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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6652.txt b/6652.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..df15cce --- /dev/null +++ b/6652.txt @@ -0,0 +1,29118 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Humourous Poetry of the English Language +by James Parton + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Humourous Poetry of the English Language + +Author: James Parton + +Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6652] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on January 9, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE HUMOUROUS POETRY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE *** + + + + +Rose Koven, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + +THE HUMOROUS POETRY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, FROM CHAUCER TO SAXE. + + +Narratives, Satires, Enigmas, Burlesques, Parodies, Travesties, +Epigrams, Epitaphs, Translations, Including the Most Celebrated Comic +Poems of the Anti-Jacobin, Rejected Addresses, the Ingoldsby Legends, +Blackwood's Magazine, Bentley's Miscellany, and Punch. + +With More Than Two Hundred Epigrams, and the Choicest Humorous Poetry +of Wolcott, Cowper, Lamb, Thackeray, Praed, Swift, Scott, Holmes, +Aytoun, Gay, Burns, Southey, Saxe, Hood, Prior, Coleridge, Byron, +Moore, Lowell, Etc. + +WITH + +NOTES, EXPLANATORY AND BIOGRAPHICAL, + +BY JAMES PARTON. + + + + + +PREFACE. + + + +The design of the projector of this volume was, that it should +contain the Best of the shorter humorous poems in the literatures +of England and the United States, except: + +Poems so local or cotemporary in subject or allusion, as not to be +readily understood by the modern American reader; + +Poems which, from the freedom of expression allowed in the healthy +ages, can not now be read aloud in a company of men and women; + +Poems that have become perfectly familiar to every body, from their +incessant reproduction in school-books and newspapers; and + +Poems by living American authors, who have collected their humorous +pieces from the periodicals in which most of them originally appeared, +and given them to the world in their own names. + +Holmes, Saxe, and Lowell are, therefore, only REPRESENTED in this +collection. To have done more than fairly represent them, had been to +infringe rights which are doubly sacred, because they are not +protected by law. To have done less would have deprived the reader of +a most convenient means of observing that, in a kind of composition +confessed to be among the most difficult, our native wits are not +excelled by foreign. + +The editor expected to be embarrassed with a profusion of material for +his purpose. But, on a survey of the poetical literature of the two +countries, it was discovered that, of really excellent humorous +poetry, of the kinds universally interesting, untainted by obscenity, +not marred by coarseness of language, nor obscured by remote allusion, +the quantity in existence is not great. It is thought that this volume +contains a very large proportion of the best pieces that haveappeared. + +An unexpected feature of the book is, that there is not a line in it +by a female hand. The alleged foibles of the Fair have given occasion +to libraries of comic verse; yet, with diligent search, no humorous +poems by women have been found which are of merit sufficient to give +them claim to a place in a collection like this. That lively wit and +graceful gayety, that quick perception of the absurd, which ladies are +continually displaying in their conversation and correspondence, +never, it seems, suggest the successful epigram, or inspire happy +satirical verse. + +The reader will not be annoyed by an impertinent superfluity of notes. +At the end of the volume may be found a list of the sources from which +its contents have been taken. For the convenience of those who live +remote from biographical dictionaries, a few dates and other +particulars have been added to the mention of each name. For valuable +contributions to this portion of the volume, and for much +well-directed work upon other parts of it, the reader is indebted to +Mr. T. BUTLER GUNN, of this city. + +There is, certainly, nothing more delightful than the fun of a man of +genius. Humor, as Mr. Thackeray observes, is charming, and poetry is +charming, but the blending of the two in the same composition is +irresistible. There is much nonsense in this book, and some folly, and +a little ill-nature; but there is more wisdom than either. They who +possess it may congratulate themselves upon having the largest +collection ever made of the sportive effusions of genius. + + + + +INDEX. + + + +MISCELLANEOUS. + +SUBJECT. AUTHOR. + +To my Empty Purse Chaucer +To Chloe Peter Pindar +To a Fly Peter Pindar +Man may be Happy Peter Pindar +Address to the Toothache Burns +The Pig Southey +Snuff Southey +Farewell to Tobacco Lamb +Written after swimming from Sestos to Abydos Byron +The Lisbon Packet Byron +To Fanny Moore +Young Jessie Moore +Rings and Seals Moore +Nets and Cages Moore +Salad Sydney Smith +My Letters Barham +The Poplar Barham +Spring Hood +Ode on a Distant Prospect of Clapham Academy Hood +Schools and School-fellows Praed +The Vicar Praed +The Bachelor's Cane-bottomed Chair Thackeray +Stanzas to Pale Ale Punch +Children must be paid for Punch +The Musquito Bryant +To the Lady in the Chemisette with Black Buttons Willis +Come out, Love Willis +The White Chip Hat Willis +You know if it was you Willis +The Declaration Willis +Love in a Cottage Willis +To Helen in a Huff Willis +The Height of the Ridiculous O. W. Holmes +The Briefless Barrister J. G. Saxe +Sonnet to a Clam J. G. Saxe +Venus of the Needle Allingham + +NARRATIVE. + +Take thy Old Cloak about thee Percy Reliques +King John and the Abbot Percy Reliques +The Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy Percy Reliques +Truth and Falsehood Prior +Flattery Williams (Sir C. H.) +The Pig and Magpie Peter Pindar +Advice to Young Women Peter Pindar +Economy Peter Pindar +The Country Lasses Peter Pindar +The Pilgrims and Peas Peter Pindar +On the Death of a Favorite Cat Gray +The Retired Cat Cowper +Saying, not Meaning Wake +Julia Coleridge +A Cock and Hen Story Southey +The Search after Happiness Scott (Sir W.) +The Donkey and his Panniers Moore +Misadventure at Margate Barham +The Ghost Barham +A Lay of St. Gengulphus Barham +Sir Rupert the Fearless Barham +Look at the Clock Barham +The Bagman's Dog Barham +Dame Fredegonde W. Aytoun +The King of Brentford's Testament Thackeray +Titmarsh's Carmen Lillienses Thackeray +Shadows Lantern +The Retort G. P. Morris + +SATIRICAL. + +The Rabble, or Who Pays? S. Butler +The Chameleon Prior +The Merry Andrew Prior +Jack and Joan Prior +The Progress of Poetry Swift +Twelve Articles Swift +The Beast's Confession Swift +A New Simile for the Ladies Sheridan (Dr. T.) +On a Lap-dog Gay +The Razor Seller Peter Pindar +The Sailor Boy at Prayers Peter Pindar +Bienseance Peter Pindar +Kings and Courtiers Peter Pindar +Praying for Rain Peter Pindar +Apology for Kings Peter Pindar +Ode to the Devil Peter Pindar +The King of Spain and the Horse Peter Pindar +The Tender Husband Peter Pindar +The Soldier and the Virgin Mary Peter Pindar +A King of France and the Fair Lady Peter Pindar +The Eggs Yriarte +The Ass and his Master Yriarte +The Love of the World Reproved, or Hypocrisy Detected Cowper +Report of an Adjudged Case Cowper +Holy Willie's Prayer Burns +Epitaph on Holy Willie Burns +Address to the Deil Burns +The Devil's Walk on Earth Southey +Church and State Moore +Lying Moore +The Millennium Moore +The Little Grand Lama Moore +Eternal London Moore +On Factotum Ned Moore +Letters (Fudge Correspondence), First Letter Moore +Letters (Fudge Correspondence), Second Letter Moore +Letters (Fudge Correspondence), Third Letter Moore +The Literary Lady Sheridan (R. B.) +Netley Abbey Barham +Family Poetry Barham +The Sunday Question Hood +Ode to Rae Wilson, Esquire Hood +Death's Ramble Hood +The Bachelor's Dream Hood +On Samuel Rogers Byron +My Partner Praed +The Belle of the Ball Praed +Sorrows of Werther Thackeray +The Yankee Volunteer Thackeray +Courtship and Matrimony Thackeray +Concerning Sisters-in-law Punch +The Lobsters Punch +To Song Birds on a Sunday Punch +The First Sensible Valentine Punch +A Scene on the Austrian Frontier Punch +Ode to the Great Sea Serpent Punch +The Feast of Vegetables and the Flow of Water Punch +Kindred Quacks Punch +The Railway Traveler's Farewell to his Family Punch +A Letter and an Answer Punch +Papa to his Heir Punch +Selling off at the Opera-house Punch +Wonders of the Victorian Age Punch +To the Portrait of a Gentleman Holmes +My Aunt Holmes +Comic Miseries Saxe +Idees Napoleoniennes Aytoun +The Lay of the Lover's Friend Aytoun + +PARODIES AND BURLESQUES + +Wine Gay +Ode on Science Swift +A Love Song Swift +Baucis and Philemon Swift +A Description of a City Shower Swift +The Progress of Curiosity Pindar +The Author and the Statesman Fielding +The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder Anti-Jacobin +Inscription Anti-Jacobin +Song Canning +The Amatory Sonnets of Abel Shufflebottom Southey + 1. Delia at Play + 2. The Poet proves the existence of a Soul from his Love for Delia + 3. The Poet expresses his feelings respecting a Portrait in Delia's + Parlor +The Love Elegies of Abel Shufflebottom Southey + 1. The Poet relates how he obtained Delia's Pocket-handkerchief + 2. The Poet expatiates on the Beauty of Delia's Hair + 3. The Poet relates how he stole a lock of Delia's Hair, and her + anger +The Baby's Debut James Smith +Playhouse Musings James Smith +A Tale of Drury Lane Horace Smith +Drury's Dirge Horace Smith +What is Life? Blackwood +The Confession Blackwood +The Milling Match between Entellus and Darcs Moore +Not a Sous had he Got Barham +Raising the Devil Barham +The London University Barham +Domestic Poems Hood + 1. Good-night + 2. A Parental Ode to my Son + 3. A Serenade +Ode to Perry Hood +A Theatrical Curiosity Cruikshank's Om +The Secret Sorrow Punch +Song for Punch-drinkers Punch +The Song of the Humbugged Husband Punch +Temperance Song Punch +Lines Punch +Madness Punch +The Bandit's Fate Punch +Lines written after a Battle Punch +The Phrenologist to his Mistress Punch +The Chemist to his Love Punch +A Ballad of Bedlam Punch +Stanzas to an Egg Punch +A Fragment Punch +Eating Soup Punch +The Sick Child Punch +The Imaginative Crisis Punch +Lines to Bessy Punch +Monody on the Death of an Only Client Punch +Love on the Ocean Punch +"Oh! wilt thou Sew my Buttons on? etc." Punch +The Paid Bill. Punch +Parody for a Reformed Parliament Punch +The Waiter Punch +The Last Appendix to Yankee Doodle Punch +Lines for Music Punch +Drama for Every Day Life Punch +Proclivior Punch +Jones at the Barber's Shop Punch +The Sated One Punch +Sapphics of the Cab-stand Punch +Justice to Scotland Punch +The Poetical Cookery-book. Punch + The Steak + Roasted Sucking Pig + Beignet de Pomme + Cherry Pie + Deviled Biscuit + Red Herrings + Irish Stew + Barley Broth + Calf's Heart + The Christmas Pudding + Apple Pie + Lobster Salad + Stewed Steak + Green Pea Soup + Trifle + Mutton Chops + Barley Water + Boiled Chicken + Stewed Duck and Peas + Curry +The Railway Gilpin Punch +Elegy Punch +The Boa and the Blanket Punch +The Dilly and the D's Punch +A Book in a Bustle Punch +Stanzas for the Sentimental. Punch + 1. On a Tear which Angelina observed trickling down my nose at + Dinner-time + 2. On my refusing Angelina a kiss under the Mistletoe + 3. On my finding Angelina stop suddenly in a rapid + after-supper-polka at Mrs. Tompkins' Ball +Soliloquy on a Cab-stand Punch +The Song of Hiawatha Punch +Comfort in Affliction Aytoun +The Husband's Petition Aytoun +The Biter Bit Aytoun +A Midnight Meditation Aytoun +The Dirge of the Drinker Aytoun +Francesca da Rimini Aytoun +Louis Napoleon's Address to his Army Aytoun +The Battle of the Boulevard Aytoun +Puffs Poetical. Aytoun + 1. Paris and Helen + 2. Tarquin and the Augur +Reflections of a Proud Pedestrian Holmes +Evening, by a Tailor Holmes +Phaethon Saxe +The School-house Lowell + +EPIGRAMMATIC. + +Epigrams of Ben Jonson. + To Fine Grand + " Brainhardy + " Doctor Empiric + " Sir Samuel Fuller + On Banks, the Usurer + " Chevril the Lawyer +Epigrammatic Verses by Samuel Butler + Opinion + Critics + Hypocrisy + Polish + The Godly + Piety + Poets + Puffing + Politicians + Fear + The Law + " " + " " + Confession + Smatterers + Bad Writers + The Opinionative + Language of the Learned + Good Writing + Courtiers + Inventions + Logicians + Laborious Writers + On a Club of Sots + Holland + Women +Epigrams of Edmund Waller + On a Painted Lady + On the Marriage of the Dwarfs +Epigrams of Matthew Prior + A Simile + The Flies + Phillis's Age + To the Duke de Noailles + On Bishop Atterbury + Forma Bonum Fragile + Earning a Dinner + Bibo and Charon + The Pedant +Epigrams of Joseph Addison + The Countess of Manchester + To an Ill-favored Lady + To a Capricious Friend + To a Rogue +Epigrams of Alexander Pope + On Mrs. Tofts + To a Blockhead + The Fool and the Poet +Epigrams of Dean Swift + On Burning a Dull Poem + To a Lady + The Cudgeled Husband + On seeing Verses written upon Windows at Inns + On seeing the Busts of Newton, Looke, etc. + On the Church's Danger + On one Delacourt, etc. + On a Usurer + To Mrs. Biddy Floyd + The Reverse + The Place of the Damned + The Day of Judgment +Paulus the Lawyer Lindsay +Epigrams by Thomas Sheridan. + On a Caricature + On Dean Swift's Proposed Hospital, etc., + To a Dublin Publisher +Which is Which Byron +On some Lines of Lopez de Vega Dr. Johnson +On a Full-length Portrait of Beau Nash, etc., Chesterfield +On Scotland Cleveland +Epigrams of Peter Pindar + Edmund Burke's Attack on Warren Hastings + On an Artist + On the Conclusion of his Odes + The Lex Talionis upon Benjamin West + Barry's Attack upon Sir Joshua Reynolds + On the Death of Mr. Hone + On George the Third's Patronage of Benjamin West + Another on the Same + Epitaph on Peter Staggs + Tray's Epitaph + On a Stone thrown at a very great Man, etc. + A Consolatory StanzaEpigrams by Robert Burns. + The Poet's Choice + On a celebrated Ruling Elder + On John Dove + On Andrew Turner + On a Scotch Coxcomb + On Grizzel Grim + On a Wag in Mauchline + Epitaph on W--- + On a Suicide +Epigrams from the German of Lessing. + Niger + A Nice Point + True Nobility + To a Liar Mendax + The Bad Wife + The Dead Miser + The Bad Orator + The Wise Child + Specimen of the Laconic + Cupid and Mercury + Fritz + On Dorilis + To a Slow Walker, etc. + On Two Beautiful One-eyed Sisters + The Per Contra, or Matrimonial Balance +Epigrams of S. T. Coleridge. + An Expectoration + Expectoration the Second + To a Lady + Avaro + Beelzebub and Job + Sentimental + An Eternal Poem + Bad Poets +To Mr. Alexandre, the Ventriloquist Scott +The Swallows R. B. Sheridan +French and English Erskine +Epigrams by Thomas Moore. + To Sir Hudson Lowe + Dialogue + To Miss --- + To --- + On being Obliged to Leave a Pleasant Party, etc. + What my Thought's like? + From the French + A Joke Versified + The Surprise + On --- + On a Squinting Poetess + On a Tuft-hunter + The Kiss + Epitaph on Southey + Written in a Young Lady's Common-place Book + The Rabbinical Origin of Women + Anacreontique +On Butler's Monument Wesley +On the Disappointment of the Whig Associates + of the Prince Regent, etc Lamb +To Professor Airey Sydney Smith +On Lord Dudley and Ward Rogers +Epigrams of Lord Byron. + To the Author of a Sonnet, etc. + Windsor Poetics + On a Carrier, etc. +Epigrams of R. H. Barham. + On the Windows of King's College, etc. + New-made Honor + Eheu Fugaces +Anonymous Epigrams. + On a Pale Lady, etc. + Upon Pope's Translation of Homer + Recipe for a Modern Bonnet + My Wife and I + On Two Gentlemen, etc. + Wellington's Nose + The Smoker + An Essay on the Understanding + To a Living Author +Epigrams by Thomas Hood. + On the Art Unions + The Superiority of Machinery +Epigrams by W. Savage Landor. + On Observing a Vulgar Name on the Plinth of a Statue + Lying in State +Epigrams from Punch. + The Cause + Irish Particular + One Good Turn deserves Another + Sticky + The Poet Foiled + Black and White + Inquest--not Extraordinary + Domestic Economy + On Seeing an Execution + A Voice, and Nothing Else + The Amende Honorable + The Czar + Bas-Bleu + To a Rich Young Widow + The Railway of Life + A Conjugal Conundrum + Numbers Altered + Grammar for the Court of Berlin + The Empty Bottle + Aytoun + The Death of Doctor Morrison + Bentley's Miscellany +Epigrams by John G. Saxe. + On a Recent Classic Controversy + Another + On an ill-read Lawyer + On an Ugly Person Sitting for a Daguerreotype + Woman's Will + Family Quarrels +A Revolutionary Hero Lowell +Epigrams of Halpin. + The Last Resort + Feminine Arithmetic + The Mushroom Hunt +Jupiter Amans London Leader +The Orator's Epitaph Lord Brougham + + +ECCENTRIC AND NONDESCRIPT. + +The Jovial Priest's Confession Leigh Hunt +Tonis ad Resto Mare Anonymous +Die Dean Swift +Moll Dean Swift +To My Mistress Dean Swift +A Love Song Dean Swift +A Gentle Echo on Woman Dean Swift +To my Nose Anonymous +Roger and Dolly Blackwood +The Irishman Blackwood +A Catalectic Monody Cruikshank's Om. +A New Song Gay +Reminiscences of a Sentimentalist Hood +Faithless Nelly Gray Hood +No! Hood +Jacob Omnium's Hoss Thackeray +The Wofle New Ballad of Jane Roney and Mary Brown Thackeray +The Ballad of Eliza Davis Thackeray +Lines on a Late Hospicious Ewent Thackeray +The Lamentable Ballad of the Foundling of Shoreditch Thackeray +The Crystal Palace Thackeray +The Speculators Thackeray +A Letter from Mr. Hosea Biglow, etc. Lowell +A Letter from a Candidate for the Presidency Lowell +The Candidate's Creed Lowell +The Courtin' Lowell +A Song for a Catarrh Punch +Epitaph on a Candle Punch +Poetry on an Improved Principle Punch +On a Rejected Nosegay Punch +A Serenade Punch +Railroad Nursery Rhyme Punch +An Invitation to the Zoological Gardens Punch +To the Leading Periodical Punch +The People and their Palace Punch +A Swell's Homage to Mrs. Stowe Punch +The Exclusive's Broken Idol Punch +The Last Kick of Fop's Alley Punch +The Mad Cabman's Song of Sixpence Punch +Alarming Prospect Punch +Epitaph on a Locomotive Punch +The Ticket of Leave Punch +A Polka Lyric Barclay Phillips +A Sunnit to the Big Ox Anonymous + +ENIGMATIC. + +Riddles by Matthew Prior. Two Riddles + Enigma + Another +Riddles by Dean Swift and his friends. + A Maypole + On the Moon + On Ink + On a Circle + On a Pen + A Fan + On a Cannon + On the Five Senses + On Snow + On a Candle + On a Corkscrew + On the Same + An Echo + On the Vowels + On a Pair of Dice + On a Shadow in a Glass + On Time + +LIST OF SOURCES + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + +JAMES PARTON +BRYANT +BURNS +LAMB +BYRON +POPE +CHAUCER +WILLIS +HOLMES +LOWELL +LANDOR +THACKERAY + + + + +MISCELLANEOUS. + +TO MY EMPTY PURSE. + CHAUCER. + +To you, my purse, and to none other wight, +Complain I, for ye be my lady dere; +I am sorry now that ye be light, +For, certes, ye now make me heavy chere; +Me were as lefe be laid upon a bere, +For which unto your mercy thus I crie, +Be heavy againe, or els mote I die. + +Now vouchsafe this day or it be night, +That I of you the blissful sowne may here, +Or see your color like the sunne bright, +That of yellowness had never pere; Ye are my life, ye be my hertes +stere, +Queen of comfort and of good companie, +Be heavy again, or else mote I die. + +Now purse, thou art to me my lives light, +And saviour, as downe in this world here, +Out of this towne helpe me by your might, +Sith that you will not be my treasure, +For I am slave as nere as any frere, +But I pray unto your curtesie, +Be heavy again, or els mote I die. + + + +TO CHLOE. + +AN APOLOGY FOR GOING INTO THE COUNTRY. + PETER PINDAR. + +Chloe, we must not always be in heaven, + For ever toying, ogling, kissing, billing; +The joys for which I thousands would have given, + Will presently be scarcely worth a shilling. + +Thy neck is fairer than the Alpine snows, + And, sweetly swelling, beats the down of doves; +Thy cheek of health, a rival to the rose; + Thy pouting lips, the throne of all the loves; +Yet, though thus beautiful beyond expression, +That beauty fadeth by too much possession. + +Economy in love is peace to nature, +Much like economy in worldly matter; +We should be prudent, never live too fast; +Profusion will not, can not, always last. + +Lovers are really spendthrifts--'tis a shame-- +Nothing their thoughtless, wild career can tame, + Till penury stares them in the face; +And when they find an empty purse, +Grown calmer, wiser, how the fault they curse, + And, limping, look with such a sneaking grace! +Job's war-horse fierce, his neck with thunder hung, +Sunk to an humble hack that carries dung. + +Smell to the queen of flowers, the fragrant rose-- +Smell twenty times--and then, my dear, thy nose +Will tell thee (not so much for scent athirst) +The twentieth drank less flavor than the FIRST. + +Love, doubtless, is the sweetest of all fellows; + Yet often should the little god retire-- +Absence, dear Chloe, is a pair of bellows, + That keeps alive the sacred fire. + + + +TO A FLY, + +TAKEN OUT OF A BOWL OF PUNCH. + PETER PINDAR. + +Ah! poor intoxicated little knave, +Now senseless, floating on the fragrant wave; + Why not content the cakes alone to munch? +Dearly thou pay'st for buzzing round the bowl; +Lost to the world, thou busy sweet-lipped soul-- + Thus Death, as well as Pleasure, dwells with Punch. + +Now let me take thee out, and moralize-- +Thus 'tis with mortals, as it is with flies, + Forever hankering after Pleasure's cup: +Though Fate, with all his legions, be at hand, +The beasts, the draught of Circe can't withstand, + But in goes every nose--they must, will sup. + +Mad are the passions, as a colt untamed! + When Prudence mounts their backs to ride them mild, +They fling, they snort, they foam, they rise inflamed, + Insisting on their own sole will so wild. + +Gadsbud! my buzzing friend, thou art not dead; +The Fates, so kind, have not yet snapped thy thread; +By heavens, thou mov'st a leg, and now its brother. +And kicking, lo, again, thou mov'st another! + +And now thy little drunken eyes unclose, +And now thou feelest for thy little nose, + And, finding it, thou rubbest thy two hands +Much as to say, "I'm glad I'm here again." +And well mayest thou rejoice--'tis very plain, + That near wert thou to Death's unsocial lands. + +And now thou rollest on thy back about, +Happy to find thyself alive, no doubt-- + Now turnest--on the table making rings, +Now crawling, forming a wet track, +Now shaking the rich liquor from thy back, + Now fluttering nectar from thy silken wings. + +Now standing on thy head, thy strength to find, +And poking out thy small, long legs behind; +And now thy pinions dost thou briskly ply; +Preparing now to leave me--farewell, fly! + +Go, join thy brothers on yon sunny board, +And rapture to thy family afford-- + There wilt thou meet a mistress, or a wife, +That saw thee drunk, drop senseless in the stream +Who gave, perhaps, the wide-resounding scream, + And now sits groaning for thy precious life. + +Yes, go and carry comfort to thy friends, +And wisely tell them thy imprudence ends. + +Let buns and sugar for the future charm; +These will delight, and feed, and work no harm-- + While Punch, the grinning, merry imp of sin, +Invites th' unwary wanderer to a kiss, +Smiles in his face, as though he meant him bliss, + Then, like an alligator, drags him in. + + + +MAN MAY BE HAPPY. + PETER PINDAR. + +"Man may be happy, if he will:" +I've said it often, and I think so still; + Doctrine to make the million stare! +Know then, each mortal is an actual Jove; +Can brew what weather he shall most approve, + Or wind, or calm, or foul, or fair. + +But here's the mischief--man's an ass, I say; + Too fond of thunder, lightning, storm, and rain; +He hides the charming, cheerful ray + That spreads a smile o'er hill and plain! +Dark, he must court the skull, and spade, and shroud-- +The mistress of his soul must be a cloud! + +Who told him that he must be cursed on earth? + The God of Nature?--No such thing; +Heaven whispered him, the moment of his birth, + "Don't cry, my lad, but dance and sing; +Don't be too wise, and be an ape:-- +In colors let thy soul be dressed, not crape. + +"Roses shall smooth life's journey, and adorn; + Yet mind me--if, through want of grace, + Thou mean'st to fling the blessing in my face, +Thou hast full leave to tread upon a thorn." + +Yet some there are, of men, I think the worst, +Poor imps! unhappy, if they can't be cursed-- + Forever brooding over Misery's eggs, +As though life's pleasure were a deadly sin; +Mousing forever for a gin + To catch their happiness by the legs. + +Even at a dinner some will be unblessed, +However good the viands, and well dressed: + They always come to table with a scowl, +Squint with a face of verjuice o'er each dish, +Fault the poor flesh, and quarrel with the fish, + Curse cook and wife, and, loathing, eat and growl. + +A cart-load, lo, their stomachs steal, +Yet swear they can not make a meal. +I like not the blue-devil-hunting crew! + I hate to drop the discontented jaw! +O let me Nature's simple smile pursue, + And pick even pleasure from a straw. + + + +ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. + +WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY TORMENTED BY THAT DISORDER. + ROBERT BURNS. + +My curse upon thy venom'd stang, +That shoots my tortur'd gums alang; +And thro' my lugs gies mony a twang, + Wi' gnawing vengeance; +Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, + Like racking engines! + +When fevers burn, or ague freezes, +Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes; +Our neighbors' sympathy may ease us, + Wi' pitying moan; +But thee--thou hell o' a' diseases, + Aye mocks our groan! + +A down my beard the slavers trickle! +I kick the wee stools o'er the mickle, +As round the fire the giglets keckle, + To see me loup; +While, raving mad, I wish a heckle + Were in their doup. + +O' a' the num'rous human dools, +Ill har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, +Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools, + Sad sight to see! +The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools, + Thou bear'st the gree. + +Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, +Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell, +And ranked plagues their numbers tell, + In dreadfu' raw, +Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell, + Amang them a'; + +O thou grim mischief-making chiel, +That gars the notes of discord squeel, +'Till daft mankind aft dance a reel + In gore a shoe-thick;-- +Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal + A towmond's Toothache! + + + +THE PIG. + +A COLLOQUIAL POEM. + ROBERT SOUTHEY + +Jacob! I do not like to see thy nose +Turn'd up in scornful curve at yonder pig, +It would be well, my friend, if we, like him, +Were perfect in our kind!..And why despise +The sow-born grunter?..He is obstinate, +Thou answerest; ugly, and the filthiest beast +That banquets upon offal. ...Now I pray you +Hear the pig's counsel. + Is he obstinate? +We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words; +We must not take them as unheeding hands +Receive base money at the current worth +But with a just suspicion try their sound, +And in the even balance weigh them well +See now to what this obstinacy comes: +A poor, mistreated, democratic beast, +He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek +Their profit, and not his. He hath not learned +That pigs were made for man,...born to be brawn'd +And baconized: that he must please to give +Just what his gracious masters please to take; +Perhaps his tusks, the weapons Nature gave +For self-defense, the general privilege; +Perhaps,...hark, Jacob! dost thou hear that horn? +Woe to the young posterity of Pork! +Their enemy is at hand. + Again. Thou say'st +The pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him! +Those eyes have taught the lover flattery. +His face, ...nay, Jacob! Jacob! were it fair +To judge a lady in her dishabille? +Fancy it dressed, and with saltpeter rouged. +Behold his tail, my friend; with curls like that +The wanton hop marries her stately spouse: +So crisp in beauty Amoretta's hair +Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love. +And what is beauty, but the aptitude +Of parts harmonious? Give thy fancy scope, +And thou wilt find that no imagined change +Can beautify this beast. Place at his end +The starry glories of the peacock's pride, +Give him the swan's white breast; for his horn-hoofs +Shape such a foot and ankle as the waves +Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss +When Venus from the enamor'd sea arose;... +Jacob, thou canst but make a monster of him! +All alteration man could think, would mar +His pig-perfection. + The last charge,...he lives +A dirty life. Here I could shelter him +With noble and right-reverend precedents, +And show by sanction of authority +That 'tis a very honorable thing +To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest +On better ground the unanswerable defense. +The pig is a philosopher, who knows +No prejudice. Dirt?...Jacob, what is dirt? +If matter,...why the delicate dish that tempts +An o'ergorged epicure to the last morsel +That stuffs him to the throat-gates, is no more. +If matter be not, but as sages say, +Spirit is all, and all things visible +Are one, the infinitely modified, +Think, Jacob, what that pig is, and the mire +Wherein he stands knee-deep! + And there! the breeze +Pleads with me, and has won thee to a smile +That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossom'd field +Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise. + + + +SNUFF. + ROBERT SOUTHEY. + +A delicate pinch! oh how it tingles up +The titillated nose, and fills the eyes +And breast, till in one comfortable sneeze +The full-collected pleasure bursts at last! +Most rare Columbus! thou shalt be for this +The only Christopher in my calendar. +Why, but for thee the uses of the nose +Were half unknown, and its capacity +Of joy. The summer gale that from the heath, +At midnoon glowing with the golden gorse, +Bears its balsamic odor, but provokes +Not satisfies the sense; and all the flowers, +That with their unsubstantial fragrance tempt +And disappoint, bloom for so short a space, +That half the year the nostrils would keep lent, +But that the kind tobacconist admits +No winter in his work; when Nature sleeps +His wheels roll on, and still administer +A plenitude of joy, a tangible smell. + + What are Peru and those Golcondan mines +To thee, Virginia? miserable realms, +The produce of inhuman toil, they send +Gold for the greedy, jewels for the vain. +But thine are COMMON comforts!...To omit +Pipe-panegyric and tobacco-praise, +Think what a general joy the snuff-box gives, +Europe, and far above Pizarro's name +Write Raleigh in thy records of renown! +Him let the school-boy bless if he behold +His master's box produced, for when he sees +The thumb and finger of authority +Stuffed up the nostrils: when hat, head, and wig +Shake all; when on the waistcoat black, brown dust, +From the oft-reiterated pinch profuse +Profusely scattered, lodges in its folds, +And part on the magistral table lights, +Part on the open book, soon blown away, +Full surely soon shall then the brow severe +Relax; and from vituperative lips +Words that of birch remind not, sounds of praise, +And jokes that MUST be laughed at shall proceed. + + +A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO. + CHARLES LAMB. + +May the Babylonish curse +Straight confound my stammering verse, +If I can a passage see +In this word-perplexity, +Or a fit expression find, +Or a language to my mind, +(Still the phrase is wide or scant) +To take leave of thee, GREAT PLANT! +Or in any terms relate +Half my love, or half my hate: +For I hate, yet love thee, so, +That, whichever thing I show, +The plain truth will seem to be +A constrain'd hyperbole, +And the passion to proceed +More from a mistress than a weed. + + Sooty retainer to the vine, +Bacchus' black servant, negro fine; +Sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon +Thy begrimed complexion, +And, for thy pernicious sake, +More and greater oaths to break +Than reclaimed lovers take +'Gainst women: thou thy siege dost lay +Much too in the female way, +While thou suck'st the lab'ring breath +Faster than kisses or than death, + + Thou in such a cloud dost bind us, +That our worst foes can not find us, +And ill fortune, that would thwart us +Shoots at rovers, shooting at us; +While each man, through thy height'ning steam, +Does like a smoking Etna seem, +And all about us does express +(Fancy and wit in richest dress) +A Sicilian fruitfulness. + + Thou through such a mist dost show us, +That our best friends do not know us, +And, for those allowed features, +Due to reasonable creatures, +Liken'st us to fell Chimeras, +Monsters that, who see us, fear us; +Worse than Cerberus or Geryon, +Or, who first loved a cloud, Ixion. + + Bacchus we know, and we allow +His tipsy rites. But what art thou +That but by reflex canst show +What his deity can do, +As the false Egyptian spell +Aped the true Hebrew miracle? +Some few vapors thou may'st raise, +The weak brain may serve to amaze, +But to the reins and nobler heart +Canst nor life nor heat impart. + Brother of Bacchus, later born. +The old world was sure forlorn +Wanting thee, that aidest more +The god's victories than before +All his panthers, and the brawls +Of his piping Bacchanals. +These, as stale, we disallow, +Or judge of THEE meant only thou +His true Indian conquest art; +And, for ivy round his dart, +The reformed god now weaves +A finer thyrsus of thy leaves. + + Scent to match thy rich perfume +Chemic art did ne'er presume +Through her quaint alembic strain, +None so sov'reign to the brain; +Nature, that did in thee excel, +Framed again no second smell. +Roses, violets, but toys +For the smaller sort of boys, +Or for greener damsels meant; +Thou art the only manly scent. + + Stinking'st of the stinking land, +Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind, +Africa, that brags her foison, +Breeds no such prodigious poison +Henbane, nightshade, both together, +Hemlock, aconite--- + + Nay, rather, +Plant divine, of rarest virtue; +Blisters on the tongue would hurt you. +'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee; +None e'er prosper'd who defamed thee +Irony all, and feign'd abuse, +Such as perplex'd lovers use, +At a need, when, in despair +To paint forth their fairest fair, +Or in part but to express +That exceeding comeliness +Which their fancies doth so strike, +They borrow language of dislike; +And, instead of Dearest Miss, +Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss, +And those forms of old admiring, +Call her Cockatrice and Siren, +Basilisk, and all that's evil, +Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil, +Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor, +Monkey, Ape, and twenty more; +Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe-- +Not that she is truly so, +But no other way they know +A contentment to express, +Borders so upon excess, +That they do not rightly wot +Whether it be pain or not. + + Or, as men, constrain'd to part +With what's nearest to their heart, +While their sorrow's at the height, +Lose discrimination quite, +And their hasty wrath let fall, +To appease their frantic gall, +On the darling thing whatever, +Whence they feel it death to sever +Though it be, as they, perforce, +Guiltless of the sad divorce. + + For I must (nor let it grieve thee, +Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee. +For thy sake; TOBACCO, I +Would do any thing but die, +And but seek to extend my days +Long enough to sing thy praise. +But, as she, who once hath been +A king's consort, is a queen +Ever after, nor will bate +Any title of her state, +Though a widow, or divorced, +So I, from thy converse forced, +The old name and style retain, +A right Katherine of Spain; +And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys +Of the blest Tobacco Boys. +Where, though I, by sour physician, +Am debarr'd the full fruition +Of thy favors, I may catch +Some collateral sweets, and snatch +Sidelong odors, that give life +like glances from a neighbor's wife; +And still live in the by-places +And the suburbs of thy graces; +And in thy holders take delight, +An unconquer'd Canaanite. + + + +WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS. + + BYRON. + +If, in the month of dark December, + Leander, who was nightly wont, +(What maid will not the tale remember?) + To cross thy stream broad Hellespont! + +If, when the wint'ry tempest roar'd, + He sped to Hero nothing loth, +And thus of old thy current pour'd, + Fair Venus! how I pity both! + +For ME, degenerate, modern wretch, + Though in the genial month of May, +My dripping limbs I faintly stretch, + And think I've done a feat to-day. + +But since he crossed the rapid tide, + According to the doubtful story, +To woo--and--Lord knows what beside, + And swam for Love, as I for Glory; + +'Twere hard to say who fared the best: + Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you! +He lost his labor, I my jest; + For he was drowned, and I've the ague + + + + +THE LISBON PACKET. + BYRON. + +Huzza! Hodgson, we are going, + Our embargo's off at last; +Favorable breezes blowing + Bend the canvas o'er the mast. +From aloft the signal's streaming, + Hark! the farewell gun is fired; +Women screeching, tars blaspheming, + Tell us that our time's expired. + Here's a rascal + Come to task all, + Prying from the custom-house; + Trunks unpacking, + Cases cracking, + Not a corner for a mouse +'Scapes unsearched amid the racket, +Ere we sail on board the Packet. + +Now our boatmen quit their mooring, + And all hands must ply the oar; +Baggage from the quay is lowering, + We're impatient--push from shore. +"Have a care! that case holds liquor-- + Stop the boat--I'm sick--O Lord!" +"Sick, ma'am, damme, you'll be sicker + Ere you've been an hour on board." + Thus are screaming + Men and women, +Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks; + Here entangling, + All are wrangling, + Stuck together close as wax.-- +Such the general noise and racket, +Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet. + +Now we've reached her, lo! the captain, + Gallant Kid, commands the crew; +Passengers their berths are clapped in, + Some to grumble, some to spew. +"Hey day! call you that a cabin? + Why, 'tis hardly three feet square; +Not enough to stow Queen Mab in-- + Who the deuce can harbor there?" + "Who, sir? plenty-- + Nobles twenty + Did at once my vessel fill."-- + "Did they? Jesus, + How you squeeze us! + Would to God they did so still; +Then I'd 'scape the heat and racket +Of the good ship Lisbon Packet." + +Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you? + Stretched along the decks like logs-- +Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you! + Here's a rope's end for the dogs. +Hobhouse muttering fearful curses, + As the hatchway down he rolls, +Now his breakfast, now his verses, + Vomits forth--and damns our souls. + "Here's a stanza + On Braganza-- + Help!"