Were none of you, gallants, e'er driven so hard,
As when the poor kind soul was under guard,
And could not do 't at home, in some by-street
To take a lodging, and in private meet?
Such is our case; we can't appoint our house,
The lovers' old and wonted rendezvous,
But hither to this trusty nook remove;
The worse the lodging is, the more the love.
For much good pastime, many a dear sweet hug,
Is stolen in garrets, on the humble rug.
Here's good accommodation in the pit;
The grave demurely in the midst may sit,
And so the hot Burgundian on the side,
Ply vizard mask, and o'er the benches stride:
Here are convenient upper boxes too,
For those that make the most triumphant show;
All, that keep coaches, must not sit below.
There, gallants, you betwixt the acts retire,
And, at dull plays, have something to admire:
We, who look up, can your addresses mark,
And see the creatures coupled in the ark:
So we expect the lovers, braves, and wits;
The gaudy house with scenes will serve for cits.
More verses by John Dryden
- The Tears Of Amynta, For The Death Of Damon. A Song
- The Cock And The Fox: Or, The Tale Of The Nun's Priest
- Hymn For St. John's Eve, 29th June
- O Souls, In Whom No Heavenly Fire
- A Song. Fair, Sweet And Young, Receive A Prize