Air, ” Bang up in the City.”

WHEN first I enter’d life’s gay path,
I laugh’d at fashion’s faces ;
The beaux appear’d like dress’d up belles.
The belles, any thing but graces ;
But when I found, to please the world,
I must with its whims comply,
I changed my notes, and soon the town
Had no greater beau than I.
With paint, and stays, and padded coat,
Quite altered were my features ;
And soon my living a-la-mode
Was opposite to nature’s.

SPOKEN. I completely metamorphosed myself and dress. My black silk gloves were changed for white kid ; my pliant flannel waistcoat for a stiff pair of stays ; my toilet was soon covered with curls, collars, and wrist-bands, with paint, patches, and perfumes, snuff-boxes, brooches, pins, and quizzing-glasses., Tis true, when equipped, I have often been insulted by the canaille : often have my now susceptible and delicate ears been annoyed with, [in a vulgar tone], ” My eye ! Bill, do you see that man ?”, ” What man ? I see no man. , ” Why, that gill, with his sides twisted like an hour-glass.”, ” What ! do you call that a man ? ’tis not a man, it’s a dandy.”, ” A dandy ! how rum ¡t smells !”, ” Rum, phoo ! it’s not rum, ’tis lavender.”, But though I was laugh’d at by the bas-monde, I was admired by the beau-monde., [ Foppishly,], ” Excessively elegant, ‘pon my soul!” said Sir Jessamy, the other day, in the Park., ” O, the delightful creature ! the very acme of perfection, I declare,” said Lady Jubelinda-Joa-bella-Sophonisba-Augusta Rosebud.

Then in my stays and padded coat,
Through London streets I’ll dash on ;
For, let the churls say what they will,
Tis wisdom forms the fashion.

Aye, London is the place for me
There every thing is moving ;
There things are changing ev’ry day,
And ev’ry thing’s improving ;
When iron horses were the go,
I purchas’d one to ride,
And up the Mall and Rotten-row,
I daily took a stride.
Now in boots with new revolving heels,
And mounted on my filly,
Some quiz, and some admire me,
I prance up Piccadilly.

SPOKEN. All things have their day; wigs, powdered heads, cocked hats, round hats, buckles, and shoe-strings., Iron horses have had their run, but now they are all cast down. , London is fashion’s head quarters., By the by, it is an intolerable bore to walk or ride near the East-end ; the chimney-sweeps and dustmen are so very vulgar., Riding along the other day, with my upper lip ornamented with a handsome pair of mustachoes, a brute of a fellow bawled out, ” Look at that kiddy ; twig his mouse-stay-shoes, they looks as if they vas made out of his horse’s tail, or its mane.”, “Why, they do look the main part of his face.”, ” For my part,” said an impudent slut, ” I would as lieve be kissed by a he-bear as by him.”, “Why, he-bears have just such whiskers as he bears.”, “Perhaps he uses bear’s grease to make ‘em grow.”, ” Aye, and that makes him look so bare-faced.”, Even my revolving-heel boots cannot escape censure., ” My vig ! there’s a pair of brass spurs and heels !”, ” Aye, they are rewolwing heels.”, ” Why, what are they for ? “, ” Vhy, their veight, d’ye see, keeps these light characters from falling off their horses.”, ” Light characters ! aye, I dare say he has more brass at his heels than in his pocket. , ” Yes, and I suppose he pays his debts with his heels.”, Thus it is, whilst any thing uncommon is patronized by the polite, any thing uncommon is condemned by the vulgar ; but while I am supported by the one, I need not care a fig for the other.

Then with revolving heels I
Through London streets I’ll dash on, &c.

In England what they spend in dress,
By other means they’re saving ;
By gas, and steam, and iron pipes,
Iron coffins, iron paving ;
But while for gas and iron pipes,
The people’s piping hot,
Our commerce, and our wooden walls,
I fear have got the rot :
Then for the shining age of gold,
The poets can but sigh on,
For this, as iron’s all the rage,
Must be the age of iron.

SPOKEN. Yes, this certainly must be the iron age, the times are so very hard. England is filled with complaints, from the journeyman tailor to the merchant-tailor ; from the grand free-mason to the going to the poor paviour. – ” Oh! Teddy Teddy, Teddy.” “What ails ye, Pat ?” – ” We will all be ruined, Teddy,” – “Why, Pat?” – “Because they’re a-going to make all the stones of iron ; what will we do ?”, ” Oh, don’t cry, Pat, can’t we go a haymaking ?”, ” Pooh, don’t be a making a Judy of yourself : don’t you know they are going to make hay with the steam-engine, you bog-trotter?” England is like Vulcan’s work-shop, with, perhaps, too many irons in the fire, and filled with smoke, gas, steam, and blue devils ; and where are manufactured iron bridges, iron horses, iron geese, iron bedsteads, iron pillars, iron boats, iron coffins, and iron paving. Every thing is irony., ” The
very men,” said old Sourcrout, ” are made of iron, their heels are iron, their soles are iron, their hearts are iron, their heads are iron, and they are all iron but their faces, and they are undoubtedly made of brass.”, ” True, but all this proves that they are men of mettle.”, ” Mettle ! nonsense ; I say they are brought up in iron, fed with iron, physicked with iron, often die in iron, and are buried in iron. They are all iron but their money, and d– me, that’s all paper.”, ” No matter, the golden age is coming on, and that will be a sovereign remedy for all evils.

Then as long as paper goes, we still
Like flints in stile will dash on ;
For, let the churls say what they will,
“Tis wisdom forms the fashion.

From: The Universal Songster; or, Museum of Mirth: Forming the most complete, extensive, and valuable collection of ancient and modern songs in the English language. Vol. 1. London: Jones and Co., 1834: 87-88.