--"A couplet?"--"No, a cup + Of warm water--" + "What's the matter?" + "Zounds! my liver's coming up; +I shall not survive the racket +Of this brutal Lisbon Packet." + +Now at length we're off for Turkey, + Lord knows when we shall come back! +Breezes foul and tempests murky + May unship us in a crack. +But, since life at most a jest is, + As philosophers allow, +Still to laugh by far the best is, + Then laugh on--as I do now. + Laugh at all things, + Great and small things, + Sick or well, at sea or shore; + While we're quaffing, + Let's have laughing-- + Who the devil cares for more?-- +Some good wine! and who would lack it, +Even on board the Lisbon Packet? + + + +TO FANNY. + THOMAS MOORE + +Never mind how the pedagogue proses, + You want not antiquity's stamp, +The lip that's so scented by roses, + Oh! never must smell of the lamp. + +Old Chloe, whose withering kisses + Have long set the loves at defiance, +Now done with the science of blisses, + May fly to the blisses of science! + +Young Sappho, for want of employments, + Alone o'er her Ovid may melt, +Condemned but to read of enjoyments, + Which wiser Corinna had felt. + +But for YOU to be buried in books-- + Oh, FANNY! they're pitiful sages; +Who could not in ONE of your looks + Read more than in millions of pages! + +Astronomy finds in your eye + Better light than she studies above, +And music must borrow your sigh + As the melody dearest to love. + +In Ethics--'tis you that can check, + In a minute, their doubts and their quarrels +Oh! show but that mole on your neck, + And 'twill soon put an end to their morals. + +Your Arithmetic only can trip + When to kiss and to count you endeavor; +But eloquence glows on your lip + When you swear that you'll love me forever + +Thus you see what a brilliant alliance + Of arts is assembled in you-- +A course of more exquisite science + Man never need wish to go through! + +And, oh!--if a fellow like me + May confer a diploma of hearts, +With my lip thus I seal your degree, + My divine little Mistress of Arts! + + + +YOUNG JESSICA. + THOMAS MOORE. + +Young Jessica sat all the day, + In love-dreams languishingly pining, +Her needle bright neglected lay, + Like truant genius idly shining. +Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts + That love and mischief are most nimble; +The safest shield against the darts + Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. + +A child who with a magnet play'd, + And knew its winning ways so wily, +The magnet near the needle laid, + And laughing, said, "We'll steal it slily." +The needle, having naught to do, + Was pleased to let the magnet wheedle, +Till closer still the tempter drew, + And off, at length, eloped the needle. + +Now, had this needle turn'd its eye + To some gay reticule's construction, +It ne'er had stray'd from duty's tie, + Nor felt a magnet's sly seduction. +Girls would you keep tranquil hearts, + Your snowy fingers must be nimble; +The safest shield against the darts + Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. + + + + +RINGS AND SEALS. + THOMAS MOORE. + +"Go!" said the angry weeping maid, +"The charm is broken!--once betray'd, +Oh! never can my heart rely +On word or look, on oath or sigh. +Take back the gifts, so sweetly given, +With promis'd faith and vows to heaven; +That little ring, which, night and morn, +With wedded truth my hand hath worn; +That seal which oft, in moments blest, +Thou hast upon my lip imprest, +And sworn its dewy spring should be +A fountain seal'd for only thee! +Take, take them back, the gift and vow, +All sullied, lost, and hateful, now!" + +I took the ring--the seal I took, +While oh! her every tear and look +Were such as angels look and shed, +When man is by the world misled! +Gently I whisper'd, "FANNY, dear! +Not half thy lover's gifts are here: +Say, where are all the seals he gave +To every ringlet's jetty wave, +And where is every one he printed +Upon that lip, so ruby-tinted-- +Seals of the purest gem of bliss, +Oh! richer, softer, far than this! + +"And then the ring--my love! recall +How many rings, delicious all, +His arms around that neck hath twisted, +Twining warmer far than this did! +Where are they all, so sweet, so many? +Oh! dearest, give back all, if any!" + +While thus I murmur'd, trembling too +Lest all the nymph had vow'd was true, +I saw a smile relenting rise +'Mid the moist azure of her eyes. +Like day-light o'er a sea of blue, +While yet the air is dim with dew! +She let her cheek repose on mine, +She let my arms around her twine-- +Oh! who can tell the bliss one feels +In thus exchanging rings and seals! + + + +NETS AND CAGES. + THOMAS MOORE. + +Come, listen to my story, while + Your needle's task you ply; +At what I sing some maids will smile, + While some, perhaps, may sigh. +Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames + Such florid songs as ours, +Yet Truth, sometimes, like eastern dames, + Can speak her thoughts by flowers. +Then listen, maids, come listen, while + Your needle's task you ply; +At what I sing there's some may smile, + While some, perhaps, will sigh. +Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves, + Such nets had learn'd to frame, +That none, in all our vales and groves, + Ere caught so much small game: +While gentle Sue, less given to roam, + When Cloe's nets were taking +These flights of birds, sat still at home, + One small, neat Love-cage making. + Come, listen, maids, etc. + +Much Cloe laugh'd at Susan's task; + But mark how things went on: +These light-caught Loves, ere you could ask + Their name and age, were gone! +So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove, + That, though she charm'd into them +New game each hour, the youngest Love + Was able to break through them. + Come, listen, maids, etc. + +Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrought + Of bars too strong to sever, +One love with golden pinions caught, + And caged him there forever; +Instructing thereby, all coquettes, + Whate'er their looks or ages, +That, though 'tis pleasant weaving Nets, + 'Tis wiser to make Cages. +Thus, maidens, thus do I beguile + The task your fingers ply-- +May all who hear, like Susan smile, + Ah! not like Cloe sigh! + + + +SALAD. + SYDNEY SMITH. + +To make this condiment, your poet begs +The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs; +Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen-sieve, +Smoothness and softness to the salad give; +Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, +And, half-suspected, animate the whole. +Of mordant mustard add a single spoon, +Distrust the condiment that bites so soon; +But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault, +To add a double quantity of salt. +And, lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss +A magic soup-spoon of anchovy sauce. +Oh, green and glorious! Oh, herbaceous treat! +'Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat; +Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul, +And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl! +Serenely full, the epicure would say, +Fate can not harm me, I have dined to-day! + + + + +MY LETTERS. + R. HARRIS BARHAM. + + + "Litera scripta manet."--Old Saw. + +Another mizzling, drizzling day! + Of clearing up there's no appearance; +So I'll sit down without delay, + And here, at least, I'll make a clearance! + +Oh ne'er "on such a day as this," + Would Dido with her woes oppressed +Have woo'd AEneas back to bliss, + Or Trolius gone to hunt for Cressid! + +No, they'd have stay'd at home, like me, + And popp'd their toes upon the fender, +And drank a quiet cup of tea: + On days like this one can't be tender. + +So, Molly, draw that basket nigher, + And put my desk upon the table-- +Bring that portfolio--stir the fire-- + Now off as fast as you are able! + +First here's a card from Mrs. Grimes, + "A ball!"--she knows that I'm no dancer-- +That woman's ask'd me fifty times, + And yet I never send an answer. + +"DEAR JACK,-- + Just lend me twenty pounds, +Till Monday next, when I'll return it. + Yours truly, + HENRY GIBBS." + Why Z--ds! +I've seen the man but twice--here, burn it. + +One from my cousin Sophy Daw-- + Full of Aunt Margery's distresses; +"The cat has kitten'd 'in the DRAW,' + And ruin'd two bran-new silk dresses." + +From Sam, "The Chancellor's motto,"--nay + Confound his puns, he knows I hate 'em; +"Pro Rege, Lege, Grege,"--Ay, + "For King read Mob!" Brougham's old erratum. + +From Seraphina Price--"At two"-- + "Till then I can't, my dearest John, stir;" +Two more because I did not go, + Beginning "Wretch" and "Faithless Monster! + +"Dear Sir,-- + "This morning Mrs. P--- +Who's doing quite as well as may be, + Presented me at half past three +Precisely, with another baby. + +"Well name it John, and know with pleasure + You'll stand"--Five guineas more, confound it!-- +I wish they'd call it Nebuchadnezzar, + Or thrown it in the Thames and drown'd it. + +What have we next? A civil dun: + "John Brown would take it as a favor"-- +Another, and a surlier one, + "I can't put up with SICH behavior." + +"Bill so long standing,"--"quite tired out,"-- + "Must sit down to insist on payment," +"Called ten times,"--Here's a fuss about + A few coats, waistcoats, and small raiment. + +For once I'll send an answer, and in- + form Mr. Snip he needn't "call" so; +But when his bill's as "tired of standing" + As he is, beg't will "sit down also." + +This from my rich old Uncle Ned, + Thanking me for my annual present; +And saying he last Tuesday wed + His cook-maid, Molly--vastly pleasant! + +An ill-spelt note from Tom at school, + Begging I'll let him learn the fiddle; +Another from that precious fool, + Miss Pyefinch, with a stupid riddle. + +"D'ye give it up?" Indeed I do! + Confound those antiquated minxes: +I won't play "Billy Black" to a "Blue," + Or OEdipus to such old sphinxes. + +A note sent up from Kent to show me, + Left with my bailiff, Peter King; +"I'll burn them precious stacks down, blow me! + "Yours most sincerely, + "CAPTAIN SWING." + +Four begging letters with petitions, + One from my sister Jane, to pray +I'll execute a few commissions + In Bond-street, "when I go that way." + +"And buy at Pearsall's in the city + Twelve skeins of silk for netting purses: +Color no matter, so it's pretty;-- + Two hundred pons"--two hundred curses! + +From Mistress Jones: "My little Billy + Goes up his schooling to begin, +Will you just step to Piccadilly, + And meet him when the coach comes in? + +"And then, perhaps, you will as well, see + The poor dear fellow safe to school +At Dr. Smith's in Little Chelsea!" + Heaven send he flog the little fool! + +From Lady Snooks: "Dear Sir, you know + You promised me last week a Rebus; +A something smart and apropos, + For my new Album?"--Aid me, Phoebus! + +"My first is follow'd by my second; + Yet should my first my second see, +A dire mishap it would be reckon'd, + And sadly shock'd my first would be. + +"Were I but what my whole implies, + And pass'd by chance across your portal +You'd cry 'Can I believe my eyes? + I never saw so queer a mortal!' + +"For then my head would not be on, + My arms their shoulders must abandon; +My very body would be gone, + I should not have a leg to stand on." + +Come that's dispatch'd--what follows?--Stay + "Reform demanded by the nation; +Vote for Tagrag and Bobtail!" Ay, + By Jove a blessed REFORMATION! + +Jack, clap the saddle upon Rose-- + Or no!--the filly--she's the fleeter; +The devil take the rain--here goes, + I'm off--a plumper for Sir Peter! + + + +THE POPLAR. + R. HARRIS BARHAM. + +Ay, here stands the Poplar, so tall and so stately, + On whose tender rind--'twas a little one then-- +We carved HER initials; though not very lately, + We think in the year eighteen hundred and ten. + +Yes, here is the G which proclaimed Georgiana; + Our heart's empress then; see, 'tis grown all askew; +And it's not without grief we perforce entertain a + Conviction, it now looks much more like a Q. + +This should be the great D too, that once stood for Dobbin, + Her lov'd patronymic--ah! can it be so? +Its once fair proportions, time, too, has been robbing; + A D?--we'll be DEED if it isn't an O! + +Alas! how the soul sentimental it vexes, + That thus on our labors stern CHRONOS should frown +Should change our soft liquids to izzards and Xes, + And turn true-love's alphabet all upside down! + + + + +SPRING. + +A NEW VERSION. + THOMAS HOOD. + + "HAM. The air bites shrewdly--it is very cold. + HOR. It is a nipping and eager air."--HAMLET. + +Come, GENTLE Spring! ethereal MILDNESS, come! + O! Thomson, void of rhyme as well as reason, +How couldst thou thus poor human nature hum? + There's no such season. + +The Spring! I shrink and shudder at her name! + For why, I find her breath a bitter blighter! +And suffer from her BLOWS as if they came + From Spring the Fighter. + +Her praises, then, let hardy poets sing, + And be her tuneful laureates and upholders, +Who do not feel as if they had a SPRING + Poured down their shoulders! + +Let others eulogize her floral shows; + From me they can not win a single stanza. +I know her blooms are in full blow--and so's + The Influenza. + +Her cowslips, stocks, and lilies of the vale, + Her honey-blossoms that you hear the bees at, +Her pansies, daffodils, and primrose pale, + Are things I sneeze at! + +Fair is the vernal quarter of the year! + And fair its early buddings and its blowings-- +But just suppose Consumption's seeds appear + With other sowings! + +For me, I find, when eastern winds are high, + A frigid, not a genial inspiration; +Nor can, like Iron-Chested Chubb, defy + An inflammation. + +Smitten by breezes from the land of plague, + To me all vernal luxuries are fables, +O! where's the SPRING in a rheumatic leg, + Stiff as a table's? + +I limp in agony--I wheeze and cough; + And quake with Ague, that great Agitator, +Nor dream, before July, of leaving off + My Respirator. + +What wonder if in May itself I lack + A peg for laudatory verse to hang on?-- +Spring, mild and gentle!--yes, a Spring-heeled Jack + To those he sprang on. + +In short, whatever panegyrics lie + In fulsome odes too many to be cited, +The tenderness of Spring is all my eye, + And that is blighted! + + + +ODE. + +ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF CLAPHAM ACADEMY. + THOMAS HOOD. + +Ah me! those old familiar bounds! +That classic house, those classic grounds, + My pensive thought recalls! +What tender urchins now confine, +What little captives now repine, + Within yon irksome walls! + +Ay, that's the very house! I know +Its ugly windows, ten a row! + Its chimneys in the rear! +And there's the iron rod so high, +That drew the thunder from the sky + And turned our table-beer! + +There I was birched! there I was bred! +There like a little Adam fed + From Learning's woeful tree! +The weary tasks I used to con!-- +The hopeless leaves I wept upon!-- + Most fruitful leaves to me! + +The summoned class!--the awful bow!-- +I wonder who is master now + And wholesome anguish sheds! +How many ushers now employs, +How many maids to see the boys + Have nothing in their heads! + +And Mrs. S * * *?--Doth she abet +(Like Pallas in the palor) yet + Some favored two or three-- +The little Crichtons of the hour, +Her muffin-medals that devour, + And swill her prize--bohea? + +Ay, there's the playground! there's the lime, +Beneath whose shade in summer's prime + So wildly I have read!-- +Who sits there NOW, and skims the cream +Of young Romance, and weaves a dream + Of Love and Cottage-bread? + +Who struts the Randall of the walk? +Who models tiny heads in chalk? + Who scoops the light canoe? +What early genius buds apace? +Where's Poynter? Harris? Bowers? Chase! + Hal Baylis? blithe Carew? + +Alack! they're gone--a thousand ways! +And some are serving in "the Greys," + And some have perished young!-- +Jack Harris weds his second wife; +Hal Baylis drives the WAYNE of life; + And blithe Carew--is hung! + +Grave Bowers teaches A B C +To Savages at Owhyee; + Poor Chase is with the worms!-- +All are gone--the olden breed!-- +New crops of mushroom boys succeeds, + "And push us from our FORMS!" + +Lo! where they scramble forth, and shout, +And leap, and skip, and mob about, + At play where we have played! +Some hop, some run (some fall), some twine +Their crony arms; some in the shine, + And some are in the shade! + +Lo there what mixed conditions run! +The orphan lad; the widow's son; + And Fortune's favored care-- +The wealthy born, for whom she hath +Macadamized the future path-- + The nabob's pampered heir! + +Some brightly starred--some evil born-- +For honor some, and some for scorn-- + For fair or foul renown! +Good, bad, indifferent--none they lack! +Look, here's a white, and there's a black! + And there's a creole brown! + +Some laugh and sing, some mope and weep, +And wish THEIR frugal sires would keep + Their only sons at home;-- +Some tease the future tense, and plan +The full-grown doings of the man, + And pant for years to come! + +A foolish wish! There's one at hoop; +And four at FIVES! and five who stoop + The marble taw to speed! +And one that curvets in and out, +Reining his fellow-cob about, + Would I were in his STEED! + +Yet he would gladly halt and drop +That boyish harness off, to swop + With this world's heavy van-- +To toil, to tug. O little fool! +While thou can be a horse at school + To wish to be a man! + +Perchance thou deem'st it were a thing +To wear a crown--to be a king! + And sleep on regal down! +Alas! thou know'st not kingly cares; +Far happier is thy head that wears + That hat without a crown! + +And dost thou think that years acquire +New added joys? Dost think thy sire + More happy than his son? +That manhood's mirth?--O, go thy ways +To Drury-lane when----PLAYS, + And see how FORCED our fun! + +Thy taws are brave!--thy tops are rare!-- +OUR tops are spun with coils of care, + Our DUMPS are no delight!-- +The Elgin marbles are but tame, +And 'tis at best a sorry game + To fly the Muse's kite! + +Our hearts are dough, our heels are lead, +Our topmost joys fall dull and dead, + Like balls with no rebound! +And often with a faded eye +We look behind, and send a sigh + Toward that merry ground! + +Then be contented. Thou hast got +The most of heaven in thy young lot; + There's sky-blue in thy cup! +Thou'lt find thy manhood all too fast-- +Soon come, soon gone! and age at last + A sorry BREAKING UP! + + + + +SCHOOL AND SCHOOL-FELLOWS. + W. MACKWORTH PRAED. + +Twelve years ago I made a mock + Of filthy trades and traffics: +I wondered what they meant by stock; + I wrote delightful sapphics: +I knew the streets of Rome and Troy, + I supped with fates and furies; +Twelve years ago I was a boy, + A happy boy at Drury's. + +Twelve years ago!--how many a thought + Of faded pains and pleasures, +Those whispered syllables have brought + From memory's hoarded treasures! +The fields, the forms, the beasts, the books. + The glories and disgraces, +The voices of dear friends, the looks + Of old familiar faces. + +Where are my friends?--I am alone, + No playmate shares my beaker-- +Some lie beneath the church-yard stone, + And some before the Speaker; +And some compose a tragedy, + And some compose a rondo; +And some draw sword for liberty, + And some draw pleas for John Doe. + +Tom Mill was used to blacken eyes, + Without the fear of sessions; +Charles Medler loathed false quantities, + As much as false professions; +Now Mill keeps order in the land, + A magistrate pedantic; +And Medler's feet repose unscanned + Beneath the wide Atlantic. + +Wild Nick, whose oaths made such a din, + Does Dr. Martext's duty; +And Mullion, with that monstrous chin, + Is married to a beauty; +And Darrel studies, week by week, + His Mant and not his Manton; +And Ball, who was but poor at Greek, + Is very rich at Canton. + +And I am eight-and-twenty now-- + The world's cold chain has bound me; +And darker shades are on my brow, + And sadder scenes around me: +In Parliament I fill my seat, + With many other noodles; +And lay my head in Germyn-street, + And sip my hock at Doodle's. + +But often when the cares of life, + Have set my temples aching, +When visions haunt me of a wife, + When duns await my waking, +When Lady Jane is in a pet, + Or Hobby in a hurry, +When Captain Hazard wins a bet, + Or Beauheu spoils a curry: + +For hours and hours, I think and talk + Of each remembered hobby: +I long to lounge in Poet's Walk-- + Or shiver in the lobby; +I wish that I could run away + From House, and court, and levee, +Where bearded men appear to-day, + Just Eton boys, grown heavy; + +That I could bask in childhood's sun, + And dance o'er childhood's roses; +And find huge wealth in one pound one, + Vast wit and broken noses; +And pray Sir Giles at Datchet Lane, + And call the milk-maids Houris; +That I could be a boy again-- + A happy boy at Drury's! + + + + +THE VICAR. + W. MACKWORTH PRAED + +Some years ago, ere Time and Taste + Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, +When Darnel Park was Darnel Waste, + And roads as little known as scurvy, +The man who lost his way between + St. Marys' Hill and Sandy Thicket, +Was always shown across the Green, + And guided to the Parson's Wicket. + +Back flew the bolt of lisson lath; + Fair Margaret in her tidy kirtle, +Led the lorn traveler up the path, + Through clean-clipped rows of box and myrtle: And Don and Sancho, +Tramp and Tray, + Upon the parlor steps collected, +Wagged all their tails, and seemed to say, + "Our master knows you; you're expected!" + +Up rose the Reverend Doctor Brown, + Up rose the Doctor's "winsome marrow;" +The lady lay her knitting down, + Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow; +Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed, + Pundit or papist, saint or sinner, +He found a stable for his steed, + And welcome for himself, and dinner. + +If, when he reached his journey's end, + And warmed himself in court or college, +He had not gained an honest friend, + And twenty curious scraps of knowledge:-- +If he departed as he came, + With no new light on love or liquor,-- +Good sooth the traveler was to blame, + And not the Vicarage, or the Vicar. + +His talk was like a stream which runs + With rapid change from rocks to roses; +It slipped from politics to puns: + It passed from Mohammed to Moses: +Beginning with the laws which keep + The planets in their radiant courses, +And ending with some precept deep + For dressing eels or shoeing horses. + +He was a shrewd and sound divine, + Of loud Dissent the mortal terror; +And when, by dint of page and line, + He 'stablished Truth, or started Error, +The Baptist found him far too deep; + The Deist sighed with saving sorrow; +And the lean Levite went to sleep, + And dreamed of tasting pork to-morrow. + +His sermons never said or showed + That Earth is foul, that Heaven is gracious, +Without refreshment on the road + From Jerome, or from Athanasius; +And sure a righteous zeal inspired + The hand and head that penned and planned them, +For all who understood, admired, + And some who did not understand them. + +He wrote, too, in a quiet way, + Small treatises and smaller verses; +And sage remarks on chalk and clay, + And hints to noble lords and nurses; +True histories of last year's ghost, + Lines to a ringlet or a turban; +And trifles for the Morning Post, + And nothing for Sylvanus Urban. + +He did not think all mischief fair, + Although he had a knack of joking; +He did not make himself a bear, + Although he had a taste for smoking +And when religious sects ran mad, + He held, in spite of all his learning, +That if a man's belief is bad, It will not be improved by burning. + +And he was kind, and loved to sit + In the low hut or garnished cottage, +And praise the farmer's homely wit, + And share the widow's homelier pottage: +At his approach complaint grew mild, + And when his hand unbarred the shutter, +The clammy lips of Fever smiled + The welcome which they could not utter. + +He always had a tale for me + Of Julius Caesar or of Venus: +From him I learned the rule of three, + Cat's cradle, leap-frog, and Quae genus; +I used to singe his powdered wig, + To steal the staff he put such trust in; +And make the puppy dance a jig + When he began to quote Augustin. + +Alack the change! in vain I look + For haunts in which my boyhood trifled; +The level lawn, the trickling brook, + The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled: +The church is larger than before: + You reach it by a carriage entry: +It holds three hundred people more: + And pews are fitted up for gentry. + +Sit in the Vicar's seat: you'll hear + The doctrine of a gentle Johnian, +Whose hand is white, whose tone is clear, + Whose tone is very Ciceronian. +Where is the old man laid?--look down, + And construe on the slab before you, +HIC JACET GULIELMUS BROWN, + VIR NULLA NON DONANDUS LAURA. + + + +THE BACHELOR'S CANE-BOTTOMED CHAIR. + W. M. THACKERAY + +In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars, +And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, +Away from the world and its toils and its cares, +I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs. + +To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure, +But the fire there is bright and the air rather pure; +And the view I behold on a sunshiny day +Is grand through the chimney-pots over the way. + +This snug little chamber is crammed in all nooks, +With worthless old knicknacks and silly old books, +And foolish old odds and foolish old ends, +Cracked bargains from brokers, cheap keepsakes from friends. + +Old armor, prints, pictures, pipes, china (all cracked), +Old rickety tables, and chairs broken-backed; +A twopenny treasury, wondrous to see; +What matter? 'tis pleasant to you, friend, and me. + +No better divan need the Sultan require, +Than the creaking old sofa that basks by the fire; +And 'tis wonderful, surely, what music you get +From the rickety, ramshackle, wheezy spinet. + +That praying-rug came from a Turcoman's camp; +By Tiber once twinkled that brazen old lamp; +A Mameluke fierce yonder dagger has drawn: +'Tis a murderous knife to toast muffins upon. + +Long, long through the hours, and the night, and the chimes, +Here we talk of old books, and old friends, and old times; +As we sit in a fog made of rich Latakie +This chamber is pleasant to you, friend, and me. + +But of all the cheap treasures that garnish my nest, +There's one that I love and I cherish the best; +For the finest of couches that's padded with hair +I never would change thee, my cane-bottomed chair. + +'Tis a bandy-legged, high-shouldered, worm-eaten seat, +With a creaking old back, and twisted old feet; +But since the fair morning when FANNY sat there, +I bless thee and love thee, old cane-bottomed chair. + +If chairs have but feeling in holding such charms, +A thrill must have passed through your withered old arms! +I looked, and I longed, and I wished in despair; +I wished myself turned to a cane-bottomed chair. + +It was but a moment she sat in this place, +She'd a scarf on her neck, and a smile on her face! +A smile on her face, and a rose in her hair, +And she sat there, and bloomed in my cane-bottomed chair. + +And so I have valued my chair ever since, +Like the shrine of a saint, or the throne of a prince; +Saint FANNY, my patroness sweet I declare, +The queen of my heart and my cane-bottomed chair. +When the candles burn low, and the company's gone, +In the silence of night as I sit here alone-- +I sit here alone, but we yet are a pair-- +My FANNY I see in my cane-bottomed chair. + +She comes from the past and revisits my room; +She looks as she then did, all beauty and bloom; +So smiling and tender, so fresh and so fair, +And yonder she sits in my cane-bottomed chair. + + + +STANZAS TO PALE ALE. + PUNCH. + +Oh! I have loved thee fondly, ever + Preferr'd thee to the choicest wine; +From thee my lips they could not sever + By saying thou contain'dst strychnine. +Did I believe the slander? Never! + I held thee still to be divine. + +For me thy color hath a charm, + Although 'tis true they call thee Pale; +And be thou cold when I am warm, + As late I've been--so high the scale +Of FAHRENHEIT--and febrile harm + Allay, refrigerating Ale! + +How sweet thou art!--yet bitter, too + And sparkling, like satiric fun; +But how much better thee to brew, + Than a conundrum or a pun, +It is, in every point of view, + Must be allow'd by every one. + +Refresh my heart and cool my throat, + Light, airy child of malt and hops! +That dost not stuff, engross, and bloat + The skin, the sides, the chin, the chops, +And burst the buttons off the coat, + Like stout and porter--fattening slops! + + + +"CHILDREN MUST BE PAID FOR." + PUNCH. + +Sweet is the sound of infant voice; + Young innocence is full of charms: +There's not a pleasure half so choice, + As tossing up a child in arms. +Babyhood is a blessed state, + Felicity expressly made for; +But still, on earth it is our fate, + That even "Children must be paid for." + +If in an omnibus we ride, + It is a beauteous sight to see, +When full the vehicle inside, Age taking childhood on its knee. +But in the dog-days' scorching heat, + When a slight breath of air is pray'd for, +Half suffocated in our seat, + We feel that "Children must be paid for." + +There is about the sports of youth + A charm that reaches every heart, +Marbles or tops are games of truth, + The bat plays no deceiver's part. +But if we hear a sudden crash, + No explanation need be stay'd for, +We know there's something gone to smash; + We feel that "Children must be paid for." + +How exquisite the infant's grace, + When, clambering upon the knee, +The cherub, smiling, takes his place + Upon his mother's lap at tea; +Perchance the beverage flows o'er, + And leaves a stain there is no aid for, +On carpet, dress, or chair--Once more + We feel that "Children must be paid for." + +Presiding at the festive board, + With many faces laughing round, +Dull melancholy is ignored + While mirth and jollity abound: +We see our table amply spread + With knives and forks a dozen laid for, +Then pause to think--"How are they fed?" + Yes, "Children must indeed be paid for!" + + + +[Illustration: William Cullen Bryant] + +THE MUSQUITO. + WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. + +Fair insect! that, with thread-like legs spread out, + And blood-extracting bill, and filmy wing, +Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about, + In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, +And tell how little our large veins should bleed, +Would we but yield them to thy bitter need. + +Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse, + Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint, +Thou gettest many a brush and many a curse, + For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and faint: +Even the old beggar, while he asks for food, +Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could. + +I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween, + Has not the honor of so proud a birth-- +Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, fresh and green, + The offspring of the gods, though born on earth; +For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she, +The ocean-nymph that nursed thy infancy. + +Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung, + And when, at length, thy gauzy wings grew strong, +Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung, + Rose in the sky, and bore thee soft along; +The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way, +And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay. + +Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence + Came the deep murmur of its throng of men, +And as its grateful odors met thy sense, + They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen. +Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sight +Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight. + +At length thy pinion fluttered in Broadway--- + Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks kissed +By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray + Shone through the snowy vails like stars through mist; +And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin, +Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin. + +Sure these were sights to tempt an anchorite! + What! do I hear thy slender voice complain? +Thou wailest when I talk of beauty's light, + As if it brought the memory of pain: +Thou art a wayward being--well--come near, +And pour thy tale of sorrow in my ear. + +What say'st thou, slanderer!--rouge makes thee sick? + And China Bloom at best is sorry food? +And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick, + Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood? +Go! 'twas a just reward that met thy crime-- +But shun the sacrilege another time. + +That bloom was made to look at--not to touch; + To worship--not approach--that radiant white; +And well might sudden vengeance light on such + As dared, like thee, most impiously to bite. +Thou should'st have gazed at distance, and admired-- +Murmured thy admiration, and retired. + +Thou 'rt welcome to the town--but why come here + To bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee? +Alas! the little blood I have is dear, + And thin will be the banquet drawn from me. +Look round--the pale-eyed sisters in my cell, +Thy old acquaintance, Song and Famine, dwell. + +Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood + Enriched by generous wine and costly meat; +On well-filled skins, sleek as thy native mud, + Fix thy light pump, and press thy freckled feet; +Go to the men for whom, in ocean's halls, + The oyster breeds, and the green turtle sprawls. + +There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows, + To fill the swelling veins for thee, and now +The ruddy cheek, and now the ruddier nose + Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow; +And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings, +No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings. + + + +TO THE LADY IN THE CHEMISETTE WITH BLACK BUTTONS. + N. P. WILLIS. + +I know not who thou art, thou lovely one, +Thine eyes were drooped, thy lips half sorrowful, +Yet didst thou eloquently smile on me, +While handing up thy sixpence through the hole +Of that o'er-freighted omnibus!--ah, me!-- +The world is full of meetings such as this; +A thrill--a voiceless challenge and reply, +And sudden partings after--we may pass, +And know not of each other's nearness now, +Thou in the Knickerbocker line, and I +Lone in the Waverley! Oh! life of pain; +And even should I pass where thou dost dwell-- +Nay, see thee in the basement taking tea-- +So cold is this inexorable world, +I must glide on, I dare not feast mine eye, +I dare not make articulate my love, +Nor o'er the iron rails that hem thee in +Venture to throw to thee my innocent card, +Not knowing thy papa. + + Hast thou papa? +Is thy progenitor alive, fair girl? +And what doth he for lucre? Lo again! +A shadow o'er the face of this fair dream! +For thou may'st be as beautiful as Love +Can make thee, and the ministering hands +Of milliners, incapable of more, +Be lifted at thy shapeliness and air, +And still 'twixt me and thee, invisibly, +May rise a wall of adamant. My breath +Upon my pale lip freezes as I name +Manhattan's orient verge, and eke the west +In its far down extremity. Thy sire +May be the signer of a temperance pledge, +And clad all decently may walk the earth-- +Nay--may be number'd with that blessed few +Who never ask for discount--yet, alas! +If, homeward wending from his daily cares, +He go by Murphy's Line, thence eastward tending-- +Or westward from the Line of Kipp & Brown-- +My vision is departed! Harshly falls +The doom upon the ear, "She's not genteel!" +And pitiless is woman who doth keep +Of "good society" the golden key! +And gentlemen are bound, as are the stars, +To stoop not after rising! + + But farewell, +And I shall look for thee in streets where dwell +The passengers by Broadway Lines alone! +And if my dreams be true, and thou, indeed, +Art only not more lovely than genteel-- +Then, lady of the snow-white chemisette, +The heart which vent'rously cross'd o'er to thee +Upon that bridge of sixpence, may remain-- +And, with up-town devotedness and truth, +My love shall hover round thee! + + + + +COME OUT, LOVE. + N. P. WILLIS. + +Argument.--The poet starts from the Bowling Green to take his +sweetheart up to Thompson's for an ice, or (if she is inclined for +more) ices. He confines his muse to matters which any every-day man +and young woman may see in taking the same promenade for the same +innocent refreshment. + +Come out, love--the night is enchanting! + The moon hangs just over Broadway; +The stars are all lighted and panting-- + (Hot weather up there, I dare say!) +'Tis seldom that "coolness" entices, + And love is no better for chilling-- +But come up to Thompson's for ices, + And cool your warm heart for a shilling! + +What perfume comes balmily o'er us? + Mint juleps from City Hotel! +A loafer is smoking before us-- + (A nasty cigar, by the smell!)O Woman! thou secret past knowing! + Like lilacs that grow by the wall, +You breathe every air that is going, + Yet gather but sweetness from all! + +On, on! by St. Paul's, and the Astor! + Religion seems very ill-plann'd! +For one day we list to the pastor, + For six days we list to the band! +The sermon may dwell on the future, + The organ your pulses may calm-- +When--pest!--that remember'd cachucha + Upsets both the sermon and psalm! + +Oh, pity the love that must utter + While goes a swift omnibus by! +(Though sweet is I SCREAM* when the flutter + Of fans shows thermometers high)-- +But if what I bawl, or I mutter, + Falls into your ear but to die, +Oh, the dew that falls into the gutter + Is not more unhappy than I! +*[Footnote: Query--Should this be Ice cream, or I scream?--Printer's +Devil.] + + + +THE WHITE CHIP HAT. + N. P. WILLIS. + +I pass'd her one day in a hurry, + When late for the Post with a letter-- +I think near the corner of Murray-- + And up rose my heart as I met her! +I ne'er saw a parasol handled + So like to a duchess's doing-- +I ne'er saw a slighter foot sandal'd, + Or so fit to exhale in the shoeing-- + Lovely thing! + +Surprising!--one woman can dish us + So many rare sweets up together! +Tournure absolutely delicious-- + Chip hat without flower or feather-- +Well-gloved and enchantingly boddiced, + Her waist like the cup of a lily-- +And an air, that, while daintily modest, + Repell'd both the saucy and silly-- + Quite the thing! + +For such a rare wonder you'll say, sir, + There's reason in tearing one's tether-- +And, to see her again in Broadway, sir, + Who would not be lavish of leather! +I met her again, and as YOU know + I'm sage as old Voltaire at Ferney-- +But I said a bad word--for my Juno + Look'd sweet on a sneaking attorney-- + Horrid thing! + +Away flies the dream I had nourish'd-- + My castles like mockery fall, sir! +And, now, the fine airs that she flourish'd + Seem varnish and crockery all, sir! +The bright cup which angels might handle + Turns earthy when finger'd by asses-- +And the star that "swaps" light with a candle, + Thenceforth for a pennyworth passes!