2»'» S. VI. 134., July 24. '58.1 NOTES AND QUERIES. 



75 



near approach of my death, therefore, I entertain not the 

 least doubt, but I do not dread its arrival ; armed with 

 the sacred precept of Christianity, I can meet the King 

 of Terrors without dismay ; and without a tear bid adieu 

 to the regions of mortality for ever. 



" • When I am dead, as the necessity of its conceal- 

 ment closes with my life, I wish that j-ou, my Lady, 

 would unbind my wrist, take from thence the black rib- 

 band ; and let my son, with yourself, behold it.' Lady B. 

 here paused for some time, but resuming her conversation, 

 she entreated her son to behave so as to merit the high 

 honour he would in future receive from an union witli 

 Lord Tyrone's daughter. Lady B. then expressed a wish 

 to lie down on a bed to compose herself to sleep. Lady 



and her son immediately called her attendants, and 



quitted the room, after having first desired them atten- 

 tively to watch their mistress ; and should they observe 

 any change in her, to call instantly. An hour passed, 

 and all was silent in the room ; they listened at the door, 

 and every thing was still ; but in about half an hour 

 more, a bell rung violently. They flew to her apartment ; 

 but before they reached the door of it, they heard the 



servants exclaim • My mistress is dead.' Lady then 



desiring the servants to quit the room : Lady B.'s son 

 with herself approached the bed of his mother ; they knelt 



down by the side of it. Lady then lifted up her 



hand, unbound the black ribband, and found the wrist 

 exactly in the same state Lady B. had described — every 

 nerve withered, every sinew shrunk up. Lady B.'s son, 

 as has been predicted, is now married to Lord Tyrone's 

 daughter. The black ribband and pocket-book are now 

 in the possession of Lady , by whom the above nar- 

 rative is stated, in Ireland ; who, together with the 

 Tyrone family, will be found ready to attest its truth. — 

 Dublin, August, 1802." 



J. Speed D. 



Sewardslone. 



TUNBRIDGE WELLS AT THE COMMENCEMENT OF 

 THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 



(2'«> S. vl. p. 8.) 



The note of Mr. Durrant Cooper reminds me 

 of some verses in MS. relating to the same sub- 

 ject, which I found some time since iu looking 

 over a quantity of old papers. The second is, I 

 apprehend, the later production of the two, and 

 which might be readily dated if I happened to 

 have at hand any memoir of Beau Nash, who was 

 eighty-three years of age at the period illustrated 

 by the verses. And I will leave to others better 

 versed than myself in the fashionable scandal of 

 that celebrated watering-place to fill up the 

 blanks in the poetry, required as much by the 

 rhythm as the rhyme. W. S. 



Tunhridge Life. 

 1. 



Song. 



" All you tliat wish the world to learn. 



To Tunbridge Wells repair-a. 

 Where you will see more in a day 



Than clswhere in a year-a. 

 Not that our numbers do surpass 



What you may elswhere find -a, 

 But here no mortals you can meet 



An hour in a raind-a. 



2. 



" At eight o'clock they're wondrous fond. 



At nine they'll hardly know ye, 

 At ten perhaps you're made they're joke. 



At Church they'll fav'r show ye. 

 For least their thoughts should iix on prayer. 



They ev'rj- one will greet-a 

 With, how do you do? are you a plaj-er? 



And, where shall we two meet-a ? 



" A twelve they to the well repair. 



Of Lethe drink so deep-a. 

 That tho' j'ou think you have 'era fast, 



They'll no appointment keep-a. 

 A turn they walk ; a Rafile throw, 



Tho' nought they e'er shall gaiii-a 

 Unless they leave such trifling sport. 



And throw a merry main-a. 



4. 

 " The next two hours as chance directs, 

 In play their time is spent-a. 

 At Hazard, Basset, or Quadrille, 



Scarcely with all content-a. 

 For Rowly-Powly, noble game, 

 There eyes and ears invite -a, 

 And Pass and No Pass is a sound 

 Which gives them true delight-a. 



5.* 



" At five the Church bell rings e'm out 

 Where custom makes them pray-a. 

 But with how much devotion fir'd 

 I'll not pretend to say-a. 



6. 

 " At six the walks and walls are cler'd. 

 And all the Belles are seated. 

 At Upton's, Morley's, or at Smith'.s, 



With tea and tattle treated ; 



For to do justice to the Beaux, 



In scandal they ne'r deal -a, 



For each one's of himself too full 



To mind the Commonweal-a. 



7, 

 " From six till ten they dance or play, 

 Or Punches grace attend-a, 

 Oh ! that his sage rebukes would make 



Them their wild ways amend-a. 

 What's after that among them done 



Judge as yon can the best- a; 

 But sure 'twere wise if with my muse 

 They all would go to rest-a." 



No. 2. 

 Say Muse the names of all the motley throng. 

 Whom Tunbridge lulls with Country dance and song, 

 Whom empty Love inflames and Water cools, 

 Begin, and give a Catalogue of Fools. 

 Trembling with Palsies, and decrepit age 

 Let N . . . . h stand foremost in the crowded page, 

 That child of eighty ! own'd without dispute 

 Thro' all the realms of Fiddling absolute ; 

 Alas ! old Dotard ! is it fit for thee 

 To couple dancing fools at eighty -three? 

 Go, get thee to thy Grave, we're tired all 

 To see thee still, still tottering round a Ball. 

 But Hark, my Muse, what distant noise approaches? 

 French horns I hear and rattling sound of coaches ! 



* The first four lines of this stanza are absent. 



