyburn repair, if a noose you must tie,"Other fish I have got, Mr. Tonsor, to fry.
"Holborn-bridge and Black Friars my triumphs can tell,"From Bilingsgate Beauties I've long borne the bell:"Nay, tripemen and fishmongers vie for my favour—"Then d'ye think I'll take up with a Twopenny Shaver?
"Let dory, or turbot, the sov'reign of fish,"Cheek by jowl with red herring be serv'd in one dish;"Let sturgeon and sprats in one pickle unite,"When I angle for husbands and Barbers shall bite."
But the Barber persisted (Ah, could I relate 'em!)To ply her with compliments soft as pomatum;And took ev'ry occasion to flatter and praise her,Till she fancied his wit was as keen as his razor.
He protested besides, if she'd grant his petition,She should live like a lady of rank and condition; And to Bilingsgate market no longer repair,But himself all her bus'ness would do to a hair.
Her smiles, he asserted, would melt even rocks,Nay the fire of her eyes would consume barbers' blocks,On insensible objects bestow animation,And give to old perriwigs regeneration.
With fair speeches cajol'd, as you'd tickle a trout,'Gainst the Barber the Fishwife no more could hold out;He applied the right bait, and with flattery he caught her;Without flattery a female's a fish out of water.
The state of her heart when the Barber once guess'dLove's siege with redoubled exertion he press'd;And as briskly bestirr'd him, the charmer embracing,As the washball that dances and froths in his bason.
The flame to allay that their bosoms did so burn,They set out for the church of St. Andrew in Holborn,Where tonsors and trulls, country Dicks and their cousins,In the halter of wedlock are tied up by dozens.
The Nuptials to grace came from every quarterThe worthies at Rag Fair old caxons who barter,Who the coverings of judges and counsellors' nobsCut down into majors, queues, scratches, and bobs.
Musclemongers and oystermen, crimps, and coalheavers,And butchers with marrowbones smiting their cleavers;Shrimpscalders and bugkillers, taylors and tylers,Boys, botchers, bawds, bailiffs, and blackpudding-boilers.
From their voices united such melody flow'dAs the Abbey ne'er witness'd, nor Tott'nham Court Road: While Saint Andrew's brave bells did so loud and so clear ring,You'd have given ten pounds to 've been out of their hearing.
For his fee—when the Parson this couple had join'd,As no cash was forth-coming, he took it in kind:So the Bridegroom dismantled his Rev'rence's chin,And the Bride entertain'd him with pilchards and gin.