_Cuddy._ As my Buxoma in a morning fair, With gentle finger stroked her milky care, I quaintly stole a kiss; at first, 'tis true, She frowned, yet after granted one or two. Lobbin, I swear, believe who will my vow, Her breath by far excelled the breathing cow. _Lobbin._ Leek to the Welsh, to Dutchmen butter's dear, Of Irish swains potato is the cheer, Oats for their feasts the Scottish shepherds grind, Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind; While she loves turnips, butter I'll despise, Nor leeks, nor oatmeal, nor potato prize. _Cuddy._ In good roast beef my landlord sticks his knife, And capon fat delights his dainty wife; Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare, But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare; While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me. The following is not without point at the present day-- TO A LADY ON HER PASSION FOR OLD CHINA. What ecstasies her bosom fire! How her eyes languish with desire! How blessed, how happy, should I be, Were that fond glance bestowed on me! New doubts and fears within me war, What rival's here? A China jar! China's the passion of her soul, A cup, a plate, a dish, a bowl, Can kindle wishes in her breast, Inflame with joy, or break her rest. * * * * * Husbands more covetous than sage, Condemn this China-buying rage, They count that woman's prudence little, Who sets her heart on things so brittle; But are those wise men's inclinations Fixed on more strong, more sure foundations? If all that's frail we must despise, No human view or scheme is wise. Gay's humour is often injured by the introduction of low scenes, and disreputable accompaniments. "The Dumps," a lament of a forlorn damsel, is much in the same style as the Pastorals. It finishes with these lines-- "Farewell ye woods, ye meads, ye streams that flow, A sudden death shall rid me of my woe, This penknife keen my windpipe shall divide, What, shall I fall as squeaking pigs have died? No--to some tree this carcase I'll suspend; But worrying curs find such untimely end! I'll speed me to the pond, where the high stool, On the long plank hangs o'er the muddy pool, That stool, the dread of every scolding queen: Yet sure a lover should not die, so mean! Thus placed aloft I'll rave and rail by fits, Though all the parish say I've lost my wits; And thence, if courage holds, myself I'll throw, And quench my passion in the lake below." He published in 1727 "The Beggar's Opera," the idea had been suggested by Swift. This is said to have given birth to the English Opera--the Italian having been already introduced here. This opera, or musical play, brought out by Mr. Rich, was so renumerative that it was a common saying that it made "Rich gay, and Gay rich."