-- + Not the thing! + + + + +YOU KNOW IF IT WAS YOU + N. P. WILLIS. + +As the chill'd robin, bound to Florida +Upon a morn of autumn, crosses flying +The air-track of a snipe most passing fair-- +Yet colder in her blood than she is fair-- +And as that robin lingers on the wing, +And feels the snipe's flight in the eddying air, +And loves her for her coldness not the less-- +But fain would win her to that warmer sky +Where love lies waking with the fragrant stars-- +Lo I--a languisher for sunnier climes, +Where fruit, leaf, blossom, on the trees forever +Image the tropic deathlessness of love-- +Have met, and long'd to win thee, fairest lady, +To a more genial clime than cold Broadway! + + Tranquil and effortless thou glidest on, +As doth the swan upon the yielding water, +And with a cheek like alabaster cold! +But as thou didst divide the amorous air +Just opposite the Astor, and didst lift +That vail of languid lashes to look in +At Leary's tempting window--lady! then +My heart sprang in beneath that fringed vail, +Like an adventurous bird that would escape +To some warm chamber from the outer cold! +And there would I delightedly remain, +And close that fringed window with a kiss, +And in the warm sweet chamber of thy breast, +Be prisoner forever! + + + +THE DECLARATION. + N. P. WILLIS. + +'Twas late, and the gay company was gone, +And light lay soft on the deserted room +From alabaster vases, and a scent +Of orange-leaves, and sweet verbena came +Through the uushutter'd window on the air, +And the rich pictures with their dark old tints +Hung like a twilight landscape, and all things +Seem'd hush'd into a slumber. Isabel, +The dark-eyed, spiritual Isabel +Was leaning on her harp, and I had stay'd +To whisper what I could not when the crowd +Hung on her look like worshipers. I knelt, +And with the fervor of a lip unused +To the cool breath of reason, told my love. +There was no answer, and I took the hand +That rested on the strings, and press'd a kiss +Upon it unforbidden--and again +Besought her, that this silent evidence +That I was not indifferent to her heart, +Might have the seal of one sweet syllable. +I kiss'd the small white fingers as I spoke, +And she withdrew them gently, and upraised +Her forehead from its resting-place, and look'd +Earnestly on me--SHE HAD BEEN ASLEEP! + + + +LOVE IN A COTTAGE. + N. P. WILLIS. + +They may talk of love in a cottage, + And bowers of trellised vine-- +Of nature bewitchingly simple, + And milkmaids half divine; +They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping + In the shade of a spreading tree, +And a walk in the fields at morning, + By the side of a footstep free! + +But give me a sly flirtation + By the light of a chandelier-- +With music to play in the pauses, + And nobody very near; +Or a seat on a silken sofa, + With a glass of pure old wine, +And mamma too blind to discover + The small white hand in mine. + +Four love in a cottage is hungry, + Your vine is a nest for flies-- +Your milkmaid shocks the Graces, + And simplicity talks of pies! +You lie down to your shady slumber + And wake with a bug in your ear, +And your damsel that walks in the morning + Is shod like a mountaineer. + +True love is at home on a carpet, + And mightily likes his ease-- +And true love has an eye for a dinner, + And starves beneath shady trees. +His wing is the fan of a lady, + His foot's an invisible thing, +And his arrow is tipp'd with a jewel, + And shot from a silver string. + + + + +TO HELEN IN A HUFF. + N. P. WILLIS + +Nay, lady, one frown is enough + In a life as soon over as this-- +And though minutes seem long in a huff, + They're minutes 'tis pity to miss! +The smiles you imprison so lightly + Are reckon'd, like days in eclipse; +And though you may smile again brightly, + You've lost so much light from your lips! + Pray, lady, smile! + +The cup that is longest untasted + May be with our bliss running o'er, +And, love when we will, we have wasted + An age in not loving before! +Perchance Cupid's forging a fetter + To tie us together some day, +And, just for the chance, we had better + Be laying up love, I should say! + Nay, lady, smile! + + + + +THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS. + OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. + +I wrote some lines, once on a time, + In wondrous merry mood, +And thought, as usual, men would say + They were exceeding good. + +They were so queer, so very queer, + I laughed as I would die; +Albeit, in the general way, + A sober man am I. + +I called my servant, and he came; + How kind it was of him, +To mind a slender man like me, + He of the mighty limb! + +"These to the printer," I exclaimed. + And, in my humorous way, +I added (as a trifling jest), + "There'll be the devil to pay." + +He took the paper, and I watched, + And saw him peep within; +At the first line he read, his face + Was all upon the grin. + +He read the next; the grin grew broad. + And shot from ear to ear; +He read the third; a chuckling noise + I now began to hear. + +The fourth; he broke into a roar; + The fifth; his waistband split; +The sixth; he burst five buttons off, + And tumbled in a fit. + +Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, + I watched that wretched man, +And since, I never dare to write + As funny as I can. + + + +THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER. +A BALLAD. + JOHN G. SAXE. + +An Attorney was taking a turn, + In shabby habiliments drest; +His coat it was shockingly worn, + And the rust had invested his vest. + +His breeches had suffered a breach, + His linen and worsted were worse; +He had scarce a whole crown in his hat, + And not half-a-crown in his purse. + +And thus as he wandered along, + A cheerless and comfortless elf, +He sought for relief in a song, + Or complainingly talked to himself: + +"Unfortunate man that I am! + I've never a client but grief; +The case is, I've no case at all, + And in brief, I've ne'er had a brief! + +"I've waited and waited in vain, + Expecting an 'opening' to find, +Where an honest young lawyer might gain + Some reward for the toil of his mind. + +"'Tis not that I'm wanting in law, + Or lack an intelligent face, +That others have cases to plead, + While I have to plead for a case. + +"O, how can a modest young man + E'er hope for the smallest progression-- +The profession's already so full + Of lawyers so full of profession!" + +While thus he was strolling around, + His eye accidentally fell +On a very deep hole in the ground, + And he sighed to himself, "It is well!" + +To curb his emotions, he sat + On the curb-stone the space of a minute, +Then cried, "Here's an opening at last!" + And in less than a jiffy was in it! + +Next morning twelve citizens came + ('Twas the coroner bade them attend), +To the end that it might be determined + How the man had determined his end! + +"The man was a lawyer, I hear," + Quoth the foreman who sat on the corse; +"A lawyer? Alas!" said another, + "Undoubtedly he died of remorse!" + +A third said, "He knew the deceased, + An attorney well versed in the laws, +And as to the cause of his death, + 'Twas no doubt from the want of a cause." + +The jury decided at length, + After solemnly weighing the matter, +"That the lawyer was drownDed, because + He could not keep his head above water!" + + + +SONNET TO A CLAM. + JOHN G. SAXE +Dum tacent CLAMant + +Inglorious friend! most confident I am + Thy life is one of very little ease; + Albeit men mock thee with their similes +And prate of being "happy as a clam!" +What though thy shell protects thy fragile head + From the sharp bailiffs of the briny sea? + Thy valves are, sure, no safety-valves to thee, +While rakes are free to desecrate thy bed, +And bear thee off--as foemen take their spoil-- + Far from thy friends and family to roam; + Forced, like a Hessian, from thy native home, +To meet destruction in a foreign broil! + Though thou art tender, yet thy humble bard + Declares, O clam! thy case is shocking hard! + + + +VENUS OF THE NEEDLE. + + WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. + +O Maryanne, you pretty girl, + Intent on silky labor, +Of sempstresses the pink and pearl, + Excuse a peeping neighbor! + +Those eyes, forever drooping, give + The long brown lashes rarely; +But violets in the shadows live,-- + For once unvail them fairly. + +Hast thou not lent that flounce enough + Of looks so long and earnest? +Lo, here's more "penetrable stuff," + To which thou never turnest. + +Ye graceful fingers, deftly sped! + How slender, and how nimble! +O might I wind their skeins of thread, + Or but pick up their thimble! + +How blest the youth whom love shall bring, + And happy stars embolden, +To change the dome into a ring, + The silver into golden! + +Who'll steal some morning to her side + To take her finger's measure, +While Maryanne pretends to chide, + And blushes deep with pleasure. + +Who'll watch her sew her wedding-gown, + Well conscious that it IS hers, +Who'll glean a tress, without a frown, With those so ready scissors. + +Who'll taste those ripenings of the south, + The fragrant and delicious-- +Don't put the pins into your mouth, + O Maryanne, my precious! + +I almost wish it were my trust + To teach how shocking that is; +I wish I had not, as I must, + To quit this tempting lattice. + +Sure aim takes Cupid, fluttering foe, + Across a street so narrow; +A thread of silk to string his bow, + A needle for his arrow! + + + + + +NARRATIVE + + + + +TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE +[OLD BALLAD, QUOTED BY SHAKSPEARE, IN OTHELLO.] + PERCY RELIQUES + +This winters weather itt waxeth cold, + And frost doth freese on every hill, +And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold, + That all our cattell are like to spill; +Bell, my wiffe, who loves noe strife, + Shee sayd unto me quietlye, +Rise up, and save cow Cumbockes liffe, + Man, put thine old cloake about thee. + + HE. +O Bell, why dost thou flyte and scorne? + Thou kenst my cloak is very thin: +Itt is soe bare and overworne + A cricke he theron cannot renn: +Then Ile no longer borrowe nor lend, + For once Ile new appareld bee, +To-morrow Ile to towne and spend, + For Ile have a new cloake about mee. + + SHE. +Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe, + Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle, +She has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow + And other things shee will not fayle; +I wold be loth to see her pine, + Good husband councell take of mee, +It is not for us to go soe fine, + Man, take thine old cloake about thee. + + HE. +My cloake it was a very good cloake + Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare, +But now it is not worth a groat; + I have had it four and forty yeere; +Sometime itt was of cloth in graine, + 'Tis now but a sigh clout as you may see. +It will neither hold out winde nor raine; + And Ile have a new cloake about mee. + + SHE. +It is four and fortye yeeres agoe + Since the one of us the other did ken, +And we have had betwixt us towe + Of children either nine or ten; +Wee have brought them up to women and men; + In the feare of God I trow they bee; +And why wilt thou thyselfe misken? + Man, take thine old cloake about thee. + + HE. +O Bell, my wiffe, why dost thou floute! + Now is nowe, and then was then: +Seeke now all the world throughout, + Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen. +They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or gray, + Soe far above their owne degree: +Once in my life Ile doe as they, + For Ile have a new cloake about mee. + + SHE. +King Stephen was a worthy peere, + His breeches cost him but a crowne, +He held them sixpence all too deere; + Therefore he calld the taylor Lowne. +He was a wight of high renowne, + And thouse but of a low degree: +Itt's pride that putts this countrye downe, + Man, take thine old cloake about thee. + + HE. +"Bell, my wife, she loves not strife, + Yet she will lead me if she can; +And oft, to live a quiet life, + I am forced to yield, though Ime good-man;" +Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape, + Unlesse he first gave oer the plea: +As wee began wee now will leave, + And Ile take mine old cloake about mee. + + + +KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT. +[AN OLD ENGLISH BALLAD--LONG VERY POPULAR.] + PERCY RELIQUES + +An ancient story Ile tell you anon +Of a notable prince, that was called King John; +And he ruled England with maine and with might, +For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right. + +And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, +Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye; +How for his house-keeping, and high renowne, +They rode poste for him to fair London towne. + +An hundred men, the king did heare say, +The abbot kept in his house every day; +And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, +In velvet coates waited the abbot about. +How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, +Thou keepest a farre better house than mee, +And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, +I feare thou work'st treason against my crown. + +My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne, +I never spend nothing but what is my owne; +And I trust your grace will doe me no deere +For spending of my owne true-gotten geere. + +Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is high +And now for the same thou needest must dye; +Por except thou canst answer me questions three, +Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie. + +And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead, +With my crowne of golde so faire on my head, +Among all my liege-men, so noble of birthe, +Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe. + +Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, +How soone I may ride the whole world about, +And at the third question thou must not shrink, +But tell me here truly what I do think. + +O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, +Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet; +But if you will give me but three weekes space, +Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace. + +Now three weeks space to thee will I give, +And that is the longest time thou hast to live; +For if thou dost not answer my questions three, +Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee. + +Away rode the abbot, all sad at that word, +And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford; +But never a doctor there was so wise, +That could with his learning an answer devise. + +Then home rode the abbot, of comfort so cold, +And he mett his shepheard agoing to fold: +How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home, +What newes do you bring us from good King John? + +Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give: +That I have but three days more to live; +For if I do not answer him questions three, +My head will be smitten from my bodie. + +The first is to tell him there in that stead, +With his crowne of golde so fair on his head. +Among all his liege-men so noble of birth. +To within one penny of what he is worth. + +The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt, +How soone he may ride this whole world about: +And at the third question I must not shrinke, +But tell him there truly what he does thinke. + +Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet, +That a fool he may learne a wise man witt? +Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel, +And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel. + +Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, +I am like your lordship, as ever may bee: +And if you will but lend me your gowne, +There is none shall knowe us in fair London towne. + +Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have, +With sumptuous array most gallant and brave; +With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope, +Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope. + +Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say, +'Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day; +For and if thou canst answer my questions three, +Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee. + +And first, when thou seest me here in this stead, +With my crown of golde so fair on my head, +Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, +Tell me to one penny what I am worth. + +For thirty pence our Saivour was sold +Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told: +And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, +For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee. + +The King he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel, +I did not think I had been worth so littel! +--Now secondly tell me, without any doubt, +How soone I may ride this whole world about. + +You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same, +Until the next morning he riseth againe; +And then your grace need not make any doubt +But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about. + +The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, +I did not think it could be gone so soone! +--Now from the third question thou must not shrinke, +But tell me here truly what I do thinke. + +Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry: +You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury; +But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see, +That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee. + +The king he laughed, and swore by the masse, +Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place! +Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede, +For alacke I can neither write, ne reade. + +Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee, +For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee: +And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home, +Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John. + + + + +THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY +[A VERY FAVORITE ANCIENT BALLAD.] + PERCY RELIQUES + +There was a knight was drunk with wine, + A riding along the way, sir; +And there he met with a lady fine, + Among the cocks of hay, sir. + +Shall you and I, O lady faire, + Among the grass lye down-a: +And I will have a special care, + Of rumpling of your gowne-a. + +Upon the grass there is a dewe, + Will spoil my damask gowne, sir: +My gowne and kirtle they are newe, + And cost me many a crowne, sir. + +I have a cloak of scarlet red, + Upon the ground I'll throwe it; +Then, lady faire, come lay thy head; + We'll play, and none shall knowe it. + +O yonder stands my steed so free + Among the cocks of hay, sir, +And if the pinner should chance to see, + He'll take my steed away, sir. + +Upon my finger I have a ring, + Its made of finest gold-a, +And, lady, it thy steed shall bring + Out of the pinner's fold-a. + +O go with me to my father's hall; + Fair chambers there are three, sir: +And you shall have the best of all, + And I'll your chamberlaine bee, sir. + +He mounted himself on his steed so tall, + And her on her dapple gray, sir: +And there they rode to her father's hall, + Fast pricking along the way, sir. + +To her father's hall they arrived strait; + 'Twas moated round about-a; +She slipped herself within the gate, + And lockt the knight without-a. + +Here is a silver penny to spend, + And take it for your pain, sir; +And two of my father's men I'll send + To wait on you back again, sir. + +He from his scabbard drew his brand, + And wiped it upon his sleeve-a! +And cursed, he said, be every man, + That will a maid believe-a! + +She drew a bodkin from her haire, + And wip'd it upon her gown-a; +And curs'd be every maiden faire, + That will with men lye down-a! + +A herb there is, that lowly grows, + And some do call it rue, sir: +The smallest dunghill cock that + Would make a capon of you, sir. + +A flower there is, that shineth bright, + Some call it mary-gold-a: +He that wold not when he might, + He shall not when he wold-a. + +The knight was riding another day, + With cloak, and hat, and feather: +He met again with that lady gay, + Who was angling in the river. + +Now, lady faire, I've met with you, + You shall no more escape me; +Remember, how not long agoe + You falsely did intrap me. + +He from his saddle down did light, + In all his riche attyer; +And cryed, As I'm a noble knight, + I do thy charms admyer. + +He took the lady by the hand, + Who seemingly consented; +And would no more disputing stand: + She had a plot invented. + +Looke yonder, good sir knight, I pray, + Methinks I now discover +A riding upon his dapple gray, + My former constant lover. + +On tip-toe peering stood the knight, + Past by the rivers brink-a; +The lady pusht with all her might: + Sir knight, now swim or sink-a. + +O'er head and ears he plunged in, + The bottom faire he sounded; +Then rising up, he cried amain, + Help, helpe, or else I'm drownded! + +Now, fare-you-well, sir knight, adieu! + You see what conies of fooling: +That is the fittest place for you; + Your courage wanted cooling. + +Ere many days, in her fathers park, + Just at the close of eve-a, +Again she met with her angry sparke; + Which made this lady grieve-a. + +False lady, here thou'rt in my powre, + And no one now can hear thee: +And thou shalt sorely rue the hour + That e'er thou dar'dst to jeer me. + +I pray, sir knight, be not so warm + With a young silly maid-a: +I vow and swear I thought no harm, + 'Twas a gentle jest I playd-a. + +A gentle jest, in soothe he cry'd, + To tumble me in and leave me! +What if I had in the river dy'd?-- + That fetch will not deceive me. + +Once more I'll pardon thee this day, + Tho' injur'd out of measure; +But thou prepare without delay + To yield thee to my pleasure. + +Well then, if I must grant your suit, + Yet think of your boots and spurs, sir +Let me pull off both spur and boot, + Or else you cannot stir, sir. + +He set him down upon the grass, + And begg'd her kind assistance: +Now, smiling, thought this lovely lass, + I'll make you keep your distance. + +Then pulling off his boots half-way; + Sir knight, now I'm your betters: +You shall not make of me your prey; + Sit there like a knave in fetters. + +The knight, when she had served him soe, + He fretted, fum'd, and grumbled: +For he could neither stand nor goe, + But like a cripple tumbled. + +Farewell, sir knight, the clock strikes ten, + Yet do not move nor stir, sir: +I'll send you my father's serving men, + To pull off your boots and spurs, sir. + +This merry jest you must excuse, + You are but a stingless nettle: +You'd never have stood for boots or shoes, + Had you been a man of mettle. + +All night in grievous rage he lay, + Roiling upon the plain-a; +Next morning a shepherd past that way, + Who set him right again-a. + +Then mounting upon his steed so tall, + By hill and dale he swore-a: +I'll ride at once to her father's hall; + She shall escape no more-a. + +I'll take her father by the beard, + I'll challenge all her kindred; +Each dastard soul shall stand affeard; + My wrath shall no more be hindred. + +He rode unto her father's house, + Which every side was moated: +The lady heard his furious vows, + And all his vengeance noted. + +Thought shee, sir knight, to quench your rage, + Once more I will endeavour: +This water shall your fury 'swage, + Or else it shall burn for ever. + +Then faining penitence and feare, + She did invite a parley: +Sir knight, if you'll forgive me heare, + Henceforth I'll love you dearly. + +My father he is now from home, + And I am all alone, sir: +Therefore across the water come, + And I am all your own, sir. + +False maid, thou canst no more deceive; + I scorn the treacherous bait-a; +If thou would'st have me thee believe, + Now open me the gate-a. + +The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr'd, + My father he has the keys, sir; +But I have for my love prepar'd + A shorter way, and easier. + +Over the moate I've laid a plank + Full seventeen feet in measure, +Then step across to the other bank, + And there we'll take our pleasure. + +These words she had no sooner spoke, + But straight he came tripping over: +The plank was saw'd, it snapping broke, + And sous'd the unhappy lover. + + + +TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD. +A TALE. + MATTHEW PRIOR. + +Once on a time, in sunshine weather, +Falsehood and Truth walk'd out together, +The neighboring woods and lawns to view, +As opposites will sometimes do. +Through many a blooming mead they passed, +And at a brook arriv'd at last. +The purling stream, the margin green, +With flowers bedeck'd, a vernal scene, +Invited each itinerant maid, +To rest a while beneath the shade. +Under a spreading beach they sat, +And pass'd the time with female chat; +Whilst each her character maintain'd; +One spoke her thoughts, the other feign'd. +At length, quoth Falsehood, sister Truth +(For so she call'd her from her youth), +What if, to shun yon sultry beam, +We bathe in this delightful stream; +The bottom smooth, the water clear, +And there's no prying shepherd near? +With all my heart, the nymph replied, +And threw her snowy robes aside, +Stript herself naked to the skin, +And with a spring leapt headlong in. +Falsehood more leisurely undrest, +And, laying by her tawdry vest, +Trick'd herself out in Truth's array, +And 'cross the meadows tript away. + From this curst hour, the fraudful dame +Of sacred Truth usurps the name, +And, with a vile, perfidious mind, +Roams far and near, to cheat mankind; +False sighs suborns, and artful tears, +And starts with vain pretended fears; +In visits, still appears most wise, +And rolls at church her saint-like eyes; +Talks very much, plays idle tricks, +While rising stock [Footnote: South Sea, 1720.] her conscience pricks; +When being, poor thing, extremely gravel'd, +The secrets op'd, and all unravel'd. +But on she will, and secrets tell +Of John and Joan, and Ned and Nell, +Reviling every one she knows, +As fancy leads, beneath the rose. +Her tongue, so voluble and kind, +It always runs before her mind; +As times do serve, she slyly pleads, +And copious tears still show her needs. +With promises as thick as weeds-- +Speaks pro and con., is wondrous civil, +To-day a saint, to-morrow devil. + Poor Truth she stript, as has been said, +And naked left the lovely maid, +Who, scorning from her cause to wince, +Has gone stark-naked ever since; +And ever naked will appear, +Belov'd by all who Truth revere. + + + +FLATTERY. +A FABLE. + SIR CHARLES HANBURY WILLIAMS. + +Fanny, beware of flattery, +Your sex's much-lov'd enemy; +For other foes we are prepar'd, +And Nature puts us on our guard: +In that alone such charms are found, +We court the dart, we nurse the hand; +And this, my child, an Aesop's Fable +Will prove much better than I'm able. + +A young vain female Crow, +Had perch'd upon a pine tree's bough, + And sitting there at ease, +Was going to indulge her taste, +In a most delicious feast, + Consisting of a slice of cheese. +A sharp-set Fox (a wily creature) + Pass'd by that way + In search of prey; + When to his nose the smell of cheese, + Came in a gentle western breeze; +No Welchman knew, or lov'd it better: + He bless'd th' auspicious wind, + And strait look'd round to find, +What might his hungry stomach fill, + And quickly spied the Crow, + Upon a lofty bough, +Holding the tempting prize within her bill. + But she was perch'd too high, + And Reynard could not fly: +She chose the tallest tree in all the wood, + What then could bring her down? + Or make the prize his own? +Nothing but flatt'ry could. +He soon the silence broke, +And thus ingenious hunger spoke: +"Oh, lovely bird, +Whose glossy plumage oft has stirr'd + The envy of the grove; +Thy form was Nature's pleasing care, +So bright a bloom, so soft an air, + All that behold must love. +But, if to suit a form like thine, +Thy voice be as divine; + If both in these together meet, +The feather'd race must own +Of all their tribe there's none, + Of form so fair, of voice so sweet. +Who'll then regard the linnet's note, +Or heed the lark's melodious throat? +What pensive lovers then shall dwell +With raptures on their Philomel? +The goldfinch shall his plumage hide, +The swan abate her stately pride, +And Juno's bird no more display +His various glories to the sunny day: +Then grant thy Suppliant's prayer, +And bless my longing ear +With notes that I would die to hear!" +Flattery prevail'd, the Crow believ'd +The tale, and was with joy deceiv'd; +In haste to show her want of skill, +She open'd wide her bill: + She scream'd as if the de'el was in her +Her vanity became so strong +That, wrapt in her own frightful song, + She quite forgot, and dropt her dinner, +The morsel fell quick by the place + Where Reynard lay, + Who seized the prey +And eat it without saying grace. + He sneezimg cried "The day's my own, +My ends obtain'd +The prize is gain'd, +And now I'll change my note. +Vain, foolish, cheated Glow, +Lend your attention now, +A truth or two I'll tell you! +For, since I've fill'd my belly, + Of course my flattry's done: +Think you I took such pains, +And spoke so well only to hear you croak? +No, 'twas the luscious bait, +And a keen appetite to eat, +That first inspir'd, and carried on the cheat +'Twas hunger furnish'd hands and matter, +Flatterers must live by those they flatter; +But weep not, Crow, a tongue like mine +Might turn an abler head than thine; + And though reflection may displease, +If wisely you apply your thought, +To learn the lesson I have taught, +Experience, sure, is cheaply bought, + And richly worth a slice of cheese." + + + +THE PIG AND MAGPIE. + PETER PINDAR. + +Cocking his tail, a saucy prig, +A Magpie hopped upon a Pig, + To pull some hair, forsooth, to line his nest; +And with such ease began the hair attack, +As thinking the fee simple of the back + Was by himself, and not the Pig, possessed. + +The Boar looked up as thunder black to Mag, +Who, squinting down on him like an arch wag, + Informed Mynheer some bristles must be torn. +Then briskly went to work, not nicely culling: +Got a good handsome beakful by good pulling, + And flew, without a "Thank ye" to his thorn. + +The Pig set up a dismal yelling: +Followed the robber to his dwelling, + Who like a fool had built it 'midst a bramble. +In manfully he sallied, full of might, +Determined to obtain his right, + And 'midst the bushes now began to scramble. + +He drove the Magpie, tore his nest to rags, +And, happy on the downfall, poured his brags: + But ere he from the brambles came, alack! +His ears and eyes were miserably torn, +His bleeding hide in such a plight forlorn, + He could not count ten hairs upon his back. + + + +ADVICE TO YOUNG WOMEN, +OR, THE ROSE AND STRAWBERRY. + PETER PINDAR + + Young women! don't be fond of killing, + Too well I know your hearts unwilling +To hide beneath the vail a charm-- + Too pleased a sparkling eye to roll, + And with a neck to thrill the soul +Of every swain with love's alarm. + + Yet, yet, if prudence be not near + Its snow may melt into a tear. + + The dimple smile, and pouting lip, + Where little Cupids nectar sip, +Are very pretty lures I own: + But, ah! if prudence be not nigh, + Those lips where all the Cupids lie, +May give a passage to a groan. + + A Rose, in all the pride of bloom, + Flinging around her rich perfume +Her form to public notice pushing, + Amid the summer's golden glow + Peeped on a Strawberry below, +Beneath a leaf, in secret blushing. + + "Miss Strawberry," exclaimed the Rose, + "What's beauty that no mortal knows? +What is a charm, if never seen? + You really are a pretty creature: + Then wherefore hide each blooming feature? +Come up, and show your modest mien." + + "Miss Rose," the Strawberry replied, + "I never did possess a pride +That wished to dash the public eye: + Indeed, I own that I'm afraid-- + I think there's safety in the shade, +Ambition causes many a sigh." + + "Go, simple child," the Rose rejoined, + "See how I wanton in the wind: +I feel no danger's dread alarms: + And then observe the god of day, + How amorous with his golden ray, +To pay his visits to my charms!" + + No sooner said, but with a scream + She started from her favorite theme-- +A clown had on her fixed his pat. + In vain she screeched--Hob did but smile; + Rubbed with her leaves his nose awhile, +Then bluntly stuck her in his hat. + + + +ECONOMY. + PETER PINDAR. + +Economy's a very useful broom; +Yet should not ceaseless hunt about the room + To catch each straggling pin to make a plumb: +Too oft Economy's an iron vice, +That squeezes even the little guts of mice, + That peep with fearful eyes, and ask a crumb. + +Proper Economy's a comely thing-- +Good in a subject--better in a king; + Yet pushed too far, it dulls each finer feeling-- +Most easily inclined to make folks mean; +Inclines them too, to villainy to lean, + To over-reaching, perjury, and stealing. + +Even when the heart should only think of grief +It creeps into the bosom like a thief, +And swallows up th' affections all so mild--Witness the Jewess, and her +only child:-- + + +THE JEWESS AND HER SON + +Poor Mistress Levi had a luckless son, + Who, rushing to obtain the foremost seat, + In imitation of th' ambitious great, +High from the gallery, ere the play begun, + He fell all plump into the pit, + Dead in a minute as a nit: +In short, he broke his pretty Hebrew neck; +Indeed and very dreadful was the wreck! + +The mother was distracted, raving, wild-- +Shrieked, tore her hair, embraced and kissed her child-- + Afflicted every heart with grief around: +Soon as the shower of tears was somewhat past, +And moderately calm th' hysteric blast, + She cast about her eyes in thought profound +And being with a saving knowledge blessed, +She thus the playhouse manager addressed: + +"Sher, I'm de moder of de poor Chew lad, +Dat meet mishfartin here so bad-- +Sher, I muss haf de shilling back, you know, +Ass Moses haf not see de show." + +But as for Avarice, 'tis the very devil; +The fount, alas! of every evil: + The cancer of the heart--the worst of ills: +Wherever sown, luxuriantly it thrives; +No flower of virtue near it lives: + Like aconite where'er it spreads, it kills. +In every soil behold the poison spring! +Can taint the beggar, and infect the king. + +The mighty Marlborough pilfered cloth and bread, + So says that gentle satirist Squire Pope; +And Peterborough's Earl upon this head, + Affords us little room to hope, +That what the Twitnam bard avowed, +Might not be readily allowed. + + + +THE COUNTBY LASSES. + PETER PINDAR. + +Peter lasheth the Ladies.--He turneth Story-teller.--Peter grieveth. + + Although the ladies with such beauty blaze, + They very frequently my passion raise-- +Their charms compensate, scarce, their want of TASTE. + Passing amidst the Exhibition crowd, + I heard some damsels FASHIONABLY loud; +And thus I give the dialogue that pass'd. + +"Oh! the dear man!" cried one, "look! here's a bonnet! +He shall paint ME--I am determin'd on it-- + Lord! cousin, see! how beautiful the gown! +What charming colors! here's fine lace, here's gauze! +What pretty sprigs the fellow draws! + Lord, cousin! he's the cleverest man in town!" + +"Ay, cousin," cried a second, "very true-- +And here, here's charming green, and red, and blue! + There's a complexion beats the ROUGE of Warren! +See those red lips; oh, la! they seem so nice! +What rosy cheeks then, cousin, to entice!-- + Compar'd to this, all other heads are carrion. + +"Cousin, this limner quickly will be seen, +Painting the Princess Royal, and the Queen: +Pray, don't you think as I do, COZ? +But we 'll be painted FIRST that POZ." + +Such was the very PRETTY conversation + That pass'd between the PRETTY misses, +While unobserv'd, the glory of our nation, + Close by them hung Sir Joshua's matchless pieces +Works! that a Titian's hand could form alone-- +Works! that a Reubens had been proud to own. + +Permit me, ladies, now to lay before ye +What lately happen'd--therefore a true story:-- + + +A STORY. + + Walking one afternoon along the Strand, + My wond'ring eyes did suddenly expand + Upon a pretty leash of country lasses. + +"Heav'ns! my dear beauteous angels, how d'ye do? + Upon my soul I'm monstrous glad to see ye." +"Swinge! Peter, we are glad to meet with you; + We're just to London come--well, pray how be ye? + + "We're just a going, while 'tis light, + To see St. Paul's before 'tis dark. + Lord! come, for once, be so polite, + And condescend to be our spark." + +"With all my heart, my angels."--On we walk'd, +And much of London--much of Cornwall talk'd. + Now did I hug myself to think +How much that glorious structure would surprise, + How from its awful grandeur they would shrink +With open mouths, and marv'ling eyes! + + As near to Ludgate-Hill we drew, + St. Paul's just opening on our view; + Behold, my lovely strangers, one and all, + Gave, all at once, a diabolic squawl, + As if they had been tumbled on the stones, + And some confounded cart had crush'd their bones. + + After well fright'ning people with their cries, + And sticking to a ribbon-shop their eyes, + They all rush'd in, with sounds enough to stun, + And clattering all together, thus begun:-- + + "Swinge! here are colors then, to please! + Delightful things, I vow to heav'n! + Why! not to see such things as these, + We never should have been forgiv'n. + + "Here, here, are clever things--good Lord! + And, sister, here, upon my word-- +Here, here!--look! here are beauties to delight: + Why! how a body's heels might dance + Along from Launceston to Penzance, +Before that one might meet with such a sight!" + +"Come, ladies, 'twill be dark," cried I--"I fear. +Pray let us view St. Paul's, it is so near"-- +"Lord! Peter," cried the girls, "don't mind St. Paul! +Sure! you're a most INCURIOUS soul-- +Why--we can see the church another day; +Don't be afraid--St. Paul's can't RUN AWAY." + + Reader, +If e'er thy bosom felt a thought SUBLIME, +Drop tears of pity with the man of rhyme! + + + +THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS. + PETER PINDAR. + +Peter continueth to give great Advice, and to exhibit deep reflection +--He telleth a miraculous Story. + +There is a knack in doing many a thing, +Which labor can not to perfection bring: +Therefore, however great in your own eyes, +Pray do not hints from other folks despise: + +A fool on something great, at times, may stumble, + And consequently be a good adviser: +On which, forever, your wise men may fumble, + And never be a whit the wiser + +Yes! I advise you, for there's wisdom in't, +Never to be superior to a, hint-- + The genius of each man, with keenness view-- +A spark from this, or t'other, caught, +May kindle, quick as thought, + A glorious bonfire up in you. + A question of you let me beg-- + Of fam'd Columbus and his egg. +Pray, have you heard? "Yes."