THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND
LETTER I.
FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO
THE REV. RICHARD ----; CURATE
OF ----, IN IRELAND.
Who d' ye think we've got here?--quite reformed from the giddy.
Fantastic young thing that once made such a noise--
Why, the famous Miss Fudge--that delectable Biddy,
Whom you and I saw once at Paris, when boys,
In the full blaze of bonnets, and ribands, and airs--
Such a thing as no rainbow hath colors to paint;
Ere time had reduced her to wrinkles and prayers,
And the Flirt found a decent retreat in the Saint.
Poor "Pa" hath popt off--gone, as charity judges,
To some choice Elysium reserved for the Fudges;
And Miss, with a fortune, besides expectations
From some much revered and much palsied relations,
Now wants but a husband, with requisites meet,--
Age, thirty, or thereabouts--stature six feet,
And warranted godly--to make all complete.
_Nota bene_--a Churchman would suit, if he's _high_,
But Socinians or Catholics need not apply.
What say you, Dick? doesn't this tempt your ambition?
The whole wealth of Fudge, that renowned man of pith.
All brought to the hammer, for Church competition,--
Sole encumbrance, Miss Fudge to be taken therewith.
Think, my boy, for a Curate how glorious a catch!
While, instead of the thousands of souls you _now_ watch,
To save Biddy Fudge's is all you need do;
And her purse will meanwhile be the saving of _you_.
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