Let the old Fair have fair-play as its right, And to each show and sight Ye shall be treated with a Free List latitude; To Richardson’s Stage Dramas, Dio--and Cosmo--ramas, Giants and Indians wild, Dwarf, Sea Bear, and Fat Child, And that most rare of Shows--a Show of gratitude! TO MARY AT NO. 1, NEWGATE. _Favoured by Mr. Wontner._ O Mary, I believ’d you true, And I was blest in so believing; But till this hour I never knew-- That you were taken up for thieving! Oh! when I snatch’d a tender kiss Or some such trifle when I courted, You said, indeed, that love was bliss, But never owned you were transported! But then to gaze on that fair face-- It would have been an unfair feeling, To dream that you had pilfered lace-- And Flints had suffered from your stealing! Or when my suit I first preferr’d, To bring your coldness to repentance, Before I hammer’d out a word, How could I dream you’d heard a sentence! Or when with all the warmth of youth I strove to prove my love no fiction, How could I guess I urged a truth On one already past conviction! How could I dream that ivory part, Your hand--where I have look’d and linger’d, Altho’ it stole away my heart, Had been held up as one light-finger’d! In melting verse your charms I drew, The charms in which my muse delighted-- Alas! the lay I thought was new, Spoke only what had been _indicted_! Oh! when that form, a lovely one, Hung on the neck its arms had flown to, I little thought that you had run A chance of hanging on your own too. You said you pick’d me from the world, My vanity it now must shock it-- And down at once my pride is hurl’d, You’ve pick’d me--and you’ve pick’d a pocket. Oh! when our love had got so far, The bans were read by Dr. Daley, Who asked if there was any _bar_-- Why did not some one shout “Old Bailey?” But when you rob’d your flesh and bones In that pure white that angel garb is, Who could have thought you, Mary Jones, Among the Joans that link with _Darbies_? And when the parson came to say, My goods were yours, if I had got any, And you should honour and obey, Who could have thought--“O Bay of Botany.” But, oh,--the worst of all your slips I did not till this day discover-- That down in Deptford’s prison ships, Oh, Mary! you’ve a hulking lover! No. II. “Love, with a witness.” He has shaved off his whiskers and blacken’d his brows, Wears a patch and a wig of false hair,-- But it’s him--Oh it’s him!--we exchanged lovers’ vows, When I lived up in Cavendish Square. He had beautiful eyes, and his lips were the same, And his voice was as soft as a flute-- [Illustration: FANNY.] [Illustration: FINDING A MAY’R’S NEST.]