--O, then, if you please +I'll give you the two Pilgrims and the Peas. + +THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS. +A TRUE STORY. + +A brace of sinners, for no good, + Were order'd to the Virgin Mary's shrine, +Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood, + And in a fair white wig look'd wondrous fine. + +Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel, +With something in their shoes much worse than gravel +In short, their toes so gentle to amuse, +The priest had order'd peas into their shoes: + +A nostrum famous in old Popish times +For purifying souls that stunk of crimes: + A sort of apostolic salt, + Which Popish parsons for its powers exalt, +For keeping souls of sinners sweet, +Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat. + +The knaves set off on the same day, +Peas in their shoes, to go and pray: + But very diff'rent was their speed, I wot: +One of the sinners gallop'd on, +Swift as a bullet from a gun; + The other limp'd, as if he had been shot. + +One saw the Virgin soon--peccavi cried-- + Had his soul white-wash'd all so clever; +Then home again he nimbly hied, + Made fit, with saints above, to live forever. + +In coming back, however, let me say, +He met his brother rogue about half way-- +Hobbling, with out-stretch'd hands and bending knees; +Damning the souls and bodies of the peas: +His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat, +Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet. + +"How now," the light-toed, white-washed pilgrim broke + "You lazy lubber! 'Ods curse it," cried the other, "'tis no joke-- +My feet, once hard as any rock, + Are now as soft as any blubber. + +"Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear-- +As for Loretto I shall not get there; +No! to the Dev'l my sinful soul must go, +For damme if I ha'nt lost ev'ry toe. + +"But, brother sinner, pray explain +How 'tis that you are not in pain: +What pow'r hath work'd a wonder for YOUR toes: +While _I_, just like a snail am crawling, +Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling, + While not a rascal comes to ease my woes? + +"How is't that YOU can like a greyhound go, +Merry, as if that naught had happen'd, burn ye?" +"Why," cried the other, grinning, "you must know, +That just before I ventur'd on my journey, + To walk a little more at ease, + I took the liberty to boil MY peas.'" + + + +ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE CAT, +DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLDFISHES. + THOMAS GRAY. + +'Twas on a lofty vase's side, +Where China's gayest art had dyed + The azure flowers that blow, +Demurest of the tabby kind, +The pensive Selima, reclined, + Gazed on the lake below. + +Her conscious tail her joy declared; +The fair round face, the snowy beard, + The velvet of her paws, +Her coat that with the tortoise vies, +Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, + She saw, and purred applause. + +Still had she gaz'd, but, 'midst the +Two angel forms were seen to glide, + The Genii of the stream: +Their scaly armor's Tyrian hue, +Through richest purple, to the view + Betrayed a golden gleam. + +The hapless nymph with wonder saw +A whisker first, and then a claw, + With many an ardent wish, +She stretched in vain to reach the prize; +What female heart can gold despise? + What Cat's averse to fish? + +Presumptuous maid! with looks intent, +Again she stretched, again she bent, + Nor knew the gulf between: +(Malignant Fate sat by and smiled) +The slippery verge her feet beguiled; + She tumbled headlong in. + +Eight times emerging from the flood, +She mewed to every watery god + Some speedy aid to send. +No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred, +Nor cruel Tom or Susan heard: + A fav'rite has no friend! + +From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived, +Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, + And be with caution bold: +Not all that tempts your wandering eyes +And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, + Nor all that glistens gold. + + + +THE RETIRED CAT. + WILLIAM COWPER. + +A poet's cat, sedate and grave +As poet well could wish to have, +Was much addicted to inquire +For nooks to which she might retire, +And where, secure as mouse in chink, +She might repose, or sit and think. +I know not where she caught the trick; +Nature perhaps herself had cast her +In such a mold PHILOSOPHIQUE, +Or else she learned it of her master. +Sometimes ascending, debonair, +An apple-tree, or lofty pear, +Lodged with convenience in the fork, +She watched the gardener at his work; +Sometimes her ease and solace sought +In an old empty watering-pot, +There wanting nothing, save a fan, +To seem some nymph in her sedan, +Appareled in exactest sort, +And ready to be borne to court. + + But love of change it seems has place +Not only in our wiser race; +Cats also feel, as well as we, +That passion's force, and so did she. +Her climbing, she began to find, +Exposed her too much to the wind, +And the old utensil of tin +Was cold and comfortless within: +She therefore wished, instead of those, +Some place of more serene repose, +Where neither cold might come, nor air +Too rudely wanton in her hair, +And sought it in the likeliest mode +Within her master's snug abode. + + A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined +With linen of the softest kind, +With such as merchants introduce +From India, for the ladies' use; +A drawer, impending o'er the rest, +Half open, in the topmost chest, +Of depth enough, and none to spare, +Invited her to slumber there; +Puss with delight beyond expression, +Surveyed the scene and took possession +Recumbent at her ease, ere long, +And lulled by her own humdrum song, +She left the cares of life behind, +And slept as she would sleep her last, +When in came, housewifely inclined, +The chambermaid, and shut it fast, +By no malignity impelled, +But all unconscious whom it held. + + Awakened by the shock (cried puss) +"Was ever cat attended thus! +The open drawer was left, I see, +Merely to prove a nest for me, +For soon as I was well composed, +Then came the maid, and it was closed. +How smooth those 'kerchiefs, and how sweet +Oh what a delicate retreat! +I will resign myself to rest +Till Sol declining in the west, +Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, +Susan will come, and let me out." + + The evening came, the sun descended, +And puss remained still unattended. +The night rolled tardily away +(With her indeed 'twas never day), +The sprightly morn her course renewed, +The evening gray again ensued, +And puss came into mind no more +Than if entombed the day before; +With hunger pinched, and pinched for room, +She now presaged approaching doom. +Nor slept a single wink, nor purred, +Conscious of jeopardy incurred. + + That night, by chance, the poet, watching, +Heard an inexplicable scratching; +His noble heart went pit-a-pat, +And to himself he said--"What's that?" +He drew the curtain at his side, +And forth he peeped, but nothing spied. +Yet, by his ear directed, guessed +Something imprisoned in the chest; +And, doubtful what, with prudent care +Resolved it should continue there. +At length a voice which well he knew, +A long and melancholy mew, +Saluting his poetic ears, +Consoled him, and dispelled his fears; +He left his bed, he trod the floor, +He 'gan in haste the drawers explore, +The lowest first, and without stop +The next in order to the top. +For 'tis a truth well know to most, +That whatsoever thing is lost, +We seek it, ere it come to light, +In every cranny but the right. +Forth skipped the cat, not now replete +As erst with airy self-conceit, +Nor in her own fond comprehension, +A theme for all the world's attention, +But modest, sober, cured of all +Her notions hyperbolical, +And wishing for a place of rest, +Any thing rather than a chest. +Then stepped the poet into bed +With this reflection in his head: + + MORAL. + +Beware of too sublime a sense +Of your own worth and consequence. +The man who dreams himself so great, +And his importance of such weight, +That all around in all that's done +Must move and act for him alone, +Will learn in school of tribulation +The folly of his expectation. + + + +SAYING NOT MEANING. + WILLIAM BASIL WAKE. + +Two gentlemen their appetite had fed, +When opening his toothpick-case, one said, +"It was not until lately that I knew +That anchovies on terra firma grew. +"Grow!" cried the other, "yes, they GROW, indeed, + Like other fish, but not upon the land; +You might as well say grapes grow on a reed, + Or in the Strand!" + +"Why, sir," returned the irritated other, + "My brother, + When at Calcutta +Beheld them bona fide growing; + He wouldn't utter +A lie for love or money, sir; so in + This matter you are thoroughly mistaken." +"Nonsense, sir! nonsense! I can give no credit +To the assertion--none e'er saw or read it; + Your brother, like his evidence, should be shaken." + +"Be shaken, sir! let me observe, you are + Perverse--in short--" +"Sir," said the other, sucking his cigar, + And then his port-- +"If you will say impossibles are true, + You may affirm just any thing you please-- +That swans are quadrupeds, and lions blue, + And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese! +Only you must not, FORCE me to believe +What's propagated merely to deceive." + +"Then you force me to say, sir, you're a fool," + Return'd the bragger. +Language like this no man can suffer cool: + It made the listener stagger; +So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied, + "The traveler LIED + Who had the impudence to tell it you;" +"Zounds! then d'ye mean to swear before my face +That anchovies DON'T grow like cloves and mace?" + "I DO!" + +Disputants often after hot debates + Leave the contention as they found it--bone, +And take to duelling or thumping tetes; + Thinking by strength of artery to atone +For strength of argument; and he who winces +From force of words, with force of arms convinces! + +With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint, + Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding, + Our friends advanced; and now portentous loading +(Their hearts already loaded) serv'd to show +It might be better they shook hands--but no; + When each opines himself, though frighten'd, right + Each is, in courtesy, oblig'd to fight! +And they DID fight: from six full measured paces + The unbeliever pulled his trigger first; +And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces, + The whizzing lead had whizz'd its very worst, +Ran up, and with a DUELISTIC fear + (His ire evanishing like morning vapors), +Found nim possess'd of one remaining ear, + Who in a manner sudden and uncouth, + Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth; +For while the surgeon was applying lint, +He, wriggling, cried--"The deuce is in't--Sir! I MEANT--CAPERS!" + + + + +JULIA. + SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. + + --medio de fonte leporum + Surgit amari aliquid.--Lucret. + +Julia was blest with beauty, wit, and grace: +Small poets loved to sing her blooming face. +Before her altars, lo! a numerous train +Preferr'd their vows; yet all preferr'd in vain. +Till charming Florio, born to conquer, came, +And touch'd the fair one with an equal flame. +The flame she felt, and ill could she conceal +What every look and action would reveal. +With boldness then, which seldom fails to move, +He pleads the cause of marriage and of love; +The course of hymeneal joys he rounds, +The fair one's eyes dance pleasure at the sounds. +Naught now remain'd but "Noes"--how little meant-- +And the sweet coyness that endears consent. +The youth upon his knees enraptured fell:-- +The strange misfortune, oh! what words can tell? +Tell! ye neglected sylphs! who lap-dogs guard, +Why snatch'd ye not away your precious ward? +Why suffer'd ye the lover's weight to fall +On the ill-fated neck of much-loved Ball? +The favorite on his mistress casts his eyes, +Gives a melancholy howl, and--dies! +Sacred his ashes lie, and long his rest! +Anger and grief divide poor Julia's breast. +Her eyes she fix'd on guilty Morio first, +On him the storm of angry grief must burst. +That storm he fled:--he woos a kinder fair, +Whose fond affections no dear puppies share. +'Twere vain to tell how Julia pined away;-- +Unhappy fair, that in one luckless day +(From future almanacs the day be cross'd!) +At once her lover and her lap-dog lost! + + + + +A COCK AND HEN STORY. + ROBERT SOUTHEY + +PART I. + + Once on a time three Pilgrims true, + Being Father and Mother and Son, + For pure devotion to the Saint, + A pilgrimage begun. + + Their names, little friends, I am sorry to say, + In none of my books can I find; + But the son, if you please, we'll call Pierre, + What the parents were called, never mind. + + From France they came, in which fair land + They were people of good renown; +And they took up their lodging one night on the way + In La Calzada town. + + Now, if poor Pilgrims they had been, +And had lodged in the Hospice instead of the Inn, + My good little women and men, + Why then you never would have heard, + This tale of the Cock and the Hen. + + For the Innkeepers they had a daughter, + Sad to say, who was just such another +As Potiphar's daughter, I think, would have been + If she followed the ways of her mother. + + This wicked woman to our Pierre + Behaved like Potiphar's wife; + And because she failed to win his love, + She resolved to take his life. + + So she packed up a silver cup + In his wallet privily; + And then, as soon as they were gone, + She raised a hue and cry. + + The Pilgrims were overtaken, + The people gathered round, +Their wallets were searched, and in Pierre's + The silver cup was found. + + They dragged him before the Alcayde; + A hasty Judge was he, +"The theft," he said, "was plain and proved, + And hang'd the thief must be." + So to the gallows our poor Pierre + Was hurried instantly. + + If I should now relate + The piteous lamentation, +Which for their son these parents made, + My little friends, I am afraid + You'd weep at the relation. + + But Pierre in Santiago still + His constant faith profess'd; + When to the gallows he was led, +"'Twas a short way to Heaven," he said, + "Though not the pleasantest." + + And from their pilgrimage he charged + His parents not to cease, + Saying that unless they promised this, + He could not be hanged in peace. + + They promised it with heavy hearts; + Pierre then, therewith content, +Was hang'd: and they upon their way + To Compostella went. + +PART II. + + Four weeks they travel'd painfully, + They paid their vows, and then + To La Calzada's fatal town + Did they come back again. + + The Mother would not be withheld, + But go she must to see + Where her poor Pierre was left to hang + Upon the gallows tree. + + Oh tale most marvelous to hear, + Most marvelous to tell! + Eight weeks had he been hanging there, + And yet was alive and well! + + "Mother," said he, "I am glad you're return'd, + It is time I should now be released: + Though I can not complain that I'm tired, + And my neck does not ache in the least. + + "The Sun has not scorch'd me by day, + The Moon has not chilled me by night; +And the winds have but helped me to swing, + As if in a dream of delight. + + "Go you to the Alcayde, + That hasty Judge unjust, + Tell him Santiago has saved me, + And take me down he must!" + + Now, you must know the Alcayde, + Not thinking himself a great sinner, + Just then at table had sate down, + About to begin his dinner. + + His knife was raised to carve + The dish before him then; + Two roasted fowls were laid therein, + That very morning they had been + A Cock and his faithful Hen. + + In came the Mother, wild with joy: + "A miracle!" she cried; + But that most hasty Judge unjust + Repell'd her in his pride. + + "Think not," quoth he, "to tales like this + That I should give belief! + Santiago never would bestow + His miracles, full well I know, + On a Frenchman and a thief." + + And pointing to the Fowls, o'er which + He held his ready knife, + "As easily might I believe + These birds should come to life!" + + The good Saint would not let him thus + The Mother's true tale withstand; + So up rose the Fowls in the dish, + And down dropt the knife from his hand. + + The Cock would have crow'd if he could: + To cackle the Hen had a wish; + And they both slipt about in the gravy + Before they got out of the dish. + + And when each would have open'd its eyes, + For the purpose of looking about them, + They saw they had no eyes to open, + And that there was no seeing without them. + + All this was to them a great wonder, + They stagger'd and reel'd on the table; + And either to guess where they were, + Or what was their plight, or how they came there, + Alas! they were wholly unable: + + Because, you must know, that that morning, + A thing which they thought very hard, + The Cook had cut off their heads, + And thrown them away in the yard. + + The Hen would have pranked up her feathers, + But plucking had sadly deform'd her; +And for want of them she would have shiver'd with cold, + If the roasting she had had not warm'd her. + + And the Cock felt exceedingly queer; + He thought it a very odd thing +That his head and his voice were he did not know where, + And his gizzard tuck'd under his wing. + + The gizzard got into its place, + But how Santiago knows best: + And so, by the help of the Saint, + Did the liver and all the rest. + + The heads saw their way to the bodies, + In they came from the yard without check, + And each took its own proper station, + To the very great joy of the neck. + + And in flew the feathers, like snow in a shower, + For they all became white on the way; +And the Cock and the Hen in a trice were refledged, + And then who so happy as they! + + Cluck! cluck! cried the Hen right merrily then, + The Cock his clarion blew, + Full glad was he to hear again + His own cock-a-doo-del-doo! + + + +PART III. + + "A miracle! a miracle!" + The people shouted, as they might well, + When the news went through the town + And every child and woman and man + Took up the cry, and away they ran + To see Pierre taken down. + + They made a famous procession + My good little women and men, + Such a sight was never seen before + And I think will never again. + + Santiago's Image, large as life, + Went first with banners and drum and fife; + And next, as was most meet, + The twice-born Cock and Hen were borne + Along the thronging street. + + Perched on a cross-pole hoisted high, + They were raised in sight of the crowd; + And when the people set up a cry, + The Hen she cluck'd in sympathy, + And the Cock he crow'd aloud. + + And because they very well knew for why + They were carried in such solemnity, +And saw the Saint and his banners before 'em + They behaved with the greatest propriety, + And most correct decorum. + +The Knife, which had cut off their heads that morn, + Still red with their innocent blood, was borne, + The scullion boy he carried it; + And the Skewers also made part of the show, + With which they were truss'd for the spit. + + The Cook in triumph bore that Spit + As high as he was able; +And the Dish was display'd wherein they were laid + When they had been served at table. + + With eager faith the crowd prest round; + There was a scramble of women and men + For who should dip a finger-tip + In the blessed Gravy then. + + Next went the Alcayde, beating his breast, + Crying aloud like a man distrest, + And amazed at the loss of his dinner, + "Santiago, Santiago! + Have mercy on me a sinner!" + + And lifting oftentimes his hands + Toward the Cock and Hen, + "Orate pro nobis!" devoutly he cried, + And as devoutly the people replied, + Whenever he said it, "Amen!" + +The Father and Mother were last in the train; + Rejoicingly they came, + And extoll'd, with tears of gratitude, + Santiago's glorious name. + + So, with all honors that might be, + They gently unhang'd Pierre; + No hurt or harm had he sustain'd, + But, to make the wonder clear, + A deep biack halter-mark remain'd + Just under his left ear. + + + +PART IV. + + And now, my little listening dears + With open mouths and open ears, + Like a rhymer whose only art is + That of telling a plain unvarnish'd tale, + To let you know I must not fail, + What became of all the parties. + + Pierre went on to Compostella + To finish his pilgrimage, + His parents went back with him joyfully, +After which they returned to their own country, + And there, I believe, that all the three + Lived to a good old age. + + For the gallows on which Pierre + So happily had swung, + It was resolved that never more + On it should man be hung. + + To the Church it was transplanted, + As ancient books declare. + And the people in commotion, + With an uproar of devotion, + Set it up for a relic there. + + What became of the halter I know not, + Because the old books show not, + But we may suppose and hope, + That the city presented Pierre + With that interesting rope. + + For in his family, and this + The Corporation knew, + It rightly would be valued more + Than any cordon bleu. + + The Innkeeper's wicked daughter + Confess'd what she had done, + So they put her in a Convent, + And she was made a Nun. + + The Alcayde had been so frighten'd + That he never ate fowls again; + And he always pulled off his hat + When he saw a Cock and Hen. + Wherever he sat at table + Not an egg might there be placed; +And he never even muster'd courage for a custard, + Though garlic tempted him to taste + Of an omelet now and then. + + But always after such a transgression + He hastened away to make confession; + And not till he had confess'd, + And the Priest had absolved him, did he feel + His conscience and stomach at rest. + + The twice-born Birds to the Pilgrim's Church + As by miracle consecrated, + Were given, and there unto the Saint + They were publicly dedicated. + + At their dedication the Corporation + A fund for their keep supplied; + And after following the Saint and his banners, + This Cock and Hen were so changed in their manners, + That the Priests were edified. + + Gentle as any turtle-dove, + Saint Cock became all meekness and love; + Most dutiful of wives, + Saint Hen she never peck'd again, + So they led happy lives. + + The ways of ordinary fowls + You must know they had clean forsaken; + And if every Cock and Hen in Spain + Had their example taken, + Why then--the Spaniards would have had + No eggs to eat with bacon. + + These blessed Fowls, at seven years end, + In the odor of sanctity died: + They were carefully pluck'd and then + They were buried, side by side. + + And lest the fact should be forgotten + (Which would have been a pity), + 'Twas decreed, in honor of their worth, + That a Cock and Hen should be borne thenceforth, + In the arms of that ancient City. + + Two eggs Saint Hen had laid--no more-- + The chickens were her delight; + A Cock and Hen they proved, +And both, like their parents, were virtuous and white. + + The last act of the Holy Hen + Was to rear this precious brood; and when + Saint Cock and she were dead, + This couple, as the lawful heirs, + Succeeded in their stead. + + They also lived seven years, + And they laid eggs but two, + From which two milk-white chickens + To Cock and Henhood grew; + And always their posterity + The self-same course pursue. + + Not one of these eggs ever addled, + (With wonder be it spoken!) + Not one of them ever was lost, + Not one of them ever was broken. + + Sacred they are; neither magpie nor rat, + Snake, weasel, nor marten approaching them: + And woe to the irreverent wretch + Who should even dream of poaching them! + + Thus then is this great miracle + Continued to this day; + And to their Church all Pilgrims go, + When they are on the way; + And some of the feathers are given them; + For which they always pay. + + No price is set upon them, + And this leaves all persons at ease; + The Poor give as much as they can, + The Rich as much as they please. + + But that the more they give the better, + Is very well understood; + Seeing whatever is thus disposed of, + Is for their own souls' good; + + For Santiago will always + Befriend his true believers; + And the money is for him, the Priests + Being only his receivers. + + To make the miracle the more, + Of these feathers there is always store, + And all are genuine too; + All of the original Cock and Hen, + Which the Priests will swear is true. + +Thousands a thousand times told have bought them, + And if myriads and tens of myriads sought them, + They would still find some to buy; + For however great were the demand, + So great would be the supply. + + And if any of you, my small friends, + Should visit those parts, I dare say + You will bring away some of the feathers, + And think of old Robin Gray. + + + +[Illustration with caption: BURNS] + + +THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS; +OR, THE QUEST OF SULTAUN SOLIMAUN. + SIR WALTER SCOTT. + + Oh, for a glance of that gay Muse's eye, + That lighten'd on Bandello's laughing tale, + And twinkled with a luster shrewd and sly, + When Giam Batttista bade her vision hail!-- + Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detail + Given by the natives of that land canorous; + Italian license loves to leap the pale, + We Britons have the fear of shame before us, +And, if not wise in mirth, at least must be decorous. + +In the far eastern clime, no great while since, +Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince, +Whose eyes, as oft as they perform'd their round, +Beheld all others fix'd upon the ground; +Whose ears received the same unvaried phrase, +"Sultaun! thy vassal hears, and he obeys!" +All have their tastes--this may the fancy strike +Of such grave folks as pomp and grandeur like; +For me, I love the honest heart and warm +Of monarch who can amble round his farm, +Or when the toil of state no more annoys, +In chimney corner seek domestic joys-- +I love a prince will bid the bottle pass, +Exchanging with his subjects glance and glass; +In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay, +Keep up the jest, and mingle in the lay-- +Such Monarchs best our free-born humors suit, +But Despots must be stately, stern, and mute. + +This Solimaun, Serendib had in sway-- +And where's Serendib? may some critic say-- +Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart, +Scare not my Pegasus before I start! +If Rennell has it not, you'll find, mayhap, +The isle laid down in Captain Sinbad's map-- +Famed mariner! whose merciless narrations +Drove every friend and kinsman out of patience, +Till, fain to find a guest who thought them shorter, +He deign'd to tell them over to a porter-- +The last edition see, by Long and Co., +Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers in the Row. + +Serendib found, deem not my tale a fiction-- +This Sultaun, whether lacking contradiction-- +(A sort of stimulant which hath its uses, +To raise the spirits and reform the juices, +--Sovereign specific for all sorts of cures +In my wife's practice, and perhaps in yours), +The Sultaun lacking this same wholesome bitter, +Of cordial smooth for prince's palate fitter-- +Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his dreams +With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild themes +Belonging to the Mollah's subtle craft, +I wot not--but the Sultaun never laugh'd, +Scarce ate or drank, and took a melancholy +That scorn'd all remedy profane or holy; +In his long list of melancholies, mad, +Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none so had. + +Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware, and tried, + As e'er scrawl'd jargon in a darken'd room; +With heedful glance the Sultaun's tongue they eyed, +Peep'd in his bath, and God knows where beside, + And then in solemn accent spoke their doom, + "His majesty is very far from well." +Then each to work with his specific fell; +The Hakim Ibrahim INSTANTER brought +His unguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaut, +While Roompot, a practitioner more wily, +Relied on Ms Munaskif all fillfily. +More and yet more in deep array appear, +And some the front assail, and some the rear; +Their remedies to reinforce and vary, +Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary; +Till the tired Monarch, though of words grown chary, +Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless labor, +Some hint about a bowstring or a saber. +There lack'd, I promise you, no longer speeches, +To rid the palace of those learned leeches. + +Then was the council call'd--by their advice +(They deem'd the matter ticklish all, and nice, + And sought to shift it off from their own shoulders) +Tartars and couriers in all speed were sent, +To call a sort of Eastern Parliament + Of feudatory chieftains and freeholders-- +Such have the Persians at this very day, +My gallant Malcolm calls them couroultai;-- +I'm not prepared to show in this slight song +That to Serendib the same forms belong-- +E'en let the learn'd go search, and tell me if I'm wrong. + +The Omrahs, each with hand on scimitar, +Gave, like Sempronius, still their voice for war-- +"The saber of the Sultaun in its sheath +Too long has slept, nor own'd the work of death, +Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle, +Bang the loud gong, and raise the shout of battle! +This dreary cloud that dims our sovereign's day, +Shall from his kindled bosom flit away, +When the bold Lootie wheels his courser round, +And the arm'd elephant shall shake the ground. +Each noble pants to own the glorious summons-- +And for the charges--Lo! your faithful Commons!" + +The Riots who attended in their places + (Serendib language calls a farmer Riot) +Look'd ruefully in one another's faces, + From this oration auguring much disquiet, +Double assessment, forage, and free quarters; +And fearing these as China-men the Tartars, +Or as the whisker'd vermin fear the mousers, +Each fumbled in the pockets of his trowsers. + +And next came forth the reverend Convocation, + Bald heads, white beards, and many a turban green, +Imaum and Mollah there of every station, + Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen. +Their votes were various--some advised a Mosque + With fitting revenues should be erected, +With seemly gardens and with gay Kiosque, + To create a band of priests selected; +Others opined that through the realms a dole + Be made to holy men, whose prayers might profit +The Sultaun's weal in body and in soul. + But their long-headed chief, the Sheik Ul-Sofit, +More closely touch'd the point;--"Thy studious mood," +Quoth he, "O Prince! hath thicken'd all thy blood, +And dull'd thy brain with labor beyond measure; +Wherefore relax a space and take thy pleasure, +And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy treasure; +From all the cares of state, my Liege, enlarge thee, +And leave the burden to thy faithful clergy." + +These counsels sage availed not a whit, + And so the patient (as is not uncommon +Where grave physicians lose their time and wit) + Resolved to take advice of an old woman; +His mother she, a dame who once was beauteous, +And still was called so by each subject duteous. +Now whether Fatima was witch in earnest, + Or only made believe, I can not say-- +But she profess'd to cure disease the sternest, + By dint of magic amulet or lay; +And, when all other skill in vain was shown, +She deem'd it fitting time to use her own. + +"Sympathia magica hath wonders done" +(Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son), +"It works upon the fibers and the pores, +And thus, insensibly, our health restores, +And it must help us here.--Thou must endure +The ill, my son, or travel for the cure. +Search land and sea, and get, where'er you can, +The inmost vesture of a happy man: +I mean his SHIRT, my son; which, taken warm +And fresh from off his back, shall chase your harm, +Bid every current of your veins rejoice, +And your dull heart leap light as shepherd-boy's." +Such was the counsel from his mother came;-- +I know not if she had some under-game, +As doctors have, who bid their patients roam +And live abroad, when sure to die at home; +Or if she thought, that, somehow or another, +Queen-Regent sounded better than Queen-Mother; +But, says the Chronicle (who will go look it?) +That such was her advice--the Sultaun took it. + +All are on board--the Sultaun and his train, +In gilded galley prompt to plow the main. + The old Rais was the first who question'd, "Whither?" +They paused--"Arabia," thought the pensive Prince, +"Was call'd The Happy many ages since-- + For Mokha, Rais."--And they came safely thither. +But not in Araby, with all her balm, +Not where Judea weeps beneath her palm, +Not in rich Egypt, not in Nubian waste, +Could there the step of Happiness be traced. +One Copt alone profess'd to have seen her smile +When Bruce his goblet fill'd at infant Nile: +She bless'd the dauntless traveler as he quaff'd +But vanish'd from him with the ended draught. +"Enough of turbans," said the weary King. +"These dolimans of ours are not the thing; +Try we the Giaours, these men of coat, and cap, I +Incline to think some of them must be happy; +At least they have as fair a cause as any can, +They drink good wine and keep no Ramazan. +Then northward, ho!"--The vessel cuts the sea, +And fair Italia lies upon her lee.-- +But fair Italia, she who once unfurl'd +Her eagle-banners o'er a conquer'd world, +Long from her throne of domination tumbled, +Lay, by her quondam vassals, sorely humbled, +The Pope himself look'd pensive, pale, and lean, +And was not half the man he once had been. +"While these the priest and those the noble fleeces, +Our poor old boot," they said, "is torn to pieces. +Its tops the vengeful claws of Austria feel, +And the Great Devil is rending toe and heel. +If happiness you seek, to tell you truly, +We think she dwells with one Giovanni Bulli; +A tramontane, a heretic--the buck, +Poffaredio! still has all the luck; +By land or ocean never strikes his flag-- +And then--a perfect walking money-bag." +Off set our Prince to seek John Bull's abode, +But first took France--it lay upon the road. + +Monsieur Baboon, after much late commotion, +Was agitated like a settling ocean, +Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what ail'd him, +Only the glory of his house had fail'd him; +Besides, some tumors on his noddle biding, +Gave indication of a recent hiding. +Our Prince, though Sultauns of such things are heedless, +Thought it a thing indelicate and needless + To ask, if at that moment he was happy. +And Monsieur, seeing that he was comme il faut, a +Loud voice muster'd up, for "Vive le Roi!" + Then whisper'd, "'Ave you any news of Nappy?" +The Sultaun answer'd him with a cross question-- + "Pray, can you tell me aught of one John Bull, + That dwells somewhere beyond your herring-pool?" +The query seem'd of difficult digestion, +The party shrugg'd, and grinn'd, and took his snuff, +And found his whole good-breeding scarce enough. + +Twitching his visage into as many puckers +As damsels wont to put into their tuckers +(Ere liberal Fashion damn'd both lace and lawn, +And bade the vail of modesty be drawn), +Replied the Frenchman, after a brief pause, +"Jean Bool!--I vas not know him--yes, I vas-- +I vas remember dat, von year or two, +I saw him at von place call'd Vaterloo-- +Ma foi! il s'est tres joliment battu, +Dat is for Englishman--m'entendez-vous? +But den he had wit him one damn son-gun, +Rogue I no like--dey call him Vellington." +Monsieur's politeness could not hide his fret, +So Solimaun took leave, and cross'd the strait. + +John Bull was in his very worst of moods, +Raving of sterile farms and unsold goods; +His sugar-loaves and bales about he threw, +And on his counter beat the devil's tattoo. +His wars were ended, and the victory won, +But then, 'twas reckoning-day with honest John; +And authors vouch, 'twas still this Worthy's way, +"Never to grumble till he came to pay; +And then he always thinks, his temper's such, +The work too little, and the pay too much." + Yet grumbler as he is, so kind and hearty, +That when his mortal foe was on the floor, +And past the power to harm his quiet more, + Poor John had well-nigh wept for Bonaparte! +Such was the wight whom Solimaun salam'd-- +"And who are you," John answer'd, "and be d--d?" + +'A stranger come to see the happiest man-- +So, signior, all avouch--in Frangistan.'-- +"Happy? my tenants breaking on my hand; +Unstock'd my pastures, and untill'd my land; +Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths +The sole consumers of my good broadcloths-- +Happy?---why, cursed war and racking tax +Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs."-- +"In that case, signior, I may take my leave; +I came to ask a favor--but I grieve."-- +"Favor?" said John, and eyed the Sultaun hard, +"It's my belief you came to break the yard!-- +But, stay, you look like some poor foreign sinner-- +Take that to buy yourself a shirt and dinner."-- +With that he chuck'd a guinea at his head; +But, with due dignity, the Sultaun said, +"Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline; +A SHIRT indeed I seek, but none of thine. +Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare you well,"-- +"Kiss and be d--d," quoth John, "and go to hell!" + +Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg, +Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg +When the blithe bagpipe blew--but, soberer now, +She DOUCELY span her flax and milk'd her cow. +And whereas erst she was a needy slattern, +Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern, +Yet once a month her house was partly swept, +And once a week a plenteous board she kept. +And, whereas, eke, the vixen used her claws + And teeth of yore, on slender provocation. +She now was grown amenable to laws, + A quiet soul as any in the nation; +The sole remembrance of her warlike joys +Was in old songs she sang to please her boys. +John Bull, whom, in their years of early strife, +She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life, +Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbor, +Who look'd to the main chance, declined no labor, +Loved a long grace, and spoke a northern jargon. +And was d--d close in making of a bargain. + +The Sultaun enter'd, and he made his leg, +And with decorum courtesy'd sister Peg; +(She loved a book, and knew a thing or two, +And guess'd at once with whom she had to do). +She bade him "Sit into the fire," and took +Her dram, her cake, her kebbuck from the nook; +Ask'd him "About the news from Eastern parts: +And of her absent bairns, puir Highland hearts! +If peace brought down the price of tea and pepper, +And if the NITMUGS were grown ONY cheaper;-- +Were there nae SPEERINGS of our Mungo Park-- +Ye'll be the gentleman that wants the sark? +If ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's spinning +I'll warrant ye it's a weel-wearing linen." + +Then up got Peg, and round the house 'gan scuttle + In search of goods her customer to nail, +Until the Sultaun strain'd his princely throttle + And hallo'd--"Ma'am, that is not what I ail. +Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this snug glen?"