Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Billy Dip

For other versions of this work, see Billy Dip.

Billy Dip.

Chloe, a maid at fifty-five,
Was at her toilette dressing:
Her waiting maid, with iron hot,
Each paper-curl was pressing.

The looking-glass her eyes engross,
While Betty hummed a ditty;
She gazed so much upon her face,
She really thought it pretty.

Her painted cheeks and pencilled brows
She could not but approve;
Her thoughts on various subjects turned,
At length they fixed on love.

"And shall," said she, "a virgin life
Await these pleasing charms?
And will no sighing blooming youth
Receive me to his arms?—

Forbid it, Love!" She scarce had spoke,
When Cupid laid a trap;
For at the chamber-door was heard
A soft and gentle rap.

Cried Betty, "Who is at the door?"
"Ay tell," quoth Chloe, "true
When straight a tender voice replied,
"Dear ma'am, I dye for you."

"What's that!" she said, "O Betty, say!
A man! and die for me!
And can I see the youth expire—
Oh, no!—it must not be.

"Haste, Betty—open quick the door
'Tis done; and, lo! to view,
A little man with bundle stood,
In sleeves and apron blue.

"Ye powers!" cried Chloe, "what is this?
What vision do I see?
Is this the man, 0 mighty Love—
The man that dies for me?"

"Yes ma'am; your ladyship is right,"
The figure straight replied;
"And hard for me it would have been
If I had never dyed.

"La! ma'am, you must have heard of me,
Although I'm no highflyer;
I live just by at No. 1,
I'm Billy Dip, the dyer.

"'Twas I, ma'am, Betty there employed
To dye your lustring gown;
And I not only dye for you,
But dye for all the town."