BLUNDRELLA: OR, THE IMPERTINENT.

A TALE.

THE Tea was drank and ta'en away,
 No Soul had any thing to say;
 The Weather, and the usual din
 A fresh were going to begin;
 Fashion and Scandal, drain'd before,
 On Carpet had been brought once more,
 But for Blundrella, common Pest,
 Of the Polite, the standing Jest. 

BLUNDRELLA Idol of the Vain,
 And first in the Loquacious Train;
 In all things ignorant and weak,
 Yet on all Subjects would she speak;
 And of her own Perfections vaunted,
 Still daunting all, herself undaunted;
 Of a most contradicting Spirit,
 And envious of another's Merit. 
This Creature thus, with saucy Air,
 Addrest Belinda, blooming Fair. 

MADAM! I'm told you sing; I long
 To have the honour of a Song:
 Much better bred than to refuse,
 Belinda pleads the old Excuse;
 She's caught a Cold, and feigns a Cough,
 But that, alas! won't bring her off;
 Blundrella urges her Request,
 Now seconded by all the rest. 

AT length, unwilling to appear
 Affected, peevish, or severe,
 The lovely Virgin tun'd her Voice,
 More out of Complaisance than Choice:
 While all were with her Musick pleas'd,
 But she who had the Charmer teaz'd;
 Who, rude, unmanner'd, and abrupt! 
Did thus Belinda interrupt:

MADAM, (said the affected Thing)
 Did you ne'er hear Squallinda sing? 
I've heard her sing that very Song,
 Would charm the whole Seraphic Throng;
 Of all the Singers her for me,
 She sings so sweet, so clear, so free! 
But, Madam! can't you sing another? 
That Song, I hope, has got a Brother:
 Let us have that which the Fustina
 Sings when she hangs on Senisino;
 Its Name I have forgot, no matter,
 'Tis that which makes the Boxes clatter:
 Or, Madam! but I beg your Pardon,
 There is a Song, that in the Garden
 Cuzzoni sings unto her Son;
 That, or another, 'tis all one. 

BELINDA blush'd with Shame and Rage;
 But yet, unwilling to engage
 So bold a Foe in such a Fray,
 She let the Creature have her Way:
 And, tho' at sight she sung her Part,
 And was a Mistress in the Art,
 Pleaded her want of Voice and Skill;
 Which made Blundrella prouder still. 
Who grew insufferably vain,
 And alter'd both her Voice and Strain. 

SHE talk'd of Singers and Composers,
 Of their Admirers and Opposers,
 Of the Cuzzoni and Faustini,
 Of Handel and of Bononcini;
 One was to rough, t'other to smooth,
 Artillo only hit her Tooth;
 And Tamo Tanto was a Song
 Would give her Pleasure all day long. 

FULL loftily she gave her Vote,
 This had no Voice, and that no Throat;
 That Heideigger had receiv'd a Letter,
 And we should shortly have a better;
 A Messenger was sent to Dover
 To wait the Lady's coming over,
 Who should no sooner hither come,
 But she would strike all others dumb. 

SHE likewise grew exceeding witty
 Upon the Consorts in the City;
 'Tis true, she lik'd the Castle best,
 But yet she made 'em both a Jest:
 Nor did she much admire the Crown,
 But as 'twas t'other End o' the Town. 

SHE next of Masters 'gan to preach;
 The English were not fit to teach,
 Italians were the only Men,
 And ev'n of those not one in ten;
 For she had heard a Lady say,
 Scarce two in Town could sing or play. 

WHAT with Composers, Players, Singers,
 Performance, Gusto, Voices, Fingers,
 She ran herself quite out of breath,
 And talk'd the Company to Death. 

WHEN haply, with engaging Air,
 Eugenio, darling of the Fair,
 Who touches charmingly the Flute,
 Enter'd, and struck Blundrella mute;
 And kept her Clack-eternal under
 For near a Minute, There's a wonder! 

EUGENIO must expect his Share;
 For scarce he had assum'd a Chair,
 But she, impatient, Silence broke,
 And thus th' Eternal Teazer spoke. 

NOW for a Tune, my pretty Man! 
Nay, you shall play, say what you can:
 Ladies! he's the delightful'st Creature
 You ever knew, — no Soul play sweeter:
 Nay, prithee now don't make a Rout,
 Here 'tis Egad, come — pull it out. 

WHAT mortal Man could stand the Tryal! 
He must consent, there's no denial,
 So, for meer quiet Sake, he plays,
 While she e'en stifles him with Praise,
 And worries the poor Man to death,
 Nor suffers him to take his breath;
 But calls for Tune on Tune so fast,
 Eugenio is quite tir'd at last,
 And begs a Truce upon Parole,
 He'll play anon with all his soul. 

NOW you must know Belinda's Charms
 Had giv'n his Heart no small Alarms;
 He was her Servant most avow'd
 And happiest of the sighing Crowd. 
Sophronia, being her near Relation,
 Haply laid hold on this Cessation;
 And, to Eugenio drawing near,
 She whisper'd softly in his Ear,
 Told him Blundrella's vile Assurance,
 And sweet Belinda's mild Endurance. 

EUGENIO instantly was fir'd,
 Rage and Revenge his Mind inspir'd:
 He re-assum'd his Speech and Flute,
 And thus Blundrella did salute;
 Madam, (said he) before I go,
 Your dear Commands I'd gladly know. 

BLUNDRELLA rear'd her Crest aloft,
 And begg'd him to play something soft:
 What think you, Madam, of AL OMBRA? 
That's poor dull Stuff, do ye like SGOMBRA? 
Si Caro, if you please, said she:
 He play'd the Tune of Children three. 
She was in Raptures, and intreated
 The self same Tune might be repeated. 

HE chang'd his Airs, and, to her Shame,
 She took ten others for the same. 
In short, Eugenio play'd her off,
 And made her all the Circle's Scoff:
 While, stupid she! ascrib'd to Wit and Sense
 The Laughter rais'd by her Impertinence.