-- +"Happy?" said Peg; "What for d'ye want to ken? +Besides, just think upon this by-gane year, + Grain wadna pay the yoking of the pleugh."-- +"What say you to the present?"--"Meal's sae dear, + To make their brose my bairns have scarce aneugh."-- +"The devil take the shirt," said Solimaun, +"I think my quest will end as it began.-- +Farewell, ma'am; nay, no ceremony, I beg"-- +"Ye'll no be for the linen then?" said Peg. + +Now, for the land of verdant Erin, +The Sultaun's royal bark is steering, +The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy dwells, +The cousin of John Bull, as story tells. +For a long space had John, with words of thunder +Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy under, +Till the poor lad, like boy that's flogg'd unduly, +Had gotten somewhat restive and unruly. +Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow, +A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow; +His landlord, and of middle men two brace, +Had screw'd his rent up to the starving-place; +His garment was a top-coat, and an old one, +His meal was a potato, and a cold one; +But still for fun or frolic, and all that, +In the round world was not the match of Pat. +The Sultaun saw him on a holiday, +Which is with Paddy still a jolly day; +When mass is ended, and his load of sins +Confess'd, and Mother Church hath from her binns +Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit, +Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and spirit! +To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free, +And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. + +"By Mahomet," said Sultaun Solimaun, +"That ragged fellow is our very man! +Rush in and seize him--do not do him hurt, +But, will he nill he, let me have his SHIRT." + +Shilela their plan was well-nigh after baulking +(Much less provocation will set it a-walking), +But the odds that foil'd Hercules foil'd Paddy Whack; +They seized, and they floor'd, and they stripp'd him--Alack +Up-bubboo! Paddy had not--a shirt to his back!!! +And the King, disappointed, with sorrow and shame +Went back to Serendib as sad as he came. + + + +THE DONKEY AND HIS PANNIERS. + THOMAS MOORE. + +A donkey whose talent for burden was wondrous, + So much that you'd swear he rejoiced in a load, +One day had to jog under panniers so pond'rous, + That--down the poor donkey fell, smack on the road. + +His owners and drivers stood round in amaze-- + What! Neddy, the patient, the prosperous Neddy +So easy to drive through the dirtiest ways, + For every description of job-work so ready! + +One driver (whom Ned might have "hail'd" as a "brother") + Had just been proclaiming his donkey's renown, +For vigor, for spirit, for one thing or other-- + When, lo! 'mid his praises, the donkey came down. + +But, how to upraise him?--one shouts, T'OTHER whistles, + While Jenky, the conjurer, wisest of all, +Declared that an "over-production" of thistles-- + (Here Ned gave a stare)--was the cause of his fall. + +Another wise Solomon cries, as he passes-- + "There, let him alone, and the fit will soon cease, +The beast has been fighting with other jack-asses, + And this is his mode of 'TRANSITION TO PEACE'" + +Some look'd at his hoofs, and, with learned grimaces, + Pronounced that too long without shoes he had gone-- +"Let the blacksmith provide him a sound metal basis + (The wiseacres said), and he's sure to jog on." + +But others who gabbled a jargon half Gaelic, + Exclaim'd, "Hoot awa, mon, you're a' gane astray"-- +And declared that "whoe'er might prefer the METALLIC, + They'd shoe their OWN donkeys with papier mache." + +Meanwhile the poor Neddy, in torture and fear, + Lay under his panniers, scarce able to groan, +And, what was still dolefuler--lending an ear + To advisers whose ears were a match for his own. + +At length, a plain rustic, whose wit went so far + As to see others' folly, roar'd out as he pass'd-- +"Quick--off with the panniers, all dolts as ye are, + Or your prosperous Neddy will soon kick his last." + + + +MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE. +A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY. + B. HARRIS BABHAM. + + MR. SIMPKINSON (loquitur). +I was in Margate last July, I walk'd upon the pier, +I saw a little vulgar Boy--I said "What make you here?-- +The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks any thing but joy;" +Again I said, "What make you here, you little vulgar Boy?" + +He frown'd, that little vulgar Boy--he deem'd I meant to scoff-- +And when the little heart is big, a little "sets it off;" +He put his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose,-- +He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose! + +"Hark! don't you hear, my little man?--it's striking nine," I said, +"An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed. +Run home and get your supper, else your Ma' will scold--Oh fie!-- +It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!" + +The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring, +His bosom throbb'd with agony--he cried like any thing! +I stoop'd, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him murmur--"Ah +I haven't got no supper! and I haven't got no Ma'!-- + +"My father, he is on the seas,--my mother's dead and gone! +And I am here on this here pier, to roam the world alone; +I have not had, this live-long day, one drop to cheer my heart, +Nor 'BROWN' to buy a bit of bread with,--let alone a tart. + +"If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ, +By day or night, then blow me tight!" (he was a vulgar Boy;) +"And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed intent +To jump, as Mr. Levi did from off the Monu-ment!" + +"Cheer up! cheer up! my little man--cheer up!" I kindly said. +You are a naughty boy to take such things into your head: +If you should jump from off the pier, you'd surely break your legs, +Perhaps your neck--then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs are eggs! + +"Come home with me, my little man, come home with me and sup; +My landlady is Mrs. Jones--we must not keep her up-- +There's roast potatoes on the fire,--enough for me and you-- +Come home,--you little vulgar Boy--I lodge at Number 2." + +I took him home to Number 2, the house beside "The Foy" +I bade him wipe his dirty shoes,--that little vulgar Boy,-- +And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of her sex, +"Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X!" + +But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise, +She said she "did not like to wait on little vulgar Boys." +She with her apron wiped the plates, and, as she rubb'd the delft +Said I might "go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself!" + +I did not go to Jericho--I went to Mr. Cobb-- +I changed a shilling--(which in town the people call "a Bob")-- +It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar child-- +And I said, "A pint of double X, and please to draw it mild!" + +When I came back I gazed about--I gazed on stool and chair-- +I could not see my little friend--because he was not there! +I peep'd beneath the table-cloth--beneath the sofa too-- +I said "You little vulgar Boy! why what's become of you?" + +I could not see my table-spoons--I look'd, but could not see +The little fiddle-pattern'd ones I use when I'm at tea; +--I could not see my sugar-tongs--my silver watch--oh, dear! +I know 'twas on the mantle-piece when I went out for beer. + +I could not see my Mackintosh!--it was not to be seen! +Nor yet my best white beaver hat, broad-brimm'd and lined with green; +My carpet-bag--my cruet-stand, that holds my sauce and soy,-- +My roast potatoes!--all are gone!--and so's that vulgar Boy! + +I rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down below, +"--Oh, Mrs. Jones! what do you think?--ain't this a pretty go? +--That horrid little vulgar Boy whom I brought here to-night, +--He's stolen my things and run away!!"--Says she, "And sarve you + right!!" + + * * * * * * + +Next morning I was up betimes--I sent the Crier round, +All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I'd give a pound +To find that little vulgar Boy, who'd gone and used me so; +But when the Crier cried "O Yes!" the people cried, "O No!" + +I went to "Jarvis' Landing-place," the glory of the town, +There was a common sailor-man a-walking up and down; +I told my tale--he seem'd to think I'd not been treated well, +And called me "Poor old Buffer!" what that means I cannot tell. + +That sailor-man, he said he'd seen that morning on the shore, +A son of--something--'twas a name I'd never heard before, +A little "gallows-looking chap"--dear me; what could he mean? +With a "carpet-swab" and "muckingtogs," and a hat turned up with + green. + +He spoke about his "precious eyes," and said he'd seen him "sheer," +--It's very odd that sailor-men should talk so very queer-- +And then he hitch'd his trowsers up, as is, I'm told, their use, +--It's very odd that sailor-men should wear those things so loose. + +I did not understand him well, but think he meant to say +He'd seen that little vulgar Boy, that morning swim away +In Captain Large's Royal George about an hour before, +And they were now, as he supposed, "someWHERES" about the Nore. + +A landsman said, "I TWIG the chap--he's been upon the Mill-- +And 'cause he GAMMONS so the FLATS, ve calls him Veeping Bill!" +He said "he'd done me wery brown," and "nicely STOW'D the SWAG." +--That's French, I fancy, for a hat--or else a carpet-bag. + +I went and told the constable my property to track; +He asked me if "I did not wish that I might get it back?" +I answered, "To be sure I do!--it's what I come about." +He smiled and said, "Sir, does your mother know that you are out?" + +Not knowing what to do, I thought I'd hasten back to town, +And beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the Boy who'd "done me brown." +His Lordship very kindly said he'd try and find him out, +But he "rather thought that there were several vulgar boys about." + +He sent for Mr. Whithair then, and I described "the swag," +My Mackintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons, and carpet-bag; +He promised that the New Police should all their powers employ; +But never to this hour have I beheld that vulgar Boy! + + MORAL. +Remember, then, what when a boy I've heard my Grandma' tell, +"BE WARN'D IN TIME BY OTHERS' HARM, AND YOU SHALL DO FULL WELL!" +Don't link yourself with vulgar folks, who've got no fix'd abode, +Tell lies, use naughty words, and say they "wish they may be blow'd!" +Don't take too much of double X!--and don't at night go out +To fetch your beer yourself, but make the pot-boy bring you stout! +And when you go to Margate next, just stop and ring the bell, +Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I 'm pretty well! + + + +THE GHOST. + R. HARRIS BARHAM. + +There stands a City,--neither large nor small, + Its air and situation sweet and pretty; +It matters very little--if at all-- + Whether its denizens are dull or witty, +Whether the ladies there are short or tall, + Brunettes or blondes, only, there stands a city!-- +Perhaps 'tis also requisite to minute +That there's a Castle, and a Cobbler in it. + +A fair Cathedral, too, the story goes, + And kings and heroes lie entombed within her; +There pious Saints, in marble pomp repose, + Whose shrines are worn by knees of many a Sinner; +There, too, full many an Aldermanic nose + Roll'd its loud diapason after dinner; +And there stood high the holy sconce of Becket, +--Till four assassins came from France to crack it. + +The Castle was a huge and antique mound, + Proof against all th' artillery of the quiver, +Ere those abominable guns were found, + To send cold lead through gallant warrior's liver +It stands upon a gently rising ground, + Sloping down gradually to the river, +Resembling (to compare great things with smaller) +A well-scooped, moldy Stilton cheese--but taller. + +The Keep, I find, 's been sadly alter'd lately, + And 'stead of mail-clad knights, of honor jealous, +In martial panoply so grand and stately, + Its walls are rilled with money-making fellows, +And stuff'd, unless I'm misinformed greatly, + With leaden pipes, and coke, and coal, and bellows +In short, so great a change has come to pass, +Tis now a manufactory of Gas. + +But to my tale.--Before this profanation, + And ere its ancient glories were out short all, +A poor hard-working Cobbler took his station + In a small house, just opposite the portal; +His birth, his parentage, and education, + I know but little of--a strange, odd mortal; +His aspect, air, and gait, were all ridiculous; +His name was Mason--he'd been christened Nicholas. + +Nick had a wife possessed of many a charm, + And of the Lady Huntingdon persuasion; +But, spite of all her piety, her arm + She'd sometimes exercise when in a passion; +And, being of a temper somewhat warm, + Would now and then seize, upon small occasion, +A stick, or stool, or any thing that round did lie, +And baste her lord and master most confoundedly. + +No matter;--'tis a thing that's not uncommon, + 'Tis what we all have heard, and most have read of,-- +I mean, a bruising, pugilistic woman, + Such as I own I entertain a dread of, +--And so did Nick,--whom sometimes there would come on + A sort of fear his Spouse might knock his head off, +Demolish half his teeth, or drive a rib in, +She shone so much in "facers" and in "fibbing." + +"There's time and place for all things," said a sage + (King Solomon, I think), and this I can say, +Within a well-roped ring, or on a stage, + Boxing may be a very pretty FANCY, +When Messrs. Burke or Bendigo engage; + --'Tis not so well in Susan or in Nancy:-- +To get well mill'd by any one's an evil, +But by a lady--'tis the very Devil. + +And so thought Nicholas, whose only trouble + (At least his worst) was this, his rib's propensity; +For sometimes from the ale-house he would hobble, + His senses lost in a sublime immensity +Of cogitation--then he couldn't cobble-- + And then his wife would often try the density +Of his poor skull, and strike with all her might, +As fast as kitchen wenches strike a light. + +Mason, meek soul, who ever hated strife, + Of this same striking had a morbid dread, +He hated it like poison--or his wife-- + A vast antipathy!--but so he said-- +And very often, for a quiet life, + On these occasions he'd sneak up to bed, +Grope darkling in, and soon as at the door +He heard his lady--he'd pretend to snore. + +One night, then, ever partial to society, + Nick, with a friend (another jovial fellow), +Went to a Club--I should have said Society-- + At the "City Arms," once call'd the "Porto Bello" +A Spouting party, which, though some decry it, I + Consider no bad lounge when one is mellow; +There they discuss the tax on salt, and leather, +And change of ministers and change of weather. + +In short, it was a kind of British Forum, + Like John Gale Jones', erst in Piccadilly, +Only they managed things with more decorum, + And the Orations were not QUITE so silly; +Far different questions, too, would come before 'em + Not always politics, which, will ye nill ye, +Their London prototypes were always willing, +To give one QUANTUM SUFF. of--for a shilling. + +It more resembled one of later date, + And tenfold talent, as I'm told, in Bow-street, +Where kindlier nurtured souls do congregate, + And, though there are who deem that same a low street +Yet, I'm assured, for frolicsome debate + And genuine humor it's surpassed by no street, +When the "Chief Baron" enters, and assumes +To "rule" o'er mimic "Thesigers" and "Broughams." + +Here they would oft forget their Rulers' faults, + And waste in ancient lore the midnight taper, +Inquire if Orpheus first produced the Waltz, + How Gas-lights differ from the Delphic Vapor. +Whether Hippocrates gave Glauber's Salts, + And what the Romans wrote on ere obey'd paper,-- +This night the subject of their disquisitions +Was Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Sprues, and Apparitions. + +One learned gentleman, "a sage grave man," + Talk'd of the Ghost in Hamlet, "sheath'd in steel:"-- +His well-read friend, who next to speak began, + Said, "That was Poetry, and nothing real;" +A third, of more extensive learning, ran + To Sir George Villiers' Ghost, and Mrs. Veal; +Of sheeted Specters spoke with shorten'd breath, +And thrice he quoted "Drelincourt on Death." + +Nick, smoked, and smoked, and trembled as he heard + The point discuss'd, and all they said upon it, +How frequently some murder'd man appear'd, + To tell his wife and children who had done it; +Or how a Miser's Ghost, with grisly beard, + And pale lean visage, in an old Scotch bonnet, +Wander'd about to watch his buried money! +When all at once Nick heard the clock strike One--he + +Sprang from his seat, not doubting but a lecture + Impended from his fond and faithful She; +Nor could he well to pardon him expect her, + For he had promised to "be home to tea;" +But having luckily the key o' the back door, + He fondly hoped that, unperceived, he +Might creep up stairs again, pretend to doze, +And hoax his spouse with music from his nose. + +Vain fruitless hope!--The wearied sentinel + At eve may overlook the crouching foe, +Till, ere his hand can sound the alarum-bell, + He sinks beneath the unexpected blow; +Before the whiskers of Grimalkin fell, + When slumb'ring on her post, the mouse may go,-- +But woman, wakeful woman, 's never weary, + --Above all, when she waits to thump her deary. + +Soon Mrs. Mason heard the well-known tread; + She heard the key slow creaking in the door, +Spied through the gloom obscure, toward the bed + Nick creeping soft, as oft he had crept before; +When, bang, she threw a something at his head, + And Nick at once lay prostrate on the floor; +While she exclaim'd with her indignant face on,-- +"How dare you use your wife so, Mr. Mason?" + +Spare we to tell how fiercely she debated, + Especially the length of her oration,-- +Spare we to tell how Nick expostulated, + Roused by the bump into a good set passion, +So great, that more than once he execrated, + Ere he crawl'd into bed in his usual fashion; +--The Muses hate brawls; suffice it then to say, +He duck'd below the clothes--and there he lay: + +'Twas now the very witching time of night, + When church-yards groan, and graves give up their dead, +And many a mischievous, enfranchised Sprite + Had long since burst his bonds of stone or lead, +And hurried off, with schoolboy-like delight, + To play his pranks near some poor wretch's bed, +Sleeping, perhaps, serenely as a porpoise, +Nor dreaming of this fiendish Habeas Corpus. + +Not so our Nicholas, his meditations + Still to the same tremendous theme recurred, +The same dread subject of the dark narrations, + Which, back'd with such authority, he'd heard; +Lost in his own horrific contemplations, + He pondered o'er each well-remembered word; +When at the bed's foot, close beside the post, +He verily believed he saw--a Ghost! + +Plain and more plain the unsubstantial Sprite + To his astonish'd gaze each moment grew; +Ghastly and gaunt, it rear'd its shadowy height, + Of more than mortal seeming to the view, +And round its long, thin, bony fingers drew + A tatter'd winding-sheet, of course ALL WHITE;-- +The moon that moment peeping through a cloud, +Nick very plainly saw it THROUGH THE SHROUD! + +And now those matted locks, which never yet + Had yielded to the comb's unkind divorce, +Their long-contracted amity forget, + And spring asunder with elastic force; +Nay, e'en the very cap, of texture coarse, + Whose ruby cincture crown'd that brow of jet, +Uprose in agony--the Gorgon's head +Was but a type of Nick's up-squatting in the bed. + +From every pore distill'd a clammy dew. + Quaked every limb,--the candle too no doubt, +En regle, WOULD have burnt extremely blue, + But Nick unluckily had put it out; +And he, though naturally bold and stout, + In short, was in a most tremendous stew;-- +The room was fill'd with a sulphureous smell, +But where that came from Mason could not tell. + +All motionless the Specter stood,--and now + Its reverend form more clearly shone confest, +From the pale cheek a beard of purest snow + Descended o'er its venerable breast; +The thin gray hairs, that crown'd its furrow'd brow, + Told of years long gone by.--An awful guest +It stood, and with an action of command, +Beckon'd the Cobbler with its wan right hand. + +"Whence, and what art thou, Execrable Shape?" + Nick MIGHT have cried, could he have found a tongue, +But his distended jaws could only gape, + And not a sound upon the welkin rung, +His gooseberry orbs seem'd as they would have sprung + Forth from their sockets,--like a frightened Ape +He sat upon his haunches, bolt upright, +And shook, and grinn'd, and chatter'd with affright. + +And still the shadowy finger, long and lean, + Now beckon'd Nick, now pointed to the door; +And many an ireful glance, and frown, between, + The angry visage of the Phantom wore, +As if quite vexed that Nick would do no more + Than stare, without e'en asking, "What d' ye mean?" +Because, as we are told,--a sad old joke too,-- +Ghosts, like the ladies, "never speak till spoke to." + +Cowards, 'tis said, in certain situations, + Derive a sort of courage from despair, +And then perform, from downright desperation, + Much more than many a bolder man would dare. +Nick saw the Ghost was getting in a passion, + And therefore, groping till he found the chair, +Seized on his awl, crept softly out of bed, +And follow'd quaking where the Specter led. + +And down the winding stair, with noiseless tread, + The tenant of the tomb pass'd slowly on, +Each mazy turning of the humble shed + Seem'd to his step at once familiar grown, +So safe and sure the labyrinth did he tread + As though the domicile had been his own, +Though Nick himself, in passing through the shop, +Had almost broke his nose against the mop. + +Despite its wooden bolt, with jarring sound, + The door upon its hinges open flew; +And forth the Spirit issued,--yet around + It turn'd as if its follower's fears it knew, +And once more beckoning, pointed to the mound, + The antique Keep, on which the bright moon threw +With such effulgence her mild silvery gleam, +The visionary form seem'd melting in her beam. + +Beneath a pond'rous archway's somber shade, + Where once the huge portcullis swung sublime, +'Mid ivied battlements in ruin laid, + Sole, sad memorials of the olden time, +The Phantom held its way,--and though afraid + Even of the owls that sung their vesper chime, +Pale Nicholas pursued, its steps attending, +And wondering what on earth it all would end in. + +Within the moldering fabric's deep recess + At length they reach a court obscure and lone; +It seemed a drear and desolate wilderness, + The blackened walls with ivy all o'ergrown; +The night-bird shrieked her note of wild distress, + Disturb'd upon her solitary throne, +As though indignant mortal step should dare, +So led, at such an hour, should venture there! + +--The Apparition paused, and would have spoke + Pointing to what Nick thought an iron ring, +But then a neighboring chanticleer awoke, + And loudly 'gan his early matins sing +And then "it started like a guilty thing," + As that shrill clarion the silence broke. +--We know how much dead gentlefolks eschew +The appalling sound of "Cock-a-doodle-do!" + +The vision was no more--and Nick alone-- + "His streamer's waving" in the midnight wind, +Which through the ruins ceased not to groan; + --His garment, too, was somewhat short behind,-- +And, worst of all, he knew not where to find + The ring,--which made him most his fate bemoan-- +The iron ring,--no doubt of some trap door, +'Neath which the old dead Miser kept his store. + +"What's to be done?" he cried, "'t were vain to stay + Here in the dark without a single clew-- +Oh, for a candle now, or moonlight ray! + 'Fore George, I'm sadly puzzled what to do." +(Then clapped his hand behind)--"'Tis chilly too-- + I'll mark the spot, and come again by day. +What can I mark it by?--Oh, here's the wall-- +The mortar's yielding--here I'll stick my awl!" + +Then rose from earth to sky a withering shriek, + A loud, a long-protracted note of woe, +Such as when tempests roar, and timbers creak, + And o'er the side the masts in thunder go; +While on the deck resistless billows break, + And drag their victims to the gulfs below;-- +Such was the scream when, for the want of candle, +Nick Mason drove his awl in up to the handle. + +Scared by his Lady's heart-appalling cry, + Vanished at once poor Mason's golden dream-- +For dream it was;--and all his visions high, + Of wealth and grandeur, fled before that scream-- +And still he listens, with averted eye, + When gibing neighbors make "the Ghost" their theme +While ever from that hour they all declare +That Mrs. Mason used a cushion in her chair! + + + +A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. + R. HARRIS BARHAM + +Gengulphus comes from the Holy Land, + With his scrip, and his bottle, and sandal shoon; +Full many a day hath he been away, + Yet his lady deems him return'd full soon. + +Full many a day hath he been away, + Yet scarce had he crossed ayont the sea, +Ere a spruce young spark of a Learned Clerk + Had called on his Lady, and stopp'd to tea. + +This spruce young guest, so trimly drest, + Stay'd with that Lady, her revels to crown; +They laugh'd, and they ate, and they drank of the best + And they turn'd the old castle quite upside down. + +They would walk in the park, that spruce young Clerk, + With that frolicsome Lady so frank and free, +Trying balls and plays, and all manner of ways, + To get rid of what French people call Ennui. + + * * * * * * + +Now the festive board with viands is stored, + Savory dishes be there, I ween, +Rich puddings and big, and a barbacued pig, + And ox-tail soup in a China tureen. + +There's a flagon of ale as large as a pail-- + When, cockle on hat, and staff in hand, +While on naught they are thinking save eating and drinking, + Gengulphus walks in from the Holy Land! + +"You must be pretty deep to catch weasels asleep," + Says the proverb: that is "take the Fair unawares." +A maid o'er the banisters chancing to peep, + Whispers, "Ma'am, here's Gengulphus a-coming up-stairs." + +Pig, pudding, and soup, the electrified group, + With the flagon pop under the sofa in haste, +And contrive to deposit the Clerk in the closet, + As the dish least of all to Gengulphus's taste. + +Then oh! what rapture, what joy was exprest, + When "poor dear Gengulphus" at last appear'd! +She kiss'd and she press'd "the dear man" to her breast, + In spite of his "great, long, frizzly beard." + +Such hugging and squeezing! 'twas almost unpleasing, + A smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye; +She was so very glad, that she seem'd half mad, + And did not know whether to laugh or to cry. + +Then she calls up the maid and the table-cloth's laid, + And she sends for a pint of the best Brown Stout; +On the fire, too, she pops some nice mutton-chops, + And she mixes a stiff glass of "Cold Without." + +Then again she began at the "poor dear" man; + She press'd him to drink, and she press'd him to eat, +And she brought a foot-pan, with hot water and bran, + To comfort his "poor dear" travel-worn feet. + +"Nor night nor day since he'd been away, + Had she had any rest," she "vow'd and declared." +She "never could eat one morsel of meat, + For thinking how 'poor dear' Gengulphus fared." + +She "really did think she had not slept a wink + Since he left her, although he'd been absent so long," +Here he shook his head,--right little he said, + But he thought she was "coming it rather too strong." +Now his palate she tickles with the chops and the pickles + Till, so great the effect of that stiff gin grog, +His weaken'd body, subdued by the toddy, + Falls out of the chair, and he lies like a log. + +Then out comes the Clerk from his secret lair; + He lifts up the legs, and she lifts up the head, +And, between them, this most reprehensible pair + Undress poor Gengulphus and put him to bed. + +Then the bolster they place athwart his face, + And his night-cap into his mouth they cram; +And she pinches his nose underneath the clothes, + Till the "poor dear soul" goes off like a lamb. + + * * * * * + +And now they tried the deed to hide; + For a little bird whisper'd "Perchance you may swing; +Here's a corpse in the case, with a sad swell'd face, + And a Medical Crowner's a queer sort of thing!" + +So the Clerk and the wife, they each took a knife, + And the nippers that nipp'd the loaf-sugar for tea; +With the edges and points they sever'd the joints + At the clavicle, elbow, hip, ankle, and knee. + +Thus, limb from limb, they dismember'd him + So entirely, that e'en when they came to his wrists, +With those great sugar-nippers they nipped off his "flippers," + As the Clerk, very flippantly, termed his fists. + +When they cut off his head, entertaining a dread + Lest the folks should remember Gengulphus's face, +They determined to throw it where no one could know it, + Down the well,--and the limbs in some different place. + +But first the long beard from the chin they shear'd, + And managed to stuff that sanctified hair, +With a good deal of pushing, all into the cushion + That filled up the seat of a large arm-chair. + +They contriv'd to pack up the trunk in a sack, + Which they hid in an osier-bed outside the town, +The Clerk bearing arms, legs, and all on his back, + As that vile Mr. Greenacre served Mrs. Brown. + +But to see now how strangely things sometimes turn out, + And that in a manner the least expected! +Who could surmise a man ever could rise + Who'd been thus carbonado'd, out up, and dissected? + +No doubt 't would surprise the pupils at Guy's; + I am no unbeliever--no man can say that o' me-- +But St. Thomas himself would scarce trust his own eyes + If he saw such a thing in his School of Anatomy. + +You may deal as you please with Hindoos and Chinese, + Or a Mussulman making his heathen salaam, or +A Jew or a Turk, but it's rather guess work + When a man has to do with a Pilgrim or Palmer. + + * * * * * + +By chance the Prince Bishop, a Royal Divine, + Sends his cards round the neighborhood next day, and urges his +Wish to receive a snug party to dine, + Of the resident clergy, the gentry, and burgesses. + +At a quarter past five they are all alive, + At the palace, for coaches are fast rolling in, +And to every guest his card had express'd + "Half-past" as the hour for "a greasy chin." + +Some thirty are seated, and handsomely treated + With the choicest Rhine wine in his Highness's stock +When a Count of the Empire, who felt himself heated, + Requested some water to mix with his Hock. + +The Butler, who saw it, sent a maid out to draw it, + But scarce had she given the windlass a twirl, +Ere Gengulphus's head, from the well's bottom, said + In mild accents, "Do help us out, that's a good girl!" + +Only fancy her dread when she saw a great head + In her bucket;--with fright she was ready to drop:-- +Conceive, if you can, how she roar'd and she ran, + With the head rolling after her, bawling out "Stop!" + +She ran and she roar'd, till she came to the board + Where the Prince Bishop sat with his party around, +When Gengulphus's poll, which continued to roll + At her heels, on the table bounced up with a bound. + +Never touching the cates, or the dishes or plates, + The decanters or glasses, the sweetmeats or fruits, +The head smiles, and begs them to bring his legs, + As a well-spoken gentleman asks for his boots. + +Kicking open the casement, to each one's amazement + Straight a right leg steps in, all impediment scorns, +And near the head stopping, a left follows hopping + Behind,--for the left leg was troubled with corns. + +Next, before the beholders, two great brawny shoulders, + And arms on their bent elbows dance through the throng; +While two hands assist, though nipped off at the wrist, + The said shoulders in bearing the body along. + +They march up to the head, not one syllable said, + For the thirty guests all stare in wonder and doubt, +As the limbs in their sight arrange and unite, + Till Gengulphus, though dead, looks as sound as a trout. + +I will venture to say, from that hour to this day, + Ne'er did such an assembly behold such a scene; +Or a table divide fifteen guests of a side + With a dead body placed in the center between. +Yes, they stared--well they might at so novel a sight + No one utter'd a whisper, a sneeze, or a hem, +But sat all bolt upright, and pale with affright; + And they gazed at the dead man, the dead man at them. + +The Prince Bishop's Jester, on punning intent, + As he view'd the whole thirty, in jocular terms +Said "They put him in mind of a Council of Trente + Engaged in reviewing the Diet of Worms." + +But what should they do?--Oh! nobody knew + What was best to be done, either stranger or resident; +The Chancellor's self read his Puffendorf through + In vain, for his book could not furnish a precedent. + +The Prince Bishop mutter'd a curse, and a prayer, + Which his double capacity hit to a nicety; +His Princely, or Lay, half induced him to swear, + His Episcopal moiety said "Benedicite!" + +The Coroner sat on the body that night, + And the jury agreed,--not a doubt could they harbor,-- +"That the chin of the corpse--the sole thing brought to light-- + Had been recently shav'd by a very bad barber." + +They sent out Van Taunsend, Von Burnie, Von Roe, + Von Maine, and Von Rowantz--through chalets and chateaux, +Towns, villages, hamlets, they told them to go, + And they stuck up placards on the walls of the Stadthaus. + + "MURDER!! + +"WHEREAS, a dead gentleman, surname unknown, + Has been recently found at his Highness's banquet, +Rather shabbily dressed in an Amice, or gown + In appearance resembling a second-hand blanket; + +"And WHEREAS, there's great reason indeed to suspect + That some ill-disposed person, or persons, with malice +Aforethought, have kill'd, and begun to dissect + The said Gentleman, not far from this palace. + +"THIS IS TO GIVE NOTICE!--Whoever shall seize; + And such person or persons, to justice surrender, +Shall receive--such REWARD--as his Highness shall please, + On conviction of him, the aforesaid offender. + +"And, in order the matter more clearly to trace + To the bottom, his Highness, the Prince Bishop, further, +Of his clemency, offers free PARDON and Grace + To all such as have NOT been concern'd in the murther. + +"Done this day, at onr palace,--July twenty-five-- + By command, + (Signed) + Johann Von Russell, + + N.B. +Deceased rather in years--had a squint when alive; + And smells slightly of gin--linen marked with a G." + +The Newspapers, too, made no little ado, + Though a different version each managed to dish up; +Some said "The Prince Bishop had run a man through," + Others said "an assassin had kill'd the Prince Bishop." + +The "Ghent Herald" fell foul of the "Bruxelles Gazette," + The "Bruxelles Gazette," with much sneering ironical, +Scorn'd to remain in the "Ghent Herald's" debt, + And the "Amsterdam Times" quizz'd the "Nuremberg Chronicle." + +In one thing, indeed, all the journals agreed, + Spite of "politics," "bias," or "party collision;" +Viz.: to "give," when they'd "further accounts" of the deed, + "Full particulars" soon, in "a later Edition." + +But now, while on all sides they rode and they ran, + Trying all sorts of means to discover the caitiffs, +Losing patience, the holy Gengulphus began + To think it high time to "astonish the natives." + +First, a Rittmeister's Frau, who was weak in both eyes, + And supposed the most short-sighted woman in Holland, +Found greater relief, to her joy and surprise, + From one glimpse of his "squint" than from glasses by Dollond. + +By the slightest approach to the tip of his Nose, + Meagrims, headache, and vapors were put to the rout; +And one single touch of his precious Great Toes + Was a certain specific for chillblains and gout. + +Rheumatics,--sciatica,--tic-douloureux! + Apply to his shin-bones--not one of them lingers-- +All bilious complaints in an instant withdrew, + If the patient was tickled with one of his fingers. + +Much virtue was found to reside in his thumbs: + When applied to the chest, they cured scantness of breathing. +Sea-sickness, and colic; or, rubb'd on the gums, + Were "A blessing to Mothers," for infants in teething. + +Whoever saluted the nape of his neck, + Where the mark remain'd visible still of the knife, +Notwithstanding east winds perspiration might check, + Was safe from sore-throat for the rest of his life. +Thus, while each acute and each chronic complaint + Giving way, proved an influence clearly Divine, +They perceived the dead Gentleman must be a Saint, + So they lock'd him up, body and bones, in a shrine. + +Through country and town his new Saintship's renown + As a first-rate physician kept daily increasing, +Till, as Alderman Curtis told Alderman Brown, + It seem'd as if "Wonders had never DONE CEASING," + +The Three Kings of Cologne began, it was known, + A sad falling off in their offerings to find, +His feats were so many--still the greatest of any,-- + In every sense of the word, was-behind. + +For the German Police were beginning to cease + From exertions which each day more fruitless appear'd, +When Gengulphus himself, his fame still to increase, + Unravell'd the whole by the help of--his beard! + +If you look back you'll see the aforesaid barbe gris, + When divorced from the chin of its murder'd proprietor, +Had been stuffed in the seat of a kind of settee, + Or double-arm'd chair, to keep the thing quieter. + +It may seem rather strange, that it did not arrange + Itself in its place when the limbs join'd together; +Perhaps it could not get out, for the cushion was stout, + And constructed of good, strong, maroon-color'd leather + +Or what is more likely, Gengulphus might choose, + For saints, e'en when dead, still retain their volition, +It should rest there, to aid some particular views, + Produced by his very peculiar position, + +Be that as it may, on the very first day + That the widow Gengulphus sat down on that settee, +What occur'd almost frightened her senses away, + Beside scaring her hand-maidens, Gertrude and Betty, + +They were telling their mistress the wonderful deeds + Of the new Saint, to whom all the Town said their orisons; +And especially how, as regards invalids, + His miraculous cures far outrival'd Von Morison's. + +"The cripples," said they, "fling their crutches away, + And people born blind now can easily see us!" +But she (we presume, a disciple of Hume) + Shook her head, and said angrily, "'Credat Judaeus!' + +"Those rascally liars, the Monks and the Friars, + To bring grist to their mill, these devices have hit on. +He works miracles!--pooh!--I'd believe it of you + Just as soon, you great Geese,--or the Chair that I sit on!" + +The Chair--at that word--it seems really absurd, + But the truth must be told,--what contortions and grins +Distorted her face!