"The prima donna, though a little old, And haggard with a dissipated life, And subject, when the house is thin, to cold, Has some good notes; and then the tenor's wife, With no great voice, is pleasing to behold; Last carnival she made a deal of strife, By carrying off Count Cesare Cicogna From an old Roman Princess at Bologna. LXXXIV. "And then there are the dancers; there's the Nini, With more than one profession gains by all; Then there's that laughing slut the Pelegrini, She, too, was fortunate last Carnival, And made at least five hundred good _zecchini_, But spends so fast, she has not now a paul; And then there's the Grotesca--such a dancer! Where men have souls or bodies she must answer. LXXXV. "As for the _figuranti_,[253] they are like The rest of all that tribe; with here and there A pretty person, which perhaps may strike-- The rest are hardly fitted for a fair; There's one, though tall and stiffer than a pike, Yet has a sentimental kind of air Which might go far, but she don't dance with vigour-- The more's the pity, with her face and figure. LXXXVI. "As for the men, they are a middling set; The _musico_ is but a cracked old basin, But, being qualified in one way yet, May the seraglio do to set his face in,[ef] And as a servant some preferment get; His singing I no further trust can place in: From all the Pope[254] makes yearly 't would perplex To find three perfect pipes of the _third_ sex. LXXXVII. "The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation; And for the bass, the beast can only bellow-- In fact, he had no singing education, An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow; But being the prima donna's near relation, Who swore his voice was very rich and mellow, They hired him, though to hear him you'd believe An ass was practising recitative. LXXXVIII. "'T would not become myself to dwell upon My own merits, and though young--I see, Sir--you Have got a travelled air, which speaks you one To whom the opera is by no means new: You've heard of Raucocanti?--I'm the man; The time may come when you may hear me too; You was[255] not last year at the fair of Lugo, But next, when I'm engaged to sing there--do go. LXXXIX. "Our baritone I almost had forgot, A pretty lad, but bursting with conceit; With graceful action, science not a jot, A voice of no great compass, and not sweet, He always is complaining of his lot, Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street; In lovers' parts his passion more to breathe, Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth."[eg] XC.