And breaks a broken spout, and fresh chips a teacup handle: He's a dear, sweet little child, but he will so finger and touch, And that's why my Lady doesn't take to children much. Well, there's stupid Mr. Lambert, with his two great coat flaps, Must go and sit down on the Dresden shepherdesses' laps, As if there was no such things as rosewood chairs in the room! I couldn't have made a greater sweep with the handle of the broom. Mercy on us! how my mistress began to rave and tear! Well, after all, there's nothing like good ironstone ware for wear. If ever I marry, that's flat, I'm sure it won't be John Dockery I should be a wretched woman in a shop full of crockery. I should never like to wipe it, though I love to be neat and tidy, And afraid of mad bulls on market-days every Monday and Friday. I'm very much mistook if Mr. Lambert's will be a catch; The breaking the Chiney will be the breaking-off of his own match. Missis wouldn't have an angel, if he was careless about Chiney; She never forgives a chip, if it's ever so small and tiny. Lawk! I never saw a man in all my life in such a taking; I could find it in my heart to pity him for all his mischief-making. To see him stand a-hammering and stammering, like a zany; But what signifies apologies, if they won't mend old Chaney! If he sent her up whole crates full, from Wedgwood's and Mr. Spode's, He couldn't make amends for the crack'd mandarins and smash'd toads. Well! every one has their tastes, but, for my part, my own self, I'd rather have the figures on my poor dear grand mother's old shelf: A nice pea-green poll-parrot, and two reapers with brown ears of corns, And a shepherd with a crook after a lamb with two gilt horns, And such a Jemmy Jessamy in top-boots and sky blue vest, And a frill and flower'd waistcoat, with a fine bow pot at the breast. |