--She sprang up from her place + Just as though she'd been sitting on needles and pins! + +For, as if the Saint's beard the rash challenge had heard + Which she utter'd, of what was beneath her forgetful +Each particular hair stood on end in the chair, + Like a porcupine's quills when the animal's fretful, + +That stout maroon leather, they pierced altogether, + Like tenter-hooks holding when clench'd from within, +And the maids cried--"Good gracious! how very tenacious!" + --They as well might endeavor to pull off her skin!-- + +She shriek'd with the pain, but all efforts were vain; + In vain did they strain every sinew and muscle,-- +The cushion stuck fast!--From that hour to her last + She could never get rid of that comfortless "Bustle"! + +And e'en as Macbeth, when devising the death + Of his King, heard "the very stones prate of his whereabouts;" +So this shocking bad wife heard a voice all her life + Crying "Murder!" resound from the cushion,--or thereabouts. + +With regard to the Clerk, we are left in the dark + As to what his fate was; but I can not imagine he +Got off scot-free, though unnoticed it be + Both by Ribadaneira and Jacques de Voragine: + +For cut-throats, we're sure, can be never secure, + And "History's Muse" still to prove it her pen holds, +As you'll see, if you'll look in a rather scarce book, + "God's Revenge against Murder," by one Mr. Reynolds. + + MORAL. + +Now, you grave married Pilgrims, who wander away, + Like Ulysses of old (vide Homer and Naso), +Don't lengthen your stay to three years and a day, + And when you are coming home, just write and say so! + +And you, learned Clerks, who're not given to roam, + Stick close to your books, nor lose sight of decorum, +Don't visit a house when the master's from home! + Shun drinking,--and study the "Vilce Sanctorum!" + +Above all, you gay ladies, who fancy neglect + In your spouses, allow not your patience to fail; +But remember Gengulphus's wife!--and reflect + On the moral enforced by her terrible tale! + + + + +SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. +A LEGEND OF GERMANY. + R. HARRIS BARHAM + +Sir Rupert the Fearless, a gallant young knight, +Was equally ready to tipple or fight, + Crack a crown, or a bottle, + Cut sirloin, or throttle; +In brief, or as Hume says, "to sum up the tottle," +Unstain'd by dishonor, unsullied by fear, +All his neighbors pronounced him a preux chevalier. + +Despite these perfections, corporeal and mental, +He had one slight defect, viz., a rather lean rental; +Besides, 'tis own'd there are spots in the sun, +So it must be confess'd that Sir Rupert had one; + Being rather unthinking, + He'd scarce sleep a wink in +A night, but addict himself sadly to drinking; + And what moralists say, + Is as naughty--to play, +To Rouge et Noir, Hazard, Short Whist, Ecarte; +Till these, and a few less defensible fancies +Brought the Knight to the end of his slender finances. + + When at length through his boozing, + And tenants refusing +Their rents, swearing "tunes were so bad they were losing," + His steward said, "O, sir, + It's some time ago, sir, +Since aught through my hands reach'd the baker or grocer, +And the tradesmen in general are grown great complainers." +Sir Rupert the brave thus address'd his retainers: + + "My friends, since the stock + Of my father's old hock +Is out, with the Kurchwasser, Barsae, Moselle, +And we're fairly reduced to the pump and the well, + I presume to suggest, + We shall all find it best +For each to shake hands with his friends ere he goes, +Mount his horse, if he has one, and--follow his nose; + As to me, I opine, + Left sans money or wine, +My best way is to throw myself into the Rhine, +Where pitying trav'lers may sigh, as they cross over, +Though he lived a roue, yet he died a philosopher." + +The Knight, having bow'd out his friends thus politely. +Got into his skiff, the full moon shining brightly, + By the light of whose beam, + He soon spied on the stream +A dame, whose complexion was fair as new cream, + Pretty pink silken hose + Cover'd ankles and toes, +In other respects she was scanty of clothes; +For, so says tradition, both written and oral, +Her ONE garment was loop'd up with bunches of coral. + +Full sweetly she sang to a sparkling guitar, +With silver chords stretch'd over Derbyshire spar, + And she smiled on the Knight, + Who, amazed at the sight, +Soon found his astonishment merged in delight; + But the stream by degrees + Now rose up to her knees, +Till at length it invaded her very chemise, +While the heavenly strain, as the wave seem'd to swallow her +And slowly she sank, sounded fainter and hollower; + --Jumping up in his boat + And discarding his coat, +"Here goes," cried Sir Rupert, "by jingo I'll follow her!" +Then into the water he plunged with a souse +That was heard quite distinctly by those in the house. + +Down, down, forty fathom and more from the brink, +Sir Rupert the Fearless continues to sink, + And, as downward he goes, + Still the cold water flows +Through his ears, and his eyes, and his mouth, and his nose +Till the rum and the brandy he'd swallow'd since lunch +Wanted nothing but lemon to fill him with punch; +Some minutes elapsed since he enter'd the flood, +Ere his heels touch'd the bottom, and stuck in the mud. + + But oh! what a sight + Met the eyes of the Knight, +When he stood in the depth of the stream bolt upright!-- + A grand stalactite hall, + Like the cave of Fingal, +Rose above and about him;--great fishes and small +Came thronging around him, regardless of danger, +And seem'd all agog for a peep at the stranger, +Their figures and forms to describe, language fails-- +They'd such very odd heads, and such very odd tails; +Of their genus or species a sample to gain, +You would ransack all Hungerford market in vain; + E'en the famed Mr. Myers, + Would scarcely find buyers, +Though hundreds of passengers doubtless would stop +To stare, were such monsters exposed in his shop. + +But little reck'd Rupert these queer-looking brutes, + Or the efts and the newts + That crawled up his boots, +For a sight, beyond any of which I've made mention, +In a moment completely absorb'd his attention. +A huge crystal bath, which, with water far clearer +Than George Robins' filters, or Thorpe's (which are dearer), + Have ever distill'd, + To the summit was fill'd, +Lay stretch'd out before him--and every nerve thrill'd + As scores of young women + Were diving and swimming, +Till the vision a perfect quandary put him in;-- +All slightly accoutred in gauzes and lawns, +They came floating about him like so many prawns. + +Sir Rupert, who (barring the few peccadilloes +Alluded to), ere he lept into the billows +Possess'd irreproachable morals, began +To feel rather queer, as a modest young man; +When forth stepp'd a dame, whom he recognized soon +As the one he had seen by the light of the moon, +And lisp'd, while a soft smile attended each sentence, +"Sir Rupert, I'm happy to make your acquaintance; + My name is Lurline, + And the ladies you've seen, +All do me the honor to call me their Queen; +I'm delighted to see you, sir, down in the Rhine here +And hope you can make it convenient to dine here." + + The Knight blush'd, and bow'd, + As he ogled the crowd +Of subaqueous beauties, then answer'd aloud; +"Ma'am, you do me much honor--I can not express +The delight I shall feel--if you'll pardon my dress-- +May I venture to say, when a gentleman jumps +In the river at midnight for want of the 'dumps,' +He rarely puts on his knee-breeches and pumps; +If I could but have guess'd--what I sensibly feel-- +Your politeness--I'd not have come en dishabille, +But have put on my SILK tights in lieu of my STEEL." +Quoth the lady, "Dear sir, no apologies, pray, +You will take our 'pot-luck' in the family way; + We can give you a dish + Of some decentish fish, +And our water's thought fairish; but here in the Rhine, +I can't say we pique ourselves much on our wine." + +The Knight made a bow more profound than before, +When a Dory-faced page oped the dining-room door, + And said, bending his knee, + "Madame, on a servi!" +Rupert tender'd his arm, led Lurline to her place, +And a fat little Mer-man stood up and said grace, + +What boots it to tell of the viands, or how she +Apologized much for their plain water-souchy, + Want of Harvey's, and Cross's, + And Burgess's sauces? +Or how Rupert, on his side, protested, by Jove, he +Preferr'd his fish plain, without soy or anchovy. + Suffice it the meal + Boasted trout, perch, and eel, +Besides some remarkably fine salmon peel, +The Knight, sooth to say, thought much less of the fishes +Than what they were served on, the massive gold dishes; +While his eye, as it glanced now and then on the girls, +Was caught by their persons much less than their pearls, +And a thought came across him and caused him to muse, + "If I could but get hold + Of some of that gold, +I might manage to pay off my rascally Jews!" + +When dinner was done, at a sign to the lasses, +The table was clear'd, and they put on fresh glasses; + Then the lady addrest + Her redoubtable guest +Much as Dido, of old, did the pious Eneas, +"Dear sir, what induced you to come down and see us?"-- +Rupert gave her a glance most bewitchingly tender, +Loll'd back in his chair, put his toes on the fender, + And told her outright + How that he, a young Knight, +Had never been last at a feast or a fight; + But that keeping good cheer + Every day in the year, +And drinking neat wines all the same as small-beer, + Had exhausted his rent, + And, his money all spent, +How he borrow'd large sums at two hundred per cent.; + How they follow'd--and then, + The once civilest of men, +Messrs. Howard and Gibbs, made him bitterly rue it he'd +Ever raised money by way of annuity; +And, his mortgages being about to foreclose, +How he jumped into the river to finish his woes! + +Lurline was affected, and own'd, with a tear, +That a story so mournful had ne'er met her ear: + Rupert, hearing her sigh, + Look'd uncommonly sly, +And said, with some emphasis, "Ah! miss, had I + A few pounds of those metals + You waste here on kettles, + Then, Lord once again + Of my spacious domain, +A free Count of the Empire once more I might reign, + With Lurline at my side, + My adorable bride +(For the parson should come, and the knot should be tied); +No couple so happy on earth should be seen +As Sir Rupert the brave and his charming Lurline; +Not that money's my object--No, hang it! I scorn it-- +And as for my rank--but that YOU'D so adorn it-- + I'd abandon it all + To remain your true thrall, +And, instead of 'the GREAT,' be call'd 'Rupert the SMALL,' +--To gain but your smiles, were I Sardanapalus, +I'd descend from my throne, and be boots at an alehouse." + + Lurline hung her head + Turn'd pale, and then red, +Growing faint at this sudden proposal to wed, +As though his abruptness, in "popping the question" +So soon after dinner, disturb'd her digestion. + Then, averting her eye, + With a lover-like sigh, +"You are welcome," she murmur'd in tones most bewitching, +"To every utensil I have in my kitchen!" + Upstarted the Knight, + Half mad with delight, + Round her finely-form'd waist + He immediately placed +One arm, which the lady most closely embraced, +Of her lily-white fingers the other made capture, +And he press'd his adored to his bosom with rapture, +"And, oh!" he exclaim'd, "let them go catch my skiff, +I'll be home in a twinkling and back in a jiffy, +Nor one moment procrastinate longer my journey +Than to put up the bans and kick out the attorney." + +One kiss to her lip, and one squeeze to her hand +And Sir Rupert already was half-way to land, + For a sour-visaged Triton, + With features would frighten +Old Nick, caught him up in one hand, though no light one, +Sprang up through the waves, popp'd him into his funny, +Which some others already had half-fill'd with money; +In fact, 'twas so heavily laden with ore +And pearls, 'twas a mercy he got it to shore; + But Sir Rupert was strong, + And while pulling along, +Still he heard, faintly sounding, the water-nymphs' song. + + LAY OF THE NAIADS. + + "Away! away! to the mountain's brow, + Where the castle is darkly frowning; + And the vassals, all in goodly row, + Weep for their lord a-drowning! + Away! away! to the steward's room, + Where law with its wig and robe is; + Throw us out John Doe and Richard Roe, + And sweetly we'll tidde their tobies!" + +The unearthly voices scarce had ceased their yelling, +When Rupert reach'd his old baronial dwelling. + + What rejoicing was there! + How the vassals did stare! +The old housekeeper put a clean shirt down to air, + For she saw by her lamp + That her master's was damp, +And she fear'd he'd catch cold, and lumbago, and cramp; + But, scorning what she did, + The Knight never heeded +Wet jacket, or trousers, or thought of repining, +Since their pockets had got such a delicate lining. + But, oh! what dismay + Fill'd the tribe of Ca Sa, +When they found he'd the cash, and intended to pay! +Away went "cognovits," "bills," "bonds," and "escheats," +Rupert cleared off old scores, and took proper receipts. + + Now no more he sends out, + For pots of brown stout, +Or schnapps, but resolves to do henceforth without, +Abjure from this hour all excess and ebriety, +Enroll himself one of a Temp'rance Society, + All riot eschew, + Begin life anew, +And new-cushion and hassock the family pew! +Nay, to strengthen him more in this new mode of life +He boldly determined to take him a wife. + +Now, many would think that the Knight, from a nice sense +Of honor, should put Lurline's name in the license, +And that, for a man of his breeding and quality, + To break faith and troth, + Confirm'd by an oath, +Is not quite consistent with rigid morality; +But whether the nymph was forgot, or he thought her +From her essence scarce wife, but at best wife-and-water + And declined as unsuited, + A bride so diluted-- + Be this as it may, + He, I'm sorry to say +For, all things consider'd, I own 'twas a rum thing, +Made proposals in form to Miss Una Von--something +(Her name has escaped me), sole heiress, and niece +To a highly respectable Justice of Peace. + + "Thrice happy's the wooing + That's not long a-doing!" +So much time is saved in the billing and cooing-- +The ring is now bought, the white favors, and gloves, +And all the et cetera which crown people's loves; +A magnificent bride-cake comes home from the baker. +And lastly appears, from the German Long Acre, +That shaft which, the sharpest in all Cupid's quiver is, +A plumb-color'd coach, and rich Pompadour liveries, + + 'Twas a comely sight + To behold the Knight, +With his beautiful bride, dress'd all in white, +And the bridemaids fair with their long lace vails, +As they all walk'd up to the altar rails, +While nice little boys, the incense dispensers, +March'd in front with white surplices, bands, and gilt censers. + +With a gracious air, and a smiling look, +Mess John had open'd his awful book, +And had read so far as to ask if to wed he meant? +And if "he knew any just cause or impediment?" +When from base to turret the castle shook!!! +Then came a sound of a mighty rain +Dashing against each storied pane, + The wind blew loud, + And coal-black cloud +O'ershadow'd the church, and the party, and crowd; +How it could happen they could not divine, +The morning had been so remarkably fine! + +Still the darkness increased, till it reach'd such a pass +That the sextoness hasten'd to turn on the gas; + But harder it pour'd, + And the thunder roar'd, +As if heaven and earth were coming together; +None ever had witness'd such terrible weather. + Now louder it crash'd, + And the lightning flash'd, + Exciting the fears + Of the sweet little dears +In the vails, as it danced on the brass chandeliers; +The parson ran off, though a stout-hearted Saxon, +When he found that a flash had set fire to his caxon. + +Though all the rest trembled, as might be expected, +Sir Rupert was perfectly cool and collected, + And endeavor'd to cheer + His bride, in her ear +Whisp'ring tenderly, "Pray don't be frighten'd, my dear +Should it even set fire to the castle, and burn it, you're +Amply insured, both for buildings and furniture." + But now, from without, + A trustworthy scout + Rush'd hurriedly in-- + Wet through to the skin, +Informing his master 'the river was rising, +And flooding the grounds in a way quite surprising.' + + He'd no time to say more, + For already the roar +Of the waters was heard as they reach'd the church-door, +While, high on the first wave that roll'd in, was seen, +Riding proudly, the form of the angry Lurline; +And all might observe, by her glance fierce and stormy, +She was stung by the spretoe injuria formoe. + +What she said to the Knight, what she said to the bride, +What she said to the ladies who stood by her side, +What she said to the nice little boys in white clothes, +Oh, nobody mentions--for nobody knows; +For the roof tumbled in, and the walls tumbled out, +And the folks tumbled down, all confusion and rout, + The rain kept on pouring, + The flood kept on roaring, +The billows and water-nymphs roll'd more and more in + Ere the close of the day + All was clean wash'd away-- +One only survived who could hand down the news, +A little old woman that open'd the pews; + She was borne off, but stuck, + By the greatest good luck, +In an oak-tree, and there she hung, crying and screaming, +And saw all the rest swallow'd up the wild stream in; + In vain, all the week, + Did the fishermen seek +For the bodies, and poke in each cranny and creek; + In vain was their search + After aught in the church, +They caught nothing but weeds, and perhaps a few perch. + The Humane Society + Tried a variety +Of methods, and brought down, to drag for the wreck, tackles +But they only fished up the clerk's tortoise-shell spectacles. + +MORAL. + +This tale has a moral. Ye youths, oh, beware +Of liquor, and how you run after the fair! +Shun playing at SHORTS--avoid quarrels and jars-- +And don't take to smoking those nasty cigars! +--Let no run of bad-luck, or despair for some Jewess-eyed +Damsel, induce you to contemplate suicide! +Don't sit up much later than ten or eleven!-- +Be up in the morning by half after seven! +Keep from flirting--nor risk, warn'd by Rupert's miscarriage, +An action for breach of a promise of marriage;-- + Don't fancy odd fishes! + Don't prig silver dishes! +And to sum up the whole, in the shortest phrase I know, +BEWARE OF THE RHINE, AND TAKE CARE OF THE RHINO! + + + +LOOK AT THE CLOCK. + R. HARRIS BARHAM. + +"Look at the Clock!" quoth Winifred Pryce, + As she opened the door to her husband's knock, +Then paused to give him a piece of advice, + "You nasty Warmint, look at the Clock! + Is this the way, you + Wretch, every day you +Treat her who vow'd to love and obey you?-- + Out all night! + Me in a fright! +Staggering home as it's just getting light! +You intoxified brute!--you insensible block!-- +Look at the Clock!--Do!--Look at the Clock!" + +Winifred Pryce was tidy and clean, +Her gown was a flower'd one, her petticoat green, +Her buckles were bright as her milking-cans, +Her hat was a beaver, and made like a man's; +Her little red eyes were deep set in their socket-holes, +Her gown-tail was turn'd up, and tuck'd through the pocket-holes; + A face like a ferret + Betoken'd her spirit: +To conclude, Mrs. Pryce was not over young, +Had very short legs, and a very long tongue. + + Now David Pryce + Had one darling vice; +Remarkably partial to any thing nice, +Nought that was good to him came amiss, +Whether to eat, or to drink or to kiss! + Especially ale-- + If it was not too stale +I really believe he'd have emptied a pail; + Not that in Wales + They talk of their Ales: +To pronounce the word they make use of might trouble you, +Being spelt with a C, two R's, and a W. + + That particular day, + As I've heard people say, +Mr. David Pryce had been soaking his clay, +And amusing himself with his pipe and cheroots, +The whole afternoon at the Goat-in-Boots, + With a couple more soakers, + Thoroughbred smokers, +Both, like himself, prime singers and jokers; +And, long after day had drawn to a close, +And the rest of the world was wrapp'd in repose, +They were roaring out "Shenkin!" and "Ar hydd y nos;" +While David himself, to a Sassenach tune, +Sang, "We've drunk down the Sun, boys! let's drink down the Moon! + What have we with day to do? + Mrs. Winifred Pryce, 't was made for you!"-- +At length, when they couldn't well drink any more, +Old "Goat-in-Boots" showed them the door: + And then came that knock, + And the sensible shock +David felt when his wife cried, "Look at the Clock!" +For the hands stood as crooked as crooked might be, +The long at the Twelve, and the short at the Three! + +That self-same clock had long been a bone +Of contention between this Darby and Joan; +And often, among their pother and rout, +When this otherwise amiable couple fell out, + + Pryce would drop a cool hint, + With an ominous squint +At its case, of an "Uncle" of his, who'd a "Spout." + That horrid word "Spout" + No sooner came out +Than Winifred Pryce would turn her about, + And with scorn on her lip, + And a hand on each hip, +"Spout" herself till her nose grew red at the tip, + "You thundering Willin, + I know you'd be killing +Your wife,--ay, a dozen of wives,--for a shilling! + You may do what you please, + You may sell my chemise +(Mrs. P. was too well-bred to mention her stock), +But I never will part with my Grandmother's Clock!" + +Mrs. Pryce's tongue ran long and ran fast, +But patience is apt to wear out at last, +And David Pryce in temper was quick, +So he stretch'd out his hand, and caught hold of a stick; +Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenient, +But walking just then wasn't very convenient, + So he threw it, instead, + Direct at her head; + It knock'd off her hat; + Down she fell flat; +Her case, perhaps, was not much mended by that: +But whatever it was,--whether rage and pain +Produced apoplexy, or burst a vein, +Or her tumble induced a concussion of brain, +I can't say for certain,--but THIS I can, +When sober'd by fright, to assist her he ran, +Mrs. Winifred Pryce was dead as Queen Anne! + + The fatal catastrophe + Named in my last strophe +As adding to grim Death's exploits such a vast trophy, +Made a great noise; and the shocking fatality, +Ran over, like wild-fire, the whole Principality. +And then came Mr. Ap Thomas, the Coroner, +With his jury to sit, some dozen or more, on her. + + Mr. Pryce to commence + His "ingenious defense," +Made a "powerful appeal" to the jury's "good sense," + "The world he must defy + Ever to justify +Any presumption of 'Malice Prepense;'"-- The unlucky lick + From the end of his stick +He "deplored"--he was "apt to be rather too quick;"-- + But, really, her prating + Was so aggravating: +Some trifling correction was just what he meant;--all +The rest, he assured them, was "quite accidental!" + + Then he calls Mr. Jones, + Who depones to her tones, +And her gestures and hints about "breaking his bones," +While Mr. Ap Morgan, and Mr. Ap Rhys + Declared the deceased + Had styled him "a Beast," +And swear they had witness'd, with grief and surprise, +The allusion she made to his limbs and his eyes. + +The jury, in fine, having sat on the body +The whole day, discussing the case, and gin-toddy, +Return'd about half-past eleven at night +The following verdict, "We find, SARVE HER RIGHT!" + +Mr. Pryce, Mrs. Winifred Pryce being dead, +Felt lonely, and moped; and one evening he said +He would marry Miss Davis at once in her stead. + + Not far from his dwelling, + From the vale proudly swelling, +Rose a mountain, it's name you'll excuse me from telling +For the vowels made use of in Welsh are so few +That the A and the E, the I, O, and the U, +Have really but little or nothing to do; +And the duty, of course, falls the heavier by far, +On the L, and the H, and the N, and the R, + Its first syllable "PEN," + Is pronounceable;--then +Come two LL's, and two HH's, two FF's, and an N; +About half a score R's and some Ws follow, +Beating all my best efforts at euphony hollow: +But we shan't have to mention it often, so when +We do, with your leave, we'll curtail it to "PEN." + + Well--the moon shone bright + Upon "PEN" that night, +When Pryce, being quit of his fuss and his fright, + Was scaling its side + With that sort of stride +A man puts out when walking in search of a bride +Mounting higher and higher, +He began to perspire, +Till, finding his legs were beginning to tire, + And feeling opprest + By a pain in his chest, +He paus'd, and turn'd round to take breath, and to rest; +A walk all up hill is apt, we know, +To make one, however robust, puff and blow, +So he stopp'd, and look'd down on the valley below. + + O'er fell, and o'er fen, + Over mountain and glen, +All bright in the moonshine, his eye roved, and then +All the Patriot rose in his soul, and he thought +Upon Wales, and her glories, and all he'd been taught + Of her Heroes of old, + So brave and so bold,-- +Of her Bards with long beards, and harps mounted in gold + Of King Edward the First, + Of memory accurst; +And the scandalous manner in which he behaved, + Killing Poets by dozens, + With their uncles and cousins, +Of whom not one in fifty had ever been shaved-- +Of the Court Ball, at which, by a lucky mishap, +Owen Tudor fell into Queen Katherine's lap; + And how Mr. Tudor, + Successfully woo'd her, +Till the Dowager put on a new wedding ring, +And so made him Father-in law to the King. + +He thought upon Arthur, and Merlin of yore, +On Gryffith ap Conan, and Owen Glendour; +On Pendragon, and Heaven knows how many more. +He thought of all this, as he gazed, in a trice, +On all things, in short, but the late Mrs. Pryce; +When a lumbering noise from behind made him start, +And sent the blood back in full tide to his heart, + Which went pit-a-pat + As he cried out "What's that?"-- + That very queer sound?-- + Does it come from the ground? +Or the air,--from above,--or below,--or around?-- + It is not like Talking, + It is not like Walking, +It's not like the clattering of pot or of pan, +Or the tramp of a horse,--or the tread of a man,-- +Or the hum of a crowd,--or the shouting of boys,-- +It's really a deuced odd sort of a noise! +Not unlike a cart's,--but that can't be;--for when +Could "all the King's horses, and all the King's men," +With Old Nick for a wagoner, drive one up "PEN?" + +Pryce, usually brimful of valor when drunk, +Now experienced what school-boys denominate "funk." + In vain he look'd back + On the whole of the track +He had traversed; a thick cloud, uncommonly black, +At this moment obscured the broad disc of the moon, +And did not seem likely to pass away soon; + While clearer and clearer, + 'Twas plain to the hearer, +Be the noise what it might, it drew nearer and nearer, +And sounded, as Pryce to this moment declares, +Very much "like a coffin a-walking up stairs." + + Mr. Pryce had begun + To "make up" for a run, +As in such a companion he saw no great fun, + When a single bright ray + Shone out on the way +He had passed, and he saw, with no little dismay, +Coming after him, bounding o'er crag and o'er rock, +The deceased Mrs. Winifred's "Grandmother's Clock!!" + +'Twas so!--it had certainly moved from its place, +And come, lumbering on thus, to hold him in chase; +'Twas the very same Head, and the very same Case, +And nothing was altered at all--but the Face! +In that he perceived, with no little surprise, +The two little winder-holes turn'd into eyes + Blazing with ire, + Like two coals of fire; +And the "Name of the Maker" was changed to a Lip, +And the Hands to a Nose with a very red tip, +No!--he could not mistake it,--'twas SHE to the life! +The identical face of his poor defunct Wife! + + One glance was enough + Completely "Quant. suff." +As the doctors write down when they send you their "stuff,"-- +Like a Weather-cock whirled by a vehement puff, + David turned himself round; + Ten feet of ground +He clear'd, in his start, at the very first bound! + +I've seen people run at West End Fair for cheeses-- +I've seen Ladies run at Bow Fair for chemises-- +At Greenwich Fair twenty men run for a hat, +And one from a Bailiff much faster than that-- +At foot-ball I've seen lads run after the bladder-- +I've seen Irish Bricklayers run up a ladder-- +I've seen little boys run away from a cane-- +And I've seen (that is, READ OF) good running in Spain; + But I never did read + Of, or witness such speed +As David exerted that evening.--Indeed +All I have ever heard of boys, women, or men, +Falls far short of Pryce, as he ran over "PEN!" + + He reaches its brow,-- + He has past it,--and now +Having once gained the summit, and managed to cross it, he +Rolls down the side with uncommon velocity; + But, run as he will, + Or roll down the hill, +That bugbear behind him is after him still! + +And close at his heels, not at all to his liking, +The terrible clock keeps on ticking and striking, + Till, exhausted and sore, + He can't run any more, +But falls as he reaches Miss Davis's door, +And screams when they rush out, alarm'd at his knock, +"Oh! Look at the Clock!--Do!--Look at the Clock!!" + +Miss Davis look'd up, Miss Davis look'd down, +She saw nothing there to alarm her;--a frown + Came o'er her white forehead, + She said, "It was horrid +A man should come knocking at that time of night, +And give her Mamma and herself such a fright;-- + To squall and to bawl + About nothing at all!" +She begg'd "he'd not think of repeating his call; + His late wife's disaster + By no means had past her," +She'd "have him to know she was meat for his Master!" +Then regardless alike of his love and his woes, +She turn'd on her heel and she turn'd up her nose, + + Poor David in vain + Implored to remain, +He "dared not," he said, "cross the mountain again." + Why the fair was obdurate + None knows,--to be sure it +Was said she was setting her cap at the Curate;-- +Be that as it may, it is certain the sole hole +Pryce found to creep into that night was the Coal-hole! + In that shady retreat + With nothing to eat +And with very bruised limbs, and with very sore feet, + All night close he kept; + I can't say he slept; +But he sigh'd, and he sobb'd, and he groan'd, and he wept; + Lamenting his sins, + And his two broken shins, +Bewailing his fate with contortions and grins, +And her he once thought a complete Rara Avis, +Consigning to Satan,--viz., cruel Miss Davis' + +Mr. David has since had a "serious call," +He never drinks ale, wine, or spirits, at all, +And they say he is going to Exeter Hall + To make a grand speech, + And to preach, and to teach +People that "they can't brew their malt liquor too small!" +That an ancient Welsh Poet, one PYNDAR AP TUDOR, +Was right in proclaiming "ARISTON MEN UDOR!" + Which means "The pure Element + Is for Man's belly meant!" +And that GIN'S but a SNARE of Old Nick the deluder! + +And "still on each evening when pleasure fills up," +At the old Goat-in-Boots, with Metheglin, each cup + Mr. Pryce, if he's there, + Will get into "The Chair," +And make all his QUONDAM associates stare +By calling aloud to the Landlady's daughter, +"Patty, bring a cigar, and a glass of Spring Water!" +The dial he constantly watches; and when +The long hand's at the "XII.," and the short at the "X.," + He gets on his legs, + Drains his glass to the dregs, +Takes his hat and great-coat off their several pegs, +With his President's hammer bestows his last knock, +And says solemnly--"Gentlemen! + LOOK AT THE CLOCK!!!" + + +[Illustration: LAMB.] + + + +THE BAGMAN'S DOG. + R. HARRIS BARHAM. + + Stant littore Puppies!--VIRGIL. + +It was a litter, a litter of five, +Four are drown'd, and one left alive, +He was thought worthy alone to survive; +And the Bagman resolved upon bringing him up, +To eat of his bread, and to drink of his cup, +He was such a dear little cock-tail'd pup! + +The Bagman taught him many a trick; +He would carry, and fetch, and run after a stick, + He could well understand + The word of command, + And appear to doze + With a crust on his nose +Till the Bagman permissively waved his hand: +Then to throw up and catch it he never would fail, +As he sat up on end, on his little cock-tail. +Never was puppy so bien instruit, +Or possess'd of such natural talent as he; + And as he grew older, + Every beholder +Agreed he grew handsomer, sleeker, and bolder. + +Time, however his wheels we may clog, +Wends steadily still with onward jog, +And the cock-tail'd puppy's a curly-tail'd dog! + When, just at the time + He was reaching his prime, +And all thought he'd be turning out something sublime, + One unlucky day, + How no one could say, +Whether soft liaison induced him to stray, +Or some kidnapping vagabond coaxed him away, + He was lost to the view, + Like the morning dew;-- +He had been, and was not--that's all that they knew +And the Bagman storm'd, and the Bagman swore +As never a Bagman had sworn before; +But storming or swearing but little avails +To recover lost dogs with great curly tails. + +In a large paved court, close by Billiter Square, +Stands a mansion, old, but in thorough repair, +The only thing strange, from the general air +Of its size and appearance, is how it got there; +In front is a short semicircular stair + Of stone steps--some half score-- + Then you reach the ground floor, +With a shell-pattern'd architrave over the door. + +It is spacious, and seems to be built on the plan +Of a Gentleman's house in the time of Queen Anne; + Which is odd, for, although + As we very well know, +Under Tudors and Stuarts the City could show +Many Noblemen's seats above Bridge and below, +Yet that fashion soon after induced them to go +From St. Michael Cornhill, and St. Mary-le-Bow, +To St. James, and St. George, and St. Anne in Soho-- +Be this as it may--at the date I assign +To my tale--that's about Seventeen Sixty-Nine-- +This mansion, now rather upon the decline, +Had less dignified owners--belonging, in fine, +To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Rogers, and Pyne-- +A respectable House in the Manchester line. + + There were a score + Of Bagmen, and more, +Who had travel'd full oft for the firm before, +But just at this period they wanted to send +Some person on whom they could safely depend-- +A trust-worthy body, half agent, half friend-- +On some mercantile matter, as far as Ostend; +And the person they pitch'd on was Anthony Blogg +A grave, steady man, not addicted to grog-- +The Bagman, in short, who had lost the great dog. + + * * * * * * + +"The Sea! the Sea! the open Sea!-- +That is the place where we all wish to be, +Rolling about on it merrily!" + So all sing and say + By night and by day, +In the boudoir, the street, at the concert, and play, +In a sort of coxcombical roundelay;-- +You may roam through the City, transversely or straight +From Whitechapel turnpike to Cumberland gate, +And every young Lady who thrums a guitar, +Ev'ry mustached Shopman who smokes a cigar, + With affected devotion + Promulgates his notion +Of being a "Rover" and "Child of the Ocean"-- + +Whate'er their age, sex, or condition may be, +They all of them long for the "Wide, Wide Sea!" + But, however they dote, + Only set them afloat +In any craft bigger at all than a boat, + Take them down to the Nore, + And you'll see that, before +The "Wessel" they "Woyage" in has made half her way +Between Shell-Ness Point and the pier at Herne Bay, +Let the wind meet the tide in the slightest degree, +They'll be all of them heartily sick of "the Sea!" + + * * * * * * + +I've stood in Margate, on a bridge of size + Inferior far to that described by Byron, +Where "palaces and pris'ns on each hand rise--" + --That too's a stone one, this is made of iron-- + And little donkey-boys your steps environ, +Each proffering for your choice his tiny hack, + Vaunting its excellence; and, should you hire one, +For sixpence, will he urge, with frequent thwack, +The much-enduring beast to Buenos Ayres--and back. + +And there, on many a raw and gusty day, + I've stood, and turn'd my gaze upon the pier, +And seen the crews, that did embark so gay + That self-same morn, now disembark so queer; + Then to myself I've sigh'd and said, "Oh dear! +Who would believe yon sickly-looking man's a + London Jack Tar--a Cheapside Buccaneer!--" +But hold, my Muse!--for this terrific stanza +Is all too stiffly grand for our Extravaganza. + + * * * * * + +"So now we'll go up, up, up, + And now we'll go down, down, down, +And now we'll go backward and forward, + And now we'll go roun', roun', roun'."-- +--I hope you've sufficient discernment to see, +Gentle Reader, that here the discarding the D +Is a fault which you must not attribute to me; +Thus my Nurse cut it off when, "with counterfeit glee," +She sung, as she danced me about on her knee, + +In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and three: +All I mean to say is, that the Muse is now free +From the self-imposed trammels put on by her betters, +And no longer like Filch, midst the felons and debtors, +At Drury Lane, dances her hornpipe in fetters. + Resuming her track, + At once she goes back +To our hero, the Bagman--Alas! and Alack! + Poor Anthony Blogg + Is as sick as a dog, +Spite of sundry unwonted potations of grog, +By the time the Dutch packet is fairly at sea, +With the sands called the Goodwins a league on her lee. + +And now, my good friends, I've a fine opportunity +To obfuscate you all by sea terms with impunity, + And talking of "calking," + And "quarter-deck walking," + "Fore and aft," + And "abaft," +"Hookers," "barkeys," and "craft," +(At which Mr. Poole has so wickedly laughed), +Of binnacles--bilboes--the boom call'd the spanker, +The best bower-cable--the jib--and sheet-anchor; +Of lower-deck guns--and of broadsides and chases, +Of taffrails and topsails, and splicing main-braces, +And "Shiver my timbers!" and other odd phrases +Employ'd by old pilots, with hard-featured faces;-- +Of the expletives sea-faring Gentlemen use, +The allusions they make to the eyes of their crews;-- + How the Sailors, too, swear, + How they cherish their hair, +And what very long pigtails a great many wear.-- +But, Reader, I scorn it--the fact is, I fear, +To be candid, I can't make these matters so clear +As Marryat, or Cooper, or Captain Chamier, +Or Sir E. Lytton Bulwer, who brought up the rear +Of the "Nauticals," just at the end of the year +Eighteen thirty-nine--(how Time flies!--Oh, dear!)-- +With a well-written preface, to make it appear +That his play, the "Sea-Captain," 's by no means small beer. + +There!--"brought up the rear"--you see there's a mistake +Which none of the authors I've mentioned would make, +I ought to have said, that he "sail'd in their wake."-- +So I'll merely observe, as the water grew rougher +The more my poor hero continued to suffer, +Till the Sailors themselves cried, in pity, "Poor Buffer!" + + Still rougher it grew, + And still harder it blew, +And the thunder kick'd up such a hullballoo, +That even the Skipper began to look blue; + While the crew, who were few, + Look'd very queer, too, +And seem'd not to know what exactly to do, +And they who'd the charge of them wrote in the logs, +"Wind N. E.