The celebrated patroness of the young Chimney Sweepers, whose hard fate was so often deplored by the late Jonas Hanway, has had fitted up an elegant apartment in her town residence, decorated with Feathers; here follows a description of what is termed
I.
The blue-stocking club, when abandon’d by fame,
On a project resolv’d to revive a lost name,
So for each member’s comfort in life’s chilling gloom,
Old mother M—tague feather’d her room.
CHORUS.
Sing a Ballynamona oro,
A fine feather’d chamber for me.
II.
Like old mother Philips, tho’ doubtless her betters,
These blue-stocking ladies are ladies of letters;
Not in love, but in learning, their passions prevail,
And they feather the head whilst they moult at the tail.
III.
An Irish upholsterer Murphy’s the man,
Who furnished my muse with a sketch of this plan;
To guard off the wind that hard by the spot gathers,
He told me she’d paper’d her front room with feathers.
IV.
By the hair-broom of Nature this room was neglected,
Here lay dust undisturbed, and there cobweb collected;
Till a lewd son of Adam, a son of a whore,
To get into the room had burst open the door.
V.
Then wicked wit W— and old lolly-pop Q—,
This fine feather’d drawing-room hasten’d to view;
Old Q— first got in, but he soon turn’d about,
For the feathers flew round him and tickl’d his snout.
VI.
W— stood undismay’d at old Q—’s queer mishap,
And swore, tho’ the devil should stand in the gap,
Into it he’d wriggle; when in it he got,
He turn’d pale and fell sick, and dropt dead on the spot.
VII.
Birds of passage, alas! all us mortals are here,
Exclaim’d Johnny W— when he spent his last tear;
In his last dying speech, he declar’d with dejection,
He’d not the least hope of a flesh resurrection.
VIII.
Now ere like Johnny W— my muse gives up the ghost,
She leaves, as a legacy, Nature’s first toast;
The front room of Eve Adam fill’d full of sin,
Well feather’d without, and well furnish’d within.