--blows a hurricane--rains cats and dogs." +In short it soon grew to a tempest as rude as +That Shakspeare describes near the "still vex'd Bermudas," + When the winds, in their sport, + Drove aside from its port +The King's ship, with the whole Neapolitan Court, +And swamp'd it to give "the King's Son, Ferdinand," a +Soft moment or two with the Lady Miranda, +While her Pa met the rest, and severely rebuked 'em +For unhandsomely doing him out of his Dukedom, +You don't want me, however, to paint you a Storm, +As so many have done, and in colors so warm; +Lord Byron, for instance, in manner facetious, +Mr. Ainsworth, more gravely,--see also Lucretius, +--A writer who gave me no trifling vexation +When a youngster at school, on Dean Colet's foundation.-- + Suffice it to say + That the whole of that day, +And the next, and the next, they were scudding away + Quite out of their course, + Propell'd by the force +Of those flatulent folks known in Classical story as +Aquilo, Libs, Notus, Auster, and Boreas, + Driven quite at their mercy + 'Twist Guernsey and Jersey, +Till at length they came bump on the rocks and the shallows +In West longtitude, One, fifty-seven, near St. Maloes; + + There you will not be surprised + That the vessel capsized, +Or that Blogg, who had made, from intestine commotions, +His specific gravity less than the Ocean's, + Should go floating away, + 'Mid the surges and spray, +Like a cork in a gutter, which, swoll'n by a shower, +Runs down Holborn-hill about nine knots an hour. + +You've seen, I've no doubt, at Bartholomew fair, +Gentle Header,--that is, if you've ever been there,-- +With their hands tied behind them, some two or three pair +Of boys round a bucket set up on a chair, + Skipping, and dipping + Eyes, nose, chin, and lip in, +Their faces and hair with the water all dripping, +In an anxious attempt to catch hold of a pippin, +That bobs up and down in the water whenever +They touch it, as mocking the fruitless endeavor; +Exactly as Poets say,--how, though, they can't tell us,-- +Old Nick's Nonpareils play at bob with poor Tantalus + --Stay!--I'm not clear, + But I'm rather out here; +'T was the water itself that slipp'd from him, I fear; +Faith, I can't recollect, and I haven't Lempriere-- +No matter,--poor Blogg went on clucking and bobbing, +Sneezing out the salt water, and gulping and sobbing, +Just as Clarence, in Shakspeare, describes all the qualms he +Experienced while dreaming they'd drown'd him in Malmsey. + +"O Lord," he thought, "what pain it was to drown!" + And saw great fishes with great goggling eyes, +Glaring as he was bobbing up and down, + And looking as they thought him quite a prize, +When, as he sank, and all was growing dark, + A something seized him with its jaws!--A shark?-- + +No such thing, Reader--most opportunely for Blogg, +'Twas a very large, web-footed, curly-tail'd Dog! + + * * * * * * * + +I'm not much of a trav'ler, and really can't boast +That I know a great deal of the Brittany coast, + But I've often heard say + That e'en to this day, +The people of Granville, St. Maloes, and thereabout, +Are a class that society doesn't much care about; +Men who gam their subsistence by contraband dealing, +And a mode of abstraction strict people call "stealing," +Notwithstanding all which, they are civil of speech, +Above all to a stranger who comes within reach; + And they were so to Bogg, + When the curly-tail'd Dog +At last dragged him out, high and dry on the beach. + But we all have been told, + By the proverb of old, +By no means to think "all that glitters is gold," + And, in fact, some advance + That most people in France +Join the manners and air of a Maitre de Danse, +To the morals--(as Johnson of Chesterfield said)-- +Of an elderly Lady, in Babylon bred, +Much addicted to flirting, and dressing in red.-- + Be this as it might, + It embarrass'd Blogg quite +To find those about him so very polite. + +A suspicious observer perhans might have traced +The petiles soins, tendered with so much good taste +To the sight of an old-fashion'd pocket-book, placed +In a black leather belt well secured round his waist +And a ring set with diamonds, his finger that graced, +So brilliant, no one could have guess'd they were paste. + The group on the shore + Consisted of four, +You will wonder, perhaps, there were not a few more; +But the fact is they've not, in that part of the nation, +What Malthus would term, a "too dense population," +Indeed the sole sign of man's habitation + Was merely a single + Rude hut, in a dingle +That led away inland direct from the shingle +Its sides clothed with underwood, gloomy and dark, +Some two hundred yards above high-water mark; + And thither the party, + So cordial and hearty, +Viz., an old man, his wife, two lads, made a start, he + The Bagman, proceeding, + With equal good breeding, +To express, in indifferent French, all he feels, +The great curly-tail'd Dog keeping close to his heels.-- +They soon reach'd the hut, which seem'd partly in ruin, +All the way bowing, chattering, shrugging, Mon-Dieuing, +Grimacing, and what sailors call parley-vooing, + + * * * * * * * + +Is it Paris, or Kitchener, Reader, exhorts +You, whenever your stomach's at all out of sorts, +To try, if you find richer viands won't stop in it, +A basin of good mutton broth with a chop in it? +(Such a basin and chop as I once heard a witty one +Call, at the Garrick, "a c--d Committee one," +An expression, I own, I do not think a pretty one.) + However, it's clear + That with sound table beer, +Such a mess as I speak of is very good cheer; + Especially too + When a person's wet through, +And is hungry, and tired, and don't know what to do. +Now just such a mess of delicious hot pottage +Was smoking away when they enter'd the cottage, +And casting a truly delicious perfume +Through the whole of an ugly ill-furnish'd room; + "Hot, smoking hot," + On the fire was a pot +Well replenish'd, but really I can't say with what; +For, famed as the French always are for ragouts, +No creature can tell what they put in their stews, +Whether bull-frogs, old gloves, or old wigs, or old shoes +Notwithstanding, when offer'd I rarely refuse, +Any more than poor Blogg did, when seeing the reeky +Repast placed before him, scarce able to speak, he +In ecstasy mutter'd, "By Jove, Cocky-leeky!" + In an instant, as soon + As they gave him a spoon. + +Every feeling and faculty bent on the gruel, he +No more blamed Fortune for treating him cruelly, +But fell tooth and nail on the soup and the bouilli. + + * * * * * * + +Meanwhile that old man standing by, +Subducted his long coat-tails on high, +With his back to the fire, as if to dry +A part of his dress which the watery sky +Had visited rather inclemently.-- +Blandly he smil'd, but still he look'd sly, +And something sinister lurk'd in his eye, +Indeed, had you seen him his maritime dress in, +You'd have own'd his appearance was not prepossessing; +He'd a "dreadnought" coat, and heavy sabots, +With thick wooden soles turn'd up at the toes, +His nether man cased in a striped quelque chose, +And a hump on his back, and a great hook'd nose, +So that nine out of ten would be led to suppose +That the person before them was Punch in plain clothes. + +Yet still, as I told you, he smiled on all present, +And did all that lay in his power to look pleasant. + The old woman, too, + Made a mighty ado, +Helping her guest to a deal of the stew; +She fish'd up the meat, and she help'd him to that, +She help'd him to lean, and she help'd him to fat. +And it look'd like Hare--but it might have been Cat. +The little garcons too strove to express +Their sympathy toward the "Child of distress" +With a great deal of juvenile French politesse; + But the Bagman bluff + Continued to "stuff" +Of the fat, and the lean, and the tender, and tough, +Till they thought he would never cry "Hold, enough!" +And the old woman's tones became far less agreeable, +Sounding like peste! and sacre! and diable! + +I've seen an old saw, which is well worth repeating, + That says, + "Good Eatynge + Deserveth good Drynkynge." + +You'll find it so printed by Caxton or Wynkyn, +And a very good proverb it is to my thinking. + Blogg thought so too;-- + As he finish'd his stew, +His ear caught the sound of the word "Morbleu!" +Pronounced by the old woman under her breath. +Now, not knowing what she could mean by "Blue Death!" +He conceiv'd she referr'd to a delicate brewing +Which is almost synonymous,--namely, "Blue Ruin." +So he pursed up his lip to a smile, and with glee, +In his cockneyfy'd accent, responded "Oh, VEE!" + Which made her understand he + Was asking for brandy; +So she turn'd to the cupboard, and, having some handy, +Produced, rightly deeming he would not object to it, +An oracular bulb with a very long neck to it; +In fact you perceive her mistake was the same as his, +Each of them "reasoning right from wrong premises;"-- + --And here by the way + Allow me to say, +Kind Reader--you sometimes permit me to stray-- +'Tis strange the French prove, when they take to aspersing, +So inferior to us in the science of cursing: + Kick a Frenchman down stairs, + How absurdly he swears! +And how odd 'tis to hear him, when beat to a jelly, +Roar out in a passion, "Blue Death!" and "Blue Belly!" + +"To return to our sheep" from, this little digression:-- +Blogg's features assumed a complacent expression +As he emptied his glass, and she gave him a fresh one; + Too little he heeded, + How fast they succeeded. +Perhaps you or I might have done, though, as he did; +For when once Madam Fortune deals out her hard raps + It's amazing to think + How one "cottons" to Drink! +At such times, of all things in nature, perhaps, +There's not one that is half so seducing as Schnaps. + +Mr. Blogg, beside being uncommonly dry, +Was, like most other Bagmen, remarkably shy, + --"Did not like to deny"-- + "Felt obliged to comply" +Every time that she ask'd him to "wet t' other eye;" +For 'twas worthy remark that she spared not the stoup, +Though before she had seem'd so to grudge him the soup, + At length the fumes rose + To his brain; and his nose +Gave hints of a strong disposition to doze, +And a yearning to seek "horizontal repose."-- + His queer-looking host, + Who, firm at his post, +During all the long meal had continued to toast + That garment 't were rude to + Do more than allude to, +Perceived, from his breathing and nodding, the views +Of his guest were directed to "taking a snooze:" +So he caught up a lamp in his huge dirty paw, +With (as Blogg used to tell it) "Mounseer, swivvy maw!" + And "marshal'd" him so + "The way he should go," +Up stairs to an attic, large, gloomy, and low, + Without table or chair. + Or a movable there, +Save an old-fashion'd bedstead, much out of repair, +That stood at the end most remov'd from the stair.-- + With a grin and a shrug + The host points to the rug, +Just as much as to say, "There!--I think you'll be snug!" + Puts the light on the floor, + Walks to the door, +Makes a formal Salaam, and is then seen no more; +When just as the ear lost the sound of his tread, +To the Bagman's surprise, and, at first, to his dread, +The great curly tail'd Dog crept from under the bed!-- + +--It's a very nice thing when a man's in a fright, +And thinks matters all wrong, to find matters all right; +As, for instance, when going home late-ish at night +Through a Church-yard, and seeing a thing all in white. +Which, of course, one is led to consider a Sprite, + To find that the Ghost + Is merely a post. +Or a miller, or chalky-faced donkey at most; +Or, when taking a walk as the evenings begin +To close, or, as some people call it, "draw in," +And some undefined form, "looming large" through the haze +Presents itself, right in your path, to your gaze, + Inducing a dread + Of a knock on the head, +Or a sever'd carotid, to find that, instead +Of one of those ruffians who murder and fleece men, +It's your uncle, or one of the "Rural Policemen;"-- + Then the blood flows again + Through artery and vein; +You're delighted with what just before gave you pain; +You laugh at your fears--and your friend in the fog +Meets a welcome as cordial as Anthony Blogg +Now bestow'd on HIS friend--the great curly-tail'd Dog. + +For the Dog leap'd up, and his paws found a place +On each side his neck in a canine embrace, +And he lick'd Blogg's hands, and he lick'd his face, +And he waggled his tail as much as to say, +"Mr. Blogg, we've foregather'd before to-day!" +And the Bagman saw, as he now sprang up, + What, beyond all doubt, + He might have found out +Before, had he not been so eager to sup, +'T was Sancho!--the Dog he had rear'd from a pup!-- +The Dog who when sinking had seized his hair-- +The Dog who had saved, and conducted him there-- +The Dog he had lost out of Billiter Square! + + It's passing sweet, + An absolute treat, +When friends, long sever'd by distance, meet-- +With what warmth and affection each other they greet! +Especially too, as we very well know, +If there seems any chance of a little cadeau, +A "Present from Brighton," or "Token" to show, +In the shape of a work-box, ring, bracelet, or so, +That our friends don't forget us, although they may go +To Ramsgate, or Rome, or Fernando Po. +If some little advantage seems likely to start, +From a fifty-pound note to a two-penny tart, +It's surprising to see how it softens the heart, +And you'll find those whose hopes from the other are strongest, +Use, in common, endearments the thickest and longest + But, it was not so here; + For although it is clear, +When abroad, and we have not a single friend near, +E'en a cur that will love us becomes very dear, +And the balance of interest 'twixt him and the Dog +Of course was inclining to Anthony Blogg, + Yet he, first of all, ceased + To encourage the beast, +Perhaps thinking "Enough is as good as a feast;" +And besides, as we've said, being sleepy and mellow, +He grew tired of patting, and crying "Poor fellow!" +So his smile by degrees harden'd into a frown, +And his "That's a good dog!" into "Down, Sancho! down!" + +But nothing could stop his mute fav'rite's caressing, +Who, in fact, seem'd resolved to prevent his undressing, + Using paws, tail, and head, + As if he had said, +"Most beloved of masters, pray, don't go to bed; +You had much better sit up, and pat me instead!" +Nay, at last, when determined to take some repose, +Blogg threw himself down on the outside the clothes, + Spite of all he could do, + The Dog jump'd up too, +And kept him awake with his very cold nose; + Scratching and whining, + And moaning and pining, +Till Blogg really believed he must have some design in +Thus breaking his rest; above all, when at length +The Dog scratch'd him off from the bed by sheer strength. + +Extremely annoy'd by the "tarnation whop," as it +'s call'd in Kentuck, on his head and its opposite, + Blogg show'd fight; + When he saw, by the light +Of the flickering candle, that had not yet quite +Burnt down in the socket, though not over bright, +Certain dark-color'd stains, as of blood newly spilt, +Reveal'd by the dog's having scratch'd off the quilt-- +Which hinted a story of horror and guilt'-- + 'T was "no mistake,"-- + He was "wide awake" +In an instant; for, when only decently drunk, +Nothing sobers a man so completely as "funk." + + And hark!--what's that?-- + They have got into chat +In the kitchen below--what the deuce are they at?-- +There's the ugly old Fisherman scolding his wife-- +And she!--by the Pope! she's whetting a knife!-- + At each twist + Of her wrist, +And her great mutton fist, +The edge of the weapon sounds shriller and louder!-- + The fierce kitchen fire + Had not made Blogg perspire +Half so much, or a dose of the best James's powder,-- +It ceases--all's silent!--and now, I declare +There's somebody crawls up that rickety stair. + + * * * * * * * + +The horrid old ruffian comes, cat-like, creeping;-- +He opens the door just sufficient to peep in, +And sees, as he fancies, the Bagman sleeping! +For Blogg, when he'd once ascertain'd that there was some +"Precious mischief" on foot, had resolv'd to play "'Possum;"-- + Down he went, legs and head, + Flat on the bed, +Apparently sleeping as sound as the dead; +While, though none who look'd at him would think such a thing +Every nerve in his frame was braced up for a spring. + Then, just as the villain + Crept, stealthily still, in, +And you'd not have insur'd his guest's life for a shilling, +As the knife gleam'd on high, bright and sharp as a razor, +Blogg, starting upright, "tipped" the fellow "a facer;"-- +--Down went man and weapon.--Of all sorts of blows, +From what Mr. Jackson reports, I suppose +There are few that surpass a flush hit on the nose. + +Now, had I the pen of old Ossian or Homer, +(Though each of these names some pronounce a misnomer, + And say the first person + Was call'd James M'Pherson, +While, as to the second, they stoutly declare +He was no one knows who, and born no one knows where) +Or had I the quill of Pierce Egan, a writer +Acknowledged the best theoretical fighter + For the last twenty years, + By the lively young Peers, +Who, doffing their coronets, collars, and ermine, treat +Boxers to "Max," at the One Tun in Jermyn Street; +--I say, could I borrow these Gentlemen's Muses, +More skill'd than my meek one in "fibbings" and "bruises," + I'd describe now to you + As "prime a Set-to," +And "regular turn-up," as ever you knew; +Not inferior in "bottom" to aught you have read of +Since Cribb, years ago, half knock'd Molyneux's head off. +But my dainty Urania says, "Such things are shocking!" + Lace mittens she loves, + Detesting "The Gloves;" +And turning, with air most disdainfully mocking, +From Melpomene's buskin, adopts the silk stocking. + So, as far as I can see, + I must leave you to "fancy" +The thumps, and the bumps, and the ups and the downs, +And the taps, and the slaps, and the raps on the crowns, +That pass'd 'twist the Husband, Wife, Bagman, and Dog, +As Blogg roll'd over them, and they roll'd over Blogg; + While what's called "The Claret" + Flew over the garret: + Merely stating the fact. + As each other they whack'd, +The Dog his old master most gallantly back'd; +Making both the gargcos, who came running in, sheer off, +With "Hippolyte's" thumb, and "Alphonse's" left ear off; + Next making a stoop on + The buffeting group on +The floor, rent in tatters the old woman's jupon; +Then the old man turn'd up, and a fresh bite of Sancho's +Tore out the whole seat of his striped Calimancoes.-- + Really, which way + This desperate fray +Might have ended at last, I'm not able to say, +The dog keeping thus the assassins at bay: +But a few fresh arrivals decided the day; + For bounce went the door, + In came half a score +Of the passengers, sailors, and one or two more +Who had aided the party in gaining the shore! + + +It's a great many years ago--mine then were few-- +Since I spent a short time in the old Courageux; + I think that they say + She had been, in her day +A First-rate,--but was then what they term a Rasee,-- +And they took me on board in the Downs, where she lay +(Captain Wilkinson held the command, by the way.) +In her I pick'd up, on that single occasion, +The little I know that concerns Navigation, +And obtained, inter alia, some vague information +Of a practice which often, in cases of robbing, +Is adopted on shipboard--I think it's call'd "Cobbing." +How it's managed exactly I really can't say, +But I think that a Boot-jack is brought into play,--That is, if I'm +right:--it exceeds my ability + To tell how 'tis done; + But the system is one +Of which Sancho's exploit would increase the facility. +And, from all I can learn, I'd much rather be robb'd +Of the little I have in my purse, than be "cobb'd;"-- + That's mere matter of taste: + But the Frenchman was placed-- +I mean the old scoundrel whose actions we've traced-- +In such a position, that, on his unmasking, +His consent was the last thing the men thought of asking. + + The old woman, too, + Was obliged to go through, +With her boys, the rough discipline used by the crew, +Who, before they let one of the set see the back of them, +"Cobb'd" the whole party,--ay, "every man Jack of them." + + MORAL. + +And now, Gentle Reader, before that I say +Farewell for the present, and wish you good-day. +Attend to the moral I draw from my lay!-- + +If ever you travel, like Anthony Blogg, +Be wary of strangers!--don't take too much grog!-- +And don't fall asleep, if you should, like a hog!-- +Above all--carry with you a curly-tail'd Dog! + +Lastly, don't act like Blogg, who, I say it with blushing, +Sold Sancho next month for two guineas at Flushing; +But still on these words of the Bard keep a fix'd eye, +INGRATUM SI DIXERIS, OMNIA DIXTI!!! + + L'Envoye. + +I felt so disgusted with Blogg, from sheer shame of him, +I never once thought to inquire what became of him; +If YOU want to know, Reader, the way. I opine, + To achieve your design,-- + --Mind, it's no wish of mine,-- +Is,--(a penny will do't)--by addressing a line +To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Rogers, and Pyne. + + + + +DAME FREDEGONDE. + WILLIAM AYTOUS. + +When folks with headstrong passion blind, +To play the fool make up their mind, +They're sure to come with phrases nice, +And modest air, for your advice. +But, as a truth unfailing make it, +They ask, but never mean to take it. +'Tis not advice they want, in fact, +But confirmation in their act. +Now mark what did, in such a case, +A worthy priest who knew the race. + +A dame more buxom, blithe and free, +Than Fredegonde you scarce would see. +So smart her dress, so trim her shape, +Ne'er hostess offer'd juice of grape, +Could for her trade wish better sign; +Her looks gave flavor to her wine, +And each guest feels it, as he sips, +Smack of the ruby of her lips. +A smile for all, a welcome glad,-- +A jovial coaxing way she had; +And,--what was more her fate than blame,-- +A nine months' widow was our dame. +But toil was hard, for trade was good, +And gallants sometimes will be rude. +"And what can a lone woman do? +The nights are long and eerie too. +Now, Guillot there's a likely man. +None better draws or taps a can; +He's just the man, I think, to suit, +If I could bring my courage to't." +With thoughts like these her mind is cross'd: +The dame, they say, who doubts, is lost. +"But then the risk? I'll beg a slice. +Of Father Raulin's good advice." + +Frankt in her best, with looks demure, +She seeks the priest; and, to be sure, +Asks if he thinks she ought to wed: +"With such a business on my head, +I'm worried off my legs with care, +And need some help to keep things square. +I've thought of Guillot, truth to tell! +He's steady, knows his business well, +What do you think?" When thus he met her +"Oh, take him, dear, you can't do better!" +"But then the danger, my good pastor, +If of the man I make the master. +There is no trusting to these men." +"Well, well, my dear, don't have him then!" +"But help I must have, there's the curse. +I may go further and fare worse." +"Why, take him then!" "But if he should +Turn out a thankless ne'er-do-good,-- +In drink and riot waste my all, +And rout me out of house and hall?" +"Don't have him, then! But I've a plan +To clear your doubts, if any can. +The bells a peal are ringing,--hark! +Go straight, and what they tell you mark. +If they say 'Yes!' wed, and be blest-- +If 'No,' why--do as you think best." + +The bells rung out a triple bob: +Oh, how our widow's heart did throb, +And thus she heard their burden go, +"Marry, mar-marry, mar-Guillot!" +Bells were not then left to hang idle: +A week,--and they rang for her bridal +But, woe the while, they might as well +Have rung the poor dame's parting knell. +The rosy dimples left her cheek. +She lost her beauties plump and sleek, +For Guillot oftener kick'd than kiss'd, +And back'd his orders with his fist, +Proving by deeds as well as words, +That servants make the worst of lords. + +She seeks the priest, her ire to wreak, +And speaks as angry women speak, +With tiger looks, and bosom swelling, +Cursing the hour she took his telling. +To all, his calm reply was this,-- +"I fear you've read the bells amiss, +If they have led you wrong in aught, +Your wish, not they, inspired the thought, +Just go, and mark well what they say." +Off trudged the dame upon her way, +And sure enough the chime went so,-- +"Don't have that knave, that knave Guillot!" + +"Too true," she cried, "there's not a doubt: +What could my ears have been about!" +She had forgot, that, as fools think, +The bell is ever sure to clink. + + + +THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. + W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY + +The noble king of Brentford + Was old and very sick; +He summoned his physicians + To wait upon him quick; +They stepped into their coaches, + And brought their best physic. + +They crammed their gracious master + With potion and with pill; +They drenched him and they bled him; + They could not cure his ill. +"Go fetch," says he, "my lawyer; + I'd better make my will." + +The monarch's royal mandate + The lawyer did obey; +The thought of six-and-eightpence + Did make his heart full gay. +"What is't," says he, "your majesty + Would wish of me to-day?" + +"The doctors have belabored me + With potion and with pill; +My hours of life are counted + O man of tape and quill! +Sit down and mend a pen or two, + I want to make my will. + +"O'er all the land of Brentford + I'm lord and eke of Kew: +I've three per cents and five per cents; + My debts are but a few; +And to inherit after me + I have but children two. + +"Prince Thomas is my eldest son, + A sober prince is he; +And from the day we breeched him, + Till now he's twenty-three, +He never caused disquiet + To his poor mamma or me. + +"At school they never flogged him; + At college, though not fast, +Yet his little go and great go + He creditably passed, +And made his year's allowance + For eighteen months to last. + +"He never owed a shilling, + Went never drunk to bed, +He has not two ideas + Within his honest head; +In all respects he differs + From my second son, Prince Ned. + +"When Tom has half his income + Laid by at the year's end, +Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver + That rightly he may spend, +But sponges on a tradesman, + Or borrows from a friend. + +"While Tom his legal studies + Most soberly pursues, +Poor Ned must pass his mornings + A-dawdling with the Muse; +While Tom frequents his banker, + Young Ned frequents the Jews. + +"Ned drives about in buggies, + Tom sometimes takes a 'bus; +Ah, cruel fate, why made you + My children differ thus? +Why make of Tom a DULLARD, + And Ned a GENIUS?" + +"You'll cut him with a shilling," + Exclaimed the man of wits: +"I'll leave my wealth," said Brentford, + "Sir Lawyer, as befits; +And portion both their fortunes + Unto their several wits." + +"Your grace knows best," the lawyer said, + "On your commands I wait." +"Be silent, sir," says Brentford, + "A plague upon your prate! +Come, take your pen and paper, + And write as I dictate." + +The will, as Brentford spoke it, + Was writ, and signed, and closed; +He bade the lawyer leave him, + And turned him round, and dozed; +And next week in the church-yard + The good old king reposed. + +Tom, dressed in crape and hatband, + Of mourners was the chief; +In bitter self-upbraidings + Poor Edward showed his grief; +Tom hid his fat, white countenance + In his pocket handkerchief. + +Ned's eyes were full of weeping, + He faltered in his walk; +Tom never shed a tear, + But onward he did stalk, +As pompous, black, and solemn, + As any catafalque. + +And when the bones of Brentford-- + That gentle king and just-- +With bell, and book, and candle, + Were duly laid in dust, +"Now, gentlemen," says Thomas, + "Let business be discussed. + +"When late our sire beloved + Was taken deadly ill, +Sir Lawyer, you attended him, + (I mean to tax your bill;) +And, as you signed and wrote it, + I pr'ythee read the will." + +The lawyer wiped his spectacles, + And drew the parchment out; +And all the Brentford family + Sat eager round about: +Poor Ned was somewhat anxious, + But Tom had ne'er a doubt. + +"My son, as I make ready + To seek my last long home, +Some cares I had for Neddy, + But none for thee, my Tom: +Sobriety and order + You ne'er departed from. + +"Ned hath a brilliant genius, + And thou a plodding brain; +On thee I think with pleasure, + On him with doubt and pain." +("You see, good Ned," says Thomas + "What he thought about us twain.") + +"Though small was your allowance, + You saved a little store; +And those who save a little + Shall get a plenty more." +As the lawyer read this compliment, + Tom's eyes were running o'er. + +"The tortoise and the hare, Tom, + Set out, at each his pace; +The hare it was the fleeter, + The tortoise won the race; +And since the world's beginning, + This ever was the case. + +"Ned's genius, blithe and singing + Steps gayly o'er the ground; +As steadily you trudge it, + He clears it with a bound; +But dullness has stout legs, Tom, + And wind that's wondrous sound. + +"O'er fruits and flowers alike, Tom, + You pass with plodding feet; +You heed not one nor t'other, + But onward go your beat, +While genius stops to loiter + With all that he may meet. + +"And ever, as he wanders, + Will have a pretext fine +For sleeping in the morning, + Or loitering to dine, +Or dozing in the shade, + Or basking in the shine. + +"Your little steady eyes, Tom, + Though not so bright as those +That restless round about him + Your flashing genius throws, +Are excellently suited + To look before your nose. + +"Thank heaven, then, for the blinkers + It placed before your eyes; +The stupidest are weakest, + The witty are not wise; +O, bless your good stupidity, + It is your dearest prize! +"And though my lands are wide, + And plenty is my gold, +Still better gifts from Nature, + My Thomas, do you hold-- +A brain that's thick and heavy, + A heart that's dull and cold; + +"Too dull to feel depression, + Too hard to heed distress, +Too cool to yield to passion, + Or silly tenderness. +March on--your road is open + To wealth, Tom, and success. + +"Ned sinneth in extravagance, + And you in greedy lust." +("I' faith," says Ned, "our father + Is less polite than just.") +"In you, son Tom, I've confidence, + But Ned I can not trust. + +"Wherefore my lease and copyholds, + My lands and tenements, +My parks, my farms, and orchards, + My houses and my rents, +My Dutch stock, and my Spanish stock, + My five and three per cents; + +"I leave to you, my Thomas--" + ("What, all?" poor Edward said; +"Well, well, I should have spent them, + And Tom's a prudent head.") +"I leave to you, my Thomas,-- + To you, IN TRUST for Ned." + +The wrath and consternation + What poet e'er could trace +That at this fatal passage + Came o'er Prince Tom his face; +The wonder of the company, + And honest Ned's amaze! + +"'Tis surely some mistake," + Good-naturedly cries Ned; +The lawyer answered gravely, + "'Tis even as I said; +'T was thus his gracious majesty + Ordained on his death-bed. + +"See, here the will is witnessed, + And here's his autograph." +"In truth, our father's writing," + Said Edward, with a laugh; +"But thou shalt not be loser, Tom, + We'll share it half and half." + +"Alas! my kind young gentleman, + This sharing can not be; +'Tis written in the testament + That Brentford spoke to me, +'I do forbid Prince Ned to give + Prince Tom a half-penny. + +"'He hath a store of money, + But ne'er was known to lend it; +He never helped his brother; + The poor he ne'er befriended; +He hath no need of property + He knows not how to spend it. + +"'Poor Edward knows but how to spend, + And thrifty Tom to hoard; +Let Thomas be the steward then, + And Edward be the lord; +And as the honest laborer + Is worthy his reward, + +"'I pray Prince Ned, my second son, + And my successor dear, +To pay to his intendant + Five hundred pounds a year; +And to think of his old father, + And live and make good cheer.'" + +Such was old Brentford's honest testament; + He did devise his moneys for the best, + And lies in Brentford church in peaceful rest. +Prince Edward lived, and money made and spent; + But his good sire was wrong, it is confessed, +To say his young son Thomas, never lent. + He did. Young Thomas lent at interest, +And nobly took his twenty-five per cent. + +Long time the famous reign of Ned endured, + O'er Chiswick, Fulham, Brentford, Putney, Kew; +But of extravagance he ne'er was cured. + And when both died, as mortal men will do, +'T was commonly reported that the steward + Was very much the richer of the two. + + + +TITMARSH'S CARMEN LILLIENSE. + W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. + LILLE, Sept. 2, 1843. + +My heart is weary, my peace is gone, + How shall I e'er my woes reveal? +I have no money, I lie in pawn, + A stranger in the town of Lille. + +I. + +With twenty pounds but three weeks since + From Paris forth did Titmarsh wheel, +I thought myself as rich a prince + As beggar poor I'm now at Lille. + +Confiding in my ample means-- + In troth, I was a happy chiel! +I passed the gate of Valenciennes. + I never thought to come by Lille. + +I never thought my twenty pounds + Some rascal knave would dare to steal; +I gayly passed the Belgic bounds + At Quievrain, twenty miles from Lille. + +To Antwerp town I hastened post, + And as I took my evening meal +I felt my pouch,--my purse was lost, + O Heaven! Why came I not by Lille? + +I straightway called for ink and pen, + To grandmamma I made appeal; +Meanwhile a load of guineas ten + I borrowed from a friend so leal. + +I got the cash from grandmamma + (Her gentle heart my woes could feel), +But where I went, and what I saw, + What matters? Here I am at Lille. + +My heart is weary, my peace is gone, + How shall I e'er my woes reveal? +I have no cash, I lie in pawn, + A stranger in the town of Lille. + + II. + +To stealing I can never come, + To pawn my watch I'm too genteel, +Besides, I left my watch at home; + How could I pawn it, then, at Lille? + +"La note," at times the guests will say, + I turn as white as cold boiled veal: +I turn and look another way, + _I_ dare not ask the bill at Lille. + +I dare not to the landlord say, + "Good sir, I can not pay your bill:" +He thinks I am a Lord Anglais, + And is quite proud I stay at Lille. + +He thinks I am a Lord Anglais, + Like Rothschild or Sir Robert Peel, +And so he serves me every day + The best of meat and drink in Lille. + +Yet when he looks me in the face + I blush as red as cochincal; +And think did he but know my case, + How changed he'd be, my host of Lille. + +My heart is weary, my peace is gone. + How shall I e'er my woes reveal? +I have no money, I lie in pawn, + A stranger in the town of Lille. + + III. + +The sun bursts out in furious blaze, + I perspirate from head to heel; +I'd like to hire a one-horse chaise; + How can I, without cash, at Lille? + +I pass in sunshine burning hot + By cafes where in beer they deal; +I think how pleasant were a pot, + A frothing pot of beer of Lille! + +What is yon house with walls so thick, + All girt around with guard and grille? +O, gracious gods, it makes me sick, + It is the PRISON-HOUSE of Lille! + +O cursed prison strong and barred, + It does my very blood congeal! +I tremble as I pass the guard, + And quit that ugly part of Lille. + +The church-door beggar whines and prays, + I turn away at his appeal: +Ah, church-door beggar! go thy ways! + You're not the poorest man in Lille. + +My heart is weary, my peace is gone, + How shall I e'er my woes reveal? +I have no money, I lie in pawn, + A stranger in the town of Lille. + + IV. + +Say, shall I to yon Flemish church, + And at a Popish altar kneel? +O do not leave me in the lurch,-- + I'll cry ye patron-saints of Lille! + +Ye virgins dressed in satin hoops, + Ye martyrs slain for mortal weal, +Look kindly down! before you stoops + The miserablest man in Lille. + +And lo! as I beheld with awe + A pictured saint (I swear 'tis real) +It smiled, and turned to grandmamma!-- + It did! and I had hope in Lille! + +'T was five o'clock, and I could eat, + Although I could not pay, my meal; +I hasten back into the street + Where lies my inn, the best in Lille. + +What see I on my table stand,-- + A letter with a well-known seal? +'Tis grandmamma's! I know her hand,-- + "To Mr. M. A. Titmarsh, Lille." + +I feel a choking in my throat, + I pant and stagger, faint and reel! +It is--it is--a ten pound note, + And I'm no more in pawn at Lille! + +[He goes off by the diligence that evening, and is restored to +the bosom of his happy family.] + + + +SHADOWS + Lantern + +DEEP! I own I start at shadows, + Listen, I will tell you why; +(Life itself is but a taper, + Casting shadows till we die.) + +Once, in Italy, at Florence, + I a radiant girl adored: +When she came, she saw, she conquered, + And by Cupid I was floored. + +Round my heart her glossy ringlets + Were mysteriously entwined-- +And her soft voluptuous glances + All my inmost thoughts divined. + +"Mia cara Mandolina! + Are we not, indeed," I cried, +"All the world to one another?" + Mandolina, smiled and sighed. + +Earth was Eden, she an angel, + I a Jupiter enshrined-- +Till one night I saw a damning + DOUBLE SHADOW ON HER BLIND! + +"Fire and fury! double shadows + On their bed-room windows ne'er, +To my knowledge, have been cast by + Ladies virtuous and fair. + +"False, abandoned, Mandolina! + Fare thee well, for evermore! +Vengeance!" shrieked I, "vengeance! vengeance!" + And I thundered through the door. + +This event occurred next morning; + Mandolina staring sat, +Stark amaz'd, as out I tumbled, + Raving mad, without a hat! + +Six weeks after I'd a letter, + On its road six weeks delayed-- +With a dozen re-directions + From the lost one, and it said: + +"Foolish, wicked, cruel Albert! + Base suspicion's doubts resign; +DOUBLE LIGHTS THROW DOUBLE SHADOWS! + Mandolina--ever thine." + +"Heavens, what an ass!" I muttered, + "Not before to think of that!"-- +And again I rushed excited + To the rail, without a hat. + +"Mandolina! Mandolina!" + When her house I reached, I cried: +"Pardon, dearest love!" she answered-- + "I'm the Russian Consul's bride!" + +Thus, by Muscovite barbarian, + And by Fate, my life was crossed; +Wonder ye I start at shadows? + Types of Mandolina lost. + + + +THE RETORT + GEORGE P. MORRIS + +Old Nick, who taught the village school, + Wedded a maid of homespun habit; +He was stubborn as a mule, + She was playful as a rabbit. + +Poor Jane had scarce become a wife, + Before her husband sought to make her +The pink of country-polished life, + And prim and formal as a Quaker. + +One day the tutor went abroad, + And simple Jenny sadly missed him; +When he returned, behind her lord + She slyly stole, and fondly kissed him! + +The husband's anger rose!--and red + And white his face alternate grew! +"Less freedom, ma'am!"--Jane sighed and said + "OH, DEAR! I DIDN'T KNOW 'TWAS YOU!" + + + + + +SATIRICAL + + + + +THE RABBLE: OR, WHO PAYS! + SAMUEL BUTLER. + + How various and innumerable +Are those who live upon the rabble! +'Tis they maintain the Church and State, +Employ the priest and magistrate; +Bear all the charge of government, +And pay the public fines and rent; +Defray all taxes and excises, +And impositions of all prices; +Bear all th' expense of peace and war, +And pay the pulpit and the bar; +Maintain all churches and religions, +And give their pastors exhibitions; +And those who have the greatest flocks +Are primitive and orthodox; +Support all schismatics and sects, +And pay them for tormenting texts; +Take all their doctrines off their hands, +And pay 'em in good rents and lands; +Discharge all costly offices, +The doctor's and the lawyer's fees, +The hangman's wages, and the scores +Of caterpillar bawds and whores; +Discharge all damages and costs +Of Knights and Squires of the Post; +All statesmen, cut-purses, and padders, +And pay for all their ropes and ladders; +All pettifoggers, and all sorts +Of markets, churches, and of courts; +All sums of money paid or spent, +With all the charges incident, +Laid out, or thrown away, or given +To purchase this world, Hell or Heaven. + + + +THE CHAMELEON. + MATTHEW PRIOR. + +As the Chameleon who is known +To have no colors of its own: +But borrows from his neighbor's hue +His white or black, his green or blue; +And struts as much in ready light, +Which credit gives him upon sight: +As if the rainbow were in tail +Settled on him, and his heirs male; +So the young squire, when first he comes +From country school to Will or Tom's: +And equally, in truth is fit +To be a statesman or a wit; +Without one notion of his own, +He saunters wildly up and down; +Till some acquaintance, good or bad, +Takes notice of a staring lad; +Admits him in among the gang: +They jest, reply, dispute, harangue; +He acts and talks, as they befriend him, +Smear'd with the colors which they lend him, + Thus merely, as his fortune chances, +His merit or his vice advances. + If haply he the sect pursues, +That road and comment upon news; +He takes up their mysterious face: +He drinks his coffee without lace. +This week his mimic tongue runs o'er +What they have said the week before; +His wisdom sets all Europe right, +And teaches Marlborough when to fight. + Or if it be his fate to meet +With folks who have more wealth than wit +He loves cheap port, and double bub; +And settles in the hum-drum club: +He earns how stocks will fall or rise; +Holds poverty the greatest vice; +Thinks wit the bane of conversation; +And says that learning spoils a nation. + But if, at first, he minds his hits, +And drinks champagne among the wits! +Five deep he toasts the towering lasses; +Repeats you verses wrote on glasses; +Is in the chair; prescribes the law; +And lies with those he never saw. + + + +MERRY ANDREW. + MATTHEW PRIOR. + +SLY Merry Andrew, the last Southwark fair +(At Barthol'mew he did not much appear: +So peevish was the edict of the Mayor) +At Southwark, therefore, as his tricks he show'd, +To please our masters, and his friends the crowd; +A huge neat's tongue he in his right hand held: +His left was with a huge black pudding fill'd. +With a grave look in this odd equipage, +The clownish mimic traverses the stage: +Why, how now, Andrew! cries his brother droll, +To-day's conceit, methinks, is something dull: +Come on, sir, to our worthy friends explain, +What does your emblematic worship mean? +Quoth Andrew; Honest English let us speak: +Your emble--(what d' ye call 't) is heathen Greek. +To tongue or pudding thou hast no pretense: +Learning thy talent is, but mine is sense. +That busy fool I was, which thou art now; +Desirous to correct, not knowing how: +With very good design, but little wit, +Blaming or praising things, as I thought fit +I for this conduct had what I deserv'd; +And dealing honestly, was almost starv'd. +But, thanks to my indulgent stars, I eat; +Since I have found the secret to be great. +O, dearest Andrew, says the humble droll, +Henceforth may I obey and thou control; +Provided thou impart thy useful skill.-- +Bow then, says Andrew; and, for once, I will.-- +Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he says; +Sleep very much: think little; and talk less; +Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong, +But eat your pudding, slave; and hold your tongue. + A reverend prelate stopp'd his coach and six, +To laugh a little at our Andrew's tricks; +But when he heard him give this golden rule, +Drive on (he cried); this fellow is no fool. + + + +JACK AND JOAN. + MATTHEW PRIOR. + + Stet quicunque volet potens + Aulae culmine lubrico, &c. SENECA. + +Interr'd beneath this marble stone +Lie sauntering Jack and idle Joan. +While rolling threescore years and one +Did round this globe their courses run; +If human things went ill or well; +If changing empires rose or fell; +The morning past, the evening came, +And found this couple still the same. +They walk'd and eat, good folks: what then? +Why then they walk'd and eat again: +They soundly slept the night away; +They just did nothing all the day; +And having buried children four, +Would not take pains to try for more; +Nor sister either had, nor brother; +They seem'd just tallied for each other. + Their moral and economy +Most perfectly they made agree: +Each virtue kept its proper bound, +Nor trespass'd on the other's ground, +Nor fame, nor censure they regarded; +They neither punish'd nor rewarded. +He cared not what the footman did; +Her maids she neither prais'd nor chid; +So every servant took his course; +And bad at first, they all grew worse. +Slothful disorder filled his table; +And sluttish plenty deck'd her table. +Their beer was strong; their wine was port; +Their meal was large; their grace was short. +They gave the poor the remnant meat, +Just when it grew not fit to eat. + They paid the church and parish rate; +And took, but read not the receipt: +For which they claim their Sunday's due, +Of slumbering in an upper pew. + No man's defects sought they to know; +So never made themselves a foe, +No man's good deeds did they commend; +So never rais'd themselves a friend. +Nor cherish'd they relations poor; +That might decrease their present store: +Nor barn nor house did they repair; +That might oblige their future heir. + They neither added nor confounded; +They neither wanted nor abounded. +Each Christmas they accompts did clear, +And wound their bottom round the year. +Nor tear or smile did they employ +At news of public grief or joy. +When bells were rung, and bonfires made, +If ask'd they ne'er denied their aid; +Their jug was to the ringers carried, +Whoever either died, or married. +Their billet at the fire was found, +Whoever was depos'd, or crown'd. + Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise; +They would not learn, nor could advise: +Without love, hatred, joy, or fear, +They led--a kind of--as it were: +Nor wish'd, nor car'd, nor laugh'd, nor cried: +And so they liv'd, and so they died. + + + + +THE PROGRESS OF POETRY. DEAN SWIFT + +The farmer's goose, who in the stubble +Has fed without restraint or trouble, +Grown fat with corn and sitting still, +Can scarce get o'er the barn-door sill; +And hardly waddles forth to cool +Her belly in the neighboring pool: +Nor loudly cackles at the door; +For cackling shows the goose is poor. + +But, when she must be turn'd to graze, +And round the barren common strays, +Hard exercise, and harder fare, +Soon make my dame grow lank and spare +Her body light, she tries her wings, +And scorns the ground, and upward springs +While all the parish, as she flies, +Hear sounds harmonious from the skies. + +Such is the poet fresh in pay, +The third night's profits of his play; +His morning draughts till noon can swill +Among his brethren of the quill: +With good roast beef his belly full, +Grown lazy, foggy, fat, and dull, +Deep sunk in plenty and delight, +What poet e'er could take his flight? +Or, stuff'd with phlegm up to the throat +What poet e'er could sing a note? +Nor Pegasus could bear the load +Along the high celestial road; +The steed, oppress'd, would break his +To raise the lumber from the earth. + +But view him in another scene, +When all his drink is Hippocrene, +His money spent, his patrons fail, +His credit out for cheese and ale; +His two-years' coat so smooth and +Through every thread it lets in air +With hungry meals his body pines +His guts and belly full of wind; +And like a jockey for a race, +His flesh brought down to flying case: +Now his exalted spirit loathes +Encumbrances of food and clothes; +And up he rises like a vapor, +Supported high on wings of paper. +He singing flies, and flying sings, +While from below all Grub street rings. + + + +TWELVE ARTICLES. + DEAN SWIFT. + +I. + +Lest it may more quarrels breed, +I will never hear you read, + +II. + +By disputing, I will never, +To convince you once endeavor. + +III. + +When a paradox you stick to, +I will never contradict you. + +IV. + +When I talk and you are heedless +I will show no anger needless. + +V. + +When your speeches are absurd, +I will ne'er object a word. + +VI. + +When you furious argue wrong, +I will grieve and hold my tongue. + +VII. + +Not a jest or humorous story +Will I ever tell before ye: +To be chidden for explaining, +When you quite mistake the meaning. + +VIII. + +Never more will I suppose, +You can taste my verse or prose. + +IX. + +You no more at me shall fret, +While I teach and you forget. + +X. + +You shall never hear me thunder, +When you blunder on, and blunder. + +XI. + +Show your poverty of spirit, +And in dress place all your merit; +Give yourself ten thousand airs: +That with me shall break no squares. + +XII. + +Never will I give advice, +Till you please to ask me thrice: +Which if you in scorn reject, +'T will be just as I expect. + +Thus we both shall have our ends +And continue special friends. + + + +THE BEASTS' CONFESSION. + DEAN SWIFT + +When beasts could speak (the learned say +They still can do so every day), +It seems, they had religion then, +As much as now we find in men. +It happen'd, when a plague broke out +(Which therefore made them more devout), +The king of brutes (to make it plain, +Of quadrupeds I only mean) +By proclamation gave command, +That every subject in the land +Should to the priest confess their sins; +And thus the pious Wolf begins: +Good father, I must own with shame, +That often I have been to blame: +I must confess, on Friday last, +Wretch that I was! I broke my fast: +But I defy the basest tongue +To prove I did my neighbor wrong; +Or ever went to seek my food, +By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood. + +The Ass approaching next, confess'd, +That in his heart he loved a jest: +A wag he was, he needs must own, +And could not let a dunce alone: +Sometimes his friend he would not spare, +And might perhaps be too severe: +But yet the worst that could be said, +He was a wit both born and bred; +And, if it be a sin and shame, +Nature alone must bear the blame: +One fault he has, is sorry for't, +His ears are half a foot too short; +Which could he to the standard bring, +He'd show his face before the king: +Then for his voice, there's none disputes +That he's the nightingale of brutes. + +The Swine with contrite heart allow'd, +His shape and beauty made him proud: +In diet was perhaps too nice, +But gluttony was ne'er his vice: +In every turn of life content, +And meekly took what fortune sent: +Inquire through all the parish round, +A better neighbor ne'er was found; +His vigilance might some displease; +Tis true, he hated sloth like pease. + +The mimic Ape began his chatter, +How evil tongues his life bespatter; +Much of the censuring world complain'd. +Who said, his gravity was feign'd: +Indeed, the strictness of his morals +Engaged him in a hundred quarrels: +He saw, and he was grieved to see't, +His zeal was sometimes indiscreet; +He found his virtues too severe +For our corrupted times to bear; +Yet such a lewd licentious age +Might well excite stoic's rage. + +The Goat advanced with decent pace, +And first excused his youthful face; +Forgiveness begg'd that he appear'd +('T was Nature's fault) without a beard. +'Tis true, he was not much inclined +To fondness for the female kind: +Not, as his enemies object, +From chance, or natural defect, +Not by his frigid constitution; +But through a pious resolution: +For he had made a holy vow +Of Chastity, as monks do now: +Which he resolved to keep forever hence, +And strictly too, as doth his reverence. + +Apply the tale, and you shall find, +How just it suits with human kind. +Some faults we own; but can you guess? +--Why, virtue's carried to excess, +Wherewith our vanity endows us, +Though neither foe nor friend allows us. + +The Lawyer swears (you may rely on't) +He never squeezed a needy client; +And this he makes his constant rule, +For which his brethren call him fool; +His conscience always was so nice, +He freely gave the poor advice; +By which he lost, he may affirm, +A hundred fees last Easter term; +While others of the learned robe, +Would break the patience of a Job. +No pleader at the bar could match +His diligence and quick dispatch; +Ne'er kept a cause, he well may boast, +Above a term or two at most. + +The cringing Knave, who seeks a place +Without success, thus tells his case. +Why should he longer mince the matter? +He fail'd, because he could not flatter: +He had not learn'd to turn his coat, +Nor for a party give his vote: +His crime he quickly understood; +Too zealous for the nation's good: +He found the ministers resent it, +Yet could not for his heart repent it. + +The Chaplain vows, he can not fawn, +Though it would raise him to the lawn +He pass'd his hours among his books; +You find it in his meager looks: +He might, if he were worldly wise, +Preferment get, and spare his eyes; +But owns he had a stubborn spirit, +That made him trust alone to merit; +Would rise by merit to promotion; +Alas! a mere chimeric notion. +The Doctor, if you will believe him, +Confess'd a sin; (and God forgive him!) +Call'd up at midnight, ran to save +A blind old beggar from the grave: +But see how Satan spreads his snares; +He quite forgot to say his prayers. +He can not help it, for his heart, +Sometimes to act the parson's part: +Quotes from the Bible many a sentence, +That moves his patients to repentance; +And, when his medicines do no good, +Supports their minds with heavenly food: +At which, however well intended, +He hears the clergy are offended; +And grown so bold behind his back, +To call him hypocrite and quack. +In his own church he keeps a seat; +Says grace before and after meat; +And calls, without affecting airs, +His household twice a-day to prayers, +He shuns apothecaries' shops, +And hates to cram the sick with slops: +He scorns to make his art a trade; +Nor bribes my lady's favorite maid. +Old nurse-keepers would never hire, +To recommend him to the squire; +Which others, whom he will not name, +Have often practiced to their shame. + +The Statesman tells you, with a sneer, +His fault is to be too sincere; +And having no sinister ends, +Is apt to disoblige his friends. +The nation's good, his master's glory, +Without regard to Whig or Tory, +Were all the schemes he had in view, +Yet he was seconded by few: +Though some had spread a thousand lies, +'T was he defeated the excise. +'T was known, though he had borne aspersion, +That standing troops were his aversion: +His practice was, in every station, +To serve the king, and please the nation. +Though hard to find in every case +The fittest man to fill a place: +His promises he ne'er forgot, +But took memorials on the spot; +His enemies, for want of charity, +Said he affected popularity; +'Tis true, the people understood. +That all he did was for their good; +Their kind affections he has tried; +No love is lost on either side. +He came to court with fortune clear, +Which now he runs out every year; +Must at the rate that he goes on, +Inevitably be undone: +O! if his majesty would please +To give him but a writ of ease, +Would grant him license to retire, +As it has long been his desire, +By fair accounts it would be found, +He's poorer by ten thousand pound, +He owns, and hopes it is no sin, +He ne'er was partial to his kin; +He thought it base for men in stations, +To crowd the court with their relations: +His country was his dearest mother, +And every virtuous man his brother; +Through modesty or awkward shame +(For which he owns himself to blame), +He found the wisest man he could, +Without respect to friends or blood; +Nor ever acts on private views, +When he has liberty to choose. + +The Sharper swore he hated play, +Except to pass an hour away: +And well he might; for, to his cost, +By want of skill he always lost; +He heard there was a club of cheats, +Who had contrived a thousand feats; +Could change the stock, or cog a die, +And thus deceive the sharpest eye: +Nor wonder how his fortune sunk, +His brothers fleece him when he's drunk, + +I own the moral not exact, +Besides, the tale is false, in fact; +And so absurd, that could I raise up, +From fields Elysian, fabling Aesop, +I would accuse him to his face, +For libeling the four-foot race. +Creatures of every kind but ours +Well comprehend their natural powers, +While we, whom reason ought to sway, +Mistake our talents every day. +The Ass was never known so stupid, +To act the part of Tray or Cupid; +Nor leaps upon his master's lap, +There to be stroked, and fed with pap, +As Aesop would the world persuade; +He better understands his trade: +Nor comes whene'er his lady whistles. +But carries loads, and feeds on thistles. +Our author's meaning, I presume, is +A creature bipes et implumis; +Wherein the moralist design'd +A compliment on human kind; +For here he owns, that now and then +Beasts may degenerate into men. + + + + +A NEW SIMILE FOR THE LADIES. +WITH USEFUL ANNOTATIONS, + DR. THOMAS SHERIDAN. + +[Footnote: The following foot-note's, which appear to be Dr. +Sheridan's, are replaced from the Irish edition. They hit the +ignorance of the ladies in that age.] + +To make a writer miss his end, +You've nothing else to do but mend. + +I often tried in vain to find +A simile* for womankind, +*[Footnote: Most ladies, in reading, call this word a smile; +but they are to note, it consists of three syllables, sim-i-le. +In English, a likeness.] +A simile, I mean, to fit 'em, +In every circumstance to hit 'em. +[Footnote: Not to hurt them.] +Through every beast and bird I went, +I ransack'd every element; +And, after peeping through all nature, +To find so whimsical a creature, +A cloud* presented to my view, +*[Footnote: Not like a gun or pistol.] +And straight this parallel I drew: + +Clouds turn with every wind about, +They keep us in suspense and doubt, +Yet, oft perverse, like womankind, +Are seen to scud against the wind: +And are not women just the same? +For who can tell at what they aim? +[Footnote: This is not meant as to shooting, but resolving.] + +Clouds keep the stoutest mortals under, +When, bellowing*, they discharge their thunder: +*[Footnote: This word is not here to be understood of a bull, +but a cloud, which makes a noise like a bull, when it thunders.] +So, when the alarum-bell is rung, +Of Xanti's* everlasting tongue, +[Footnote: Xanti, a nick-name of Xantippe, that scold of glorious +memory, who never let poor Socrates have one moment's peace of mind; +yet with unexampled patience he bore her pestilential tongue. +I shall beg the ladies' pardon if I insert a few passages concerning +her: and at the same time I assure them it is not to lesson +those of the present age, who are possessed of the like laudable +talents; for I will confess, that I know three in the city of Dublin, +no way inferior to Xantippe, but that they have not as great men to +work upon. + +When a friend asked Socrates how he could bear the scolding of his +wife Xantippe, he retorted, and asked him how he could bear the +gaggling of his geese Ay but my geese lay eggs for me, replies his +friend; So does my wife bear children, said Socrates.--Diog, Laert, + +Being asked at another time, by a friend, how he could bear her +tongue, he said, she was of this use to him, that she taught him to +bear the impertinences of others with more ease when he went abroad,-- +Plat, de Capiend. ex. host. utilit. + +Socrates invited his friend Euthymedus to supper. Xantippe, in great +rage, went into them, and overset the table. Huthymedus, rising in a +passion to go off, My dear friend, stay, said Socrates, did not a hen +do the same thing at your house the other day, and did I show any +resentment?--Plat, de ira cohibenda. + +I could give many more instances of her termagancy and his philosophy, +if such a proceeding might not look as if I were glad of an +opportunity to expose the fair sex; but, to show that I have no such +design, I declare solemnly, that I had much worse stories to tell of +her behaviour to her husband, which I rather passed over, on account +of the great esteem which I bear the ladies, especially +those in the honorable station of matrimony.] + +The husband dreads its loudness more +Than lightning's flash, or thunder's roar. + Clouds weep, as they do, without pain +And what are tears but women's rain? + The clouds about the welkin roam: [Footnote: Ramble.] +And ladies never stay at home. + The clouds build castles in the air, +A thing peculiar to the fair: +For all the schemes of their forecasting, [Footnote: Not vomiting.] +Are not more solid nor more lasting, + A cloud is light by turns, and dark, +Such is a lady with her spark; +Now with a sudden pouting [Footnote: Thrusting out the lip.] gloom +She seems to darken all the room; +Again she's pleased, his fear's beguiled, +[Footnote: This is to be understood not in the sense of wort, when +brewers put yeast or barm in it; but its true meaning is, deceived or +cheated.] +And all is clear when she has smiled. +In this they're wondrously alike, +(I hope this simile will strike)[Footnote: Hit your fancy.] +Though in the darkest dumps* you view them, +*[Footnote: Sullen fits. We have a merry jig called Dumpty-Deary, +invented to rouse ladies from the dumps.] +Stay but a moment, you'll see through them. + The clouds are apt to make reflection, +[Footnote: Reflection of the sun.] +And frequently produce infection: +So Celia, with small provocation, +Blasts every neighbor's reputation. + The clouds delight in gaudy show, +(For they, like ladies, have their bow;) +The gravest matron* will confess, +*[Footnote: Motherly woman.] +That she herself is fond of dress. + Observe the clouds in pomp array'd, +What various colors are display'd; +The pink, the rose, the violet's dye, +In that great drawing-room the sky; +How do these differ from our Graces,* +*[Footnote: Not grace before and after meat, nor their graces the +duchesses, but the Graces which attended on Venus.] +In garden-silks, brocades, and laces? +Are they not such another sight, +When met upon a birth-day night? + The clouds delight to change their fashion: +(Dear ladies be not in a passion!) +Nor let this whim to you seem strange, +Who every hour delight in change. + In them and you alike are seen +The sullen symptoms of the spleen; +The moment that your vapors rise, +We see them dropping from your eyes. + In evening fair you may behold +The clouds are fring'd with borrow'd gold; +And this is many a lady's case, +Who flaunts about in borrow'd lace. +[Footnote: Not Flauders-lace, but gold and silver lace. By borrowed, I +mean such as run into honest tradesmen's debts, for which they were +not able to pay, as many of them did for French silver lace, against +the last birth-day. Vide the shopkeepers' books.] +Grave matrons are like clouds of snow, +Where words fall thick, and soft, and slow; +While brisk coquettes,* like rattling hail, +*[Footnote: Girls who love to hear themselves prate, and put on a +number of monkey-airs to catch men.] +Our ears on every side assail. + Clouds when they intercept our sight, +Deprive us of celestial light: +So when my Chloe I pursue, +No heaven besides I have in view. + Thus, on comparison,* you see, +*[Footnote: I hope none will be so uncomplaisant to the ladies as to +think these comparisons are odious.] +In every instance they agree; +So like, so very much the same, +That one may go by t'other's name, +Let me proclaim* it then aloud, +*[Footnote: Tell the whole world; not to proclaim them as robbers and +rapparees.] +That every woman is a cloud. + + +ON A LAPDOG. + JOHN GAY. + +Shock's fate I mourn; poor Shock is now no more: +Ye Muses! mourn: ye Chambermaids! deplore. +Unhappy Shock! yet more unhappy fair, +Doom'd to survive thy joy and only care. +Thy wretched fingers now no more shall deck, +And tie the favorite ribbon round his neck; +No more thy hand shall smooth his glossy hair, +And comb the wavings of his pendent ear. +Yet cease thy flowing grief, forsaken maid! +All mortal pleasures in a moment fade: +Our surest hope is in an hour destroy'd, +And love, best gift of Heaven, not long enjoy'd. + +Methinks I see her frantic with despair, +Her streaming eyes, wrung hands, and flowing hair +Her Mechlin pinners, rent, the floor bestrow, +And her torn fan gives real signs of woe. +Hence, Superstition! that tormenting guest, +That haunts with fancied fears the coward breast, +No dread events upon this fate attend, +Stream eyes no more, no more thy tresses rend. +Though certain omens oft forewarn a state, +And dying lions show the monarch's fate, +Why should such fears bid Celia's sorrow rise? +Fo when a lapdog falls, no lover dies. + +Cease, Celia, cease; restrain thy flowing tears, +Some warmer passion will dispel thy cares. +In man you'll find a more substantial bliss, +More grateful toying, and a sweeter kiss. + +He's dead. Oh! lay him gently in the ground! +And may his tomb be by this verse renown'd: +"Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid, +Who fawn'd like man, but ne'er like man betray'd." + + + +THE RAZOR SELLER. + PETER PINDAR. + +A fellow in a market town, +Most musical, cried razors up and down, + And offered twelve for eighteen-pence; +Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap, +And for the money quite a heap, + As every man would buy, with cash and sense. + +A country bumpkin the great offer heard: +Poor Hodge, who suffered by a broad black beard, + That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose; +With cheerfulness the eighteen-pence he paid, +And proudly to himself, in whispers, said, + "This rascal stole the razors, I suppose. + +"No matter if the fellow BE a knave, +Provided that the razors SHAVE; + It certainly will be a monstrous prize." +So home the clown, with his good fortune, went, +Smiling in heart and soul, content, + And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes. + +Being well lathered from a dish or tub, +Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub, + Just like a hedger cutting furze: +'Twas a vile razor!--then the rest he tried-- +All were imposters--"Ah," Hodge sighed! + "I wish my eighteen-pence within my purse." + +In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces, + He cut, and dug, and winced, and stamped, and swore, +Brought blood, and danced, blasphemed, and made wry faces, + And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er: + +His muzzle, formed of OPPOSITION stuff, +Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff: + So kept it--laughing at the steel and suds: +Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws, +Vowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws, + On the vile cheat that sold the goods. +"Razors! a damned, confounded dog, +Not fit to scrape a hog!" + +Hodge sought the fellow--found him--and begun: +"P'rhaps, Master Razor rogue, to you 'tis fun, + That people flay themselves out of their lives: +You rascal! for an hour have I been grubbing, +Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing, + With razors just like oyster knives. +Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave, +To cry up razors that can't SHAVE." + +"Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I'm not a knave. + As for the razors you have bought, + Upon my soul I never thought +That they would SHAVE." +"Not think they'd SHAVE!" quoth Hodge, with wond'ring eyes, + And voice not much unlike an Indian yell; +"What were they made for then, you dog?" he cries: +"Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile--"to SELL." + + + +THE SAILOR BOY AT PRAYERS. + PETER PINDAR. + +A great law Chief, whom God nor demon scares, +Compelled to kneel and pray, who swore his prayers, + The devil behind him pleased and grinning, +Patting the angry lawyer on the shoulder, +Declaring naught was ever bolder, + Admiring such a novel mode of sinning: + +Like this, a subject would be reckoned rare, +Which proves what blood game infidels can dare; +Which to my memory brings a fact, +Which nothing but an English tar would act. + +In ships of war, on Sunday's, prayers are given, +For though so wicked, sailors think of heaven, + Particularly in a storm, +Where, if they find no brandy to get drunk, +Their souls are in a miserable funk, + Then vow they to th' Almighty to reform, +If in His goodness only once, once more, +He'll suffer them to clap a foot on shore. + +In calms, indeed, or gentle airs, +They ne'er on weekdays pester heaven with prayers +For 'tis among the Jacks a common saying, +"Where there's no danger, there's no need of praying." + +One Sunday morning all were met + To hear the parson preach and pray, +All but a boy, who, willing to forget + That prayers were handing out, had stolen away, +And, thinking praying but a useless task, +Had crawled to take a nap, into a cask. + +The boy was soon found missing, and full soon + The boatswain's cat, sagacious smelt him out, +Gave him a clawing to some tune-- + This cat's a cousin Germam to the Knout + +"Come out, you skulking dog," the boatswain cried, + "And save your d---d young sinful soul." +He then the moral-mending cat applied, + And turned him like a badger from his hole + +Sulky the boy marched on, and did not mind him, +Altho' the boatswain flogging kept behind him +"Flog," cried the boy, "flog--curse me, flog away-- +I'll go--but mind--G--d d--n me if I'll PRAY." + + + +BIENSEANCE + PETER PINDAR. + +There is a little moral thing in France, +Called by the natives bienseance, +Much are the English mob inclined to scout it, +But rarely is Monsieur Canaille without it. + +To bienseance 'tis tedious to incline, + In many cases; + To flatter, par example, keep smooth faces +When kicked, or suffering grievous want of coin. + +To vulgars, bienseance may seem an oddity-- +I deem it a most portable commodity, + A sort of magic wand, +Which, if 'tis used with ingenuity, +Although a utensil of much tenuity, + In place of something solid, it will stand + +For verily I've marveled times enow + To see an Englishman, the ninny, +Give people for their services a guinea, + Which Frenchmen have rewarded with a bow. + +Bows are a bit of bienseance +Much practiced too in that same France +Yet called by Quakers, children of inanity, +But as they pay their court to people's vanity, +Like rolling-pins they smooth where er they go +The souls and faces of mankind like dough! +With some, indeed, may bienseance prevail +To folly--see the under-written tale: + + +THE PETIT MAITRE, AND THE MAN ON THE WHEEL + +At Paris some time since, a murdering man, + A German, and a most unlucky chap, +Sad, stumbling at the threshold of his plan, + Fell into Justice's strong trap + +The bungler was condemned to grace the wheel, +On which the dullest fibers learn to feel, + His limbs secundum artem to be broke +Amid ten thousand people, perhaps, or more; + Whenever Monsieur Ketch applied a stroke, +The culprit, like a bullock made a roar. + +A flippant petit maitre skipping by, +Stepped up to him and checked him for his cry-- +"Bohl" quoth the German, "an't I 'pon de wheel? +D'ye tink my nerfs and bons can't feel?" + +"Sir," quoth the beau, "don't, don't be in a passion; +I've naught to say about your situation; +But making such a hideous noise in France, +Fellow, is contrary to bienseance." + + + +KINGS AND COURTIERS. + PETER PINDAR + +How pleasant 'tis the courtier clan to see! +So prompt to drop to majesty the knee; +To start, to run, to leap, to fly, +And gambol in the royal eye; +And, if expectant of some high employ, +How kicks the heart against the ribs, for joy! + +How rich the incense to the royal nose! +How liquidly the oil of flattery flows! +But should the monarch turn from sweet to sour, +Which cometh oft to pass in half an hour, +How altered instantly the courtier clan! +How faint! how pale! how woe-begone, and wan! + +Thus Corydon, betrothed to Delia's charms, +In fancy holds her ever in his arms: + In maddening fancy, cheeks, eyes, lips devours; +Plays with the ringlets that all flaxen flow +In rich luxuriance o'er a breast of snow, + And on that breast the soul of rapture pours. + +Night, too, entrances--slumber brings the dream-- + Gives to his lips his idol's sweetest kiss; +Bids the wild heart, high panting, swell its stream, + And deluge every nerve with bliss: +But if his nymph unfortunately frowns, +Sad, chapfallen, lo! he hangs himself or drowns! + +Oh, try with bliss his moments to beguile: +Strive not to make your sovereign frown--but smile: +Sublime are royal nods--most precious things!-- +Then, to be whistled to by kings! + +To have him lean familiar on one's shoulder, +Becoming thus the royal arm upholder, + A heart of very stone must grow quite glad. +Oh! would some king so far himself demean, +As on my shoulder but for once to lean, + The excess of joy would nearly make me mad! +How on the honored garment I should dote, +And think a glory blazed around the coat! + +Blessed, I should make this coat my coat of arms, +In fancy glittering with a thousand charms; + And show my children's children o'er and o'er; +"Here, babies," I should say, "with awe behold +This coat--worth fifty times its weight in gold: + This very, very coat your grandsire wore! + +"Here"--pointing to the shoulder--I should say, +"Here majesty's own hand so sacred lay"-- + Then p'rhaps repeat some speech the king might utter; +As--"Peter, how go sheep a score? what? what? +What's cheapest meat to make a bullock fat? + Hae? hae? what, what's the price of country butter?" + +Then should I, strutting, give myself an air, + And deem myself adorned with immortality: +Then should I make the children, calf-like stare, + And fancy grandfather a man of quality: +And yet, not stopping here, with cheerful note, +The muse should sing an ode upon the coat. + +Poor lost America, high honors missing, +Knows naught of smile, and nod, and sweet hand-kissing, +Knows naught of golden promises of kings; +Knows naught of coronets, and stars, and strings; + In solitude the lovely rebel sighs! +But vainly drops the penitential tear-- + Deaf as the adder to the woman's cries, +We suffer not her wail to wound our ear: +For food we bid her hopeless children prowl, +And with the savage of the desert howl. + + + +PRAYING FOR RAIN. + PETER PINDAR + +How difficult, alas! to please mankind! + One or the other every moment MUTTERS: +This wants an eastern, that a western, wind: + A third, petition for a southern, utters. +Some pray for rain, and some for frost and snow: +How can Heaven suit ALL palates?--I don't know. + +Good Lamb, the curate, much approved, +Indeed by all his flock BELOVED, + Was one dry summer begged to pray for rain. +The parson most devoutly prayed-- +The powers of prayer were soon displayed; + Immediately a TORRENT drenched the plain. + +It chanced that the church warden, Robin Jay, +Had of his meadow not yet SAVED the hay: + Thus was his hay to HEALTH quite past restoring. +It happened too that Robin was from home; +But when he heard the story, in a foam + He sought the parson, like a lion roaring. + +"Zounds! Parson Lamb, why, what have you been doing! +A pretty storm, indeed, ye have been brewing! + What! pray for RAIN before I SAVED my hay! +Oh! you re a cruel and ungrateful man! +_I_ that forever help you all I can; + Ask you to dine with me and Mistress Jay, +Whenever we have something on the spit, +Or in the pot a nice and dainty bit; + +"Send you a goose, a pair of chicken, +Whose bones you are so fond of picking; + And often too a cag of brandy! +YOU that were welcome to a treat, +To smoke and chat, and drink and eat; + Making my house so very handy! + +"YOU, parson, serve one such a scurvy trick! +Zounds! you must have the bowels of Old Nick. +What! bring the flood of Noah from the skies, +With MY fine field of hay before your eyes! +A numskull, that I wer'n't of this aware.-- +Curse me but I had stopped your pretty prayer!" +"Dear Mister Jay!" quoth Lamb, "alas! alas! +I never thought upon your field of grass." + +"Lord! parson, you're a fool, one might suppose-- +Was not the field just underneath your NOSE? +This is a very pretty losing job!"-- +"Sir," quoth the curate, "know that Harry Cobb + Your brother warden joined, to have the prayer,"-- +"Cobb! Cobb! why this for Cobb was only SPORT: +What doth Cobb own that any rain can HURT?" + Roared furious Jay as broad as he could stare. + +"The fellow owns, as far as I can LARN, +A few old houses only, and a barn; +As that's the case, zounds! what are showers to HIM? +Not Noah's flood could make HIS trumpery SWIM. + +"Besides--why could you not for drizzle pray? +Why force it down in BUCKETS on the hay? +Would _I_ have played with YOUR hay such a freak? +No! I'd have stopped the weather for a week." + +"Dear Mister Jay, I do protest, +I acted solely for the best; + I do affirm it, Mister Jay, indeed. +Your anger for this ONCE restrain, +I'll never bring a drop again + Till you and all the parish are AGREED." + + + +APOLOGY FOR KINGS + PETER PINDAR + +As want of candor really is not right, +I own my satire too inclined to bite: +On kings behold it breakfast, dine, and sup-- +Now shall she praise, and try to make it up. + +Why will the simple world expect wise things +From lofty folk, particularly kings? + Look on their poverty of education! +Adored and flattered, taught that they are gods, +And by their awful frowns and nods, + Jove-like, to shake the pillars of creation! + +They scorn that little useful imp called mind, +Who fits them for the circle of mankind! +Pride their companion, and the world their hate; +Immured, they doze in ignorance and state. + +Sometimes, indeed, great kings will condescend +A little with their subjects to unbend! + An instance take:--A king of this great land, + In days of yore, we understand, +Did visit Salisbury's old church so fair: + An Earl of Pembroke was the Monarch's guide; + Incog. they traveled, shuffling side by side; +And into the cathedral stole the pair. + + The verger met them in his blue silk gown, + And humbly bowed his neck with reverence down, +Low as an ass to lick a lock of hay: + Looking the frightened verger through and through, + And with his eye-glass--"Well, sir, who are you? +What, what, sir?--hey, sir?" deigned the king to say. + + "I am the verger here, most mighty king: + In this cathedral I do every thing; +Sweep it, an't please ye, sir, and keep it clean." + "Hey? verger! verger!--you the verger?--hey?" + "Yes, please your glorious majesty, I BE," +The verger answered, with the mildest mien. + +Then turned the king about toward the peer, +And winked, and laughed, then whispered in his ear, +"Hey, hey--what, what--fine fellow, 'pon my word: +I'll knight him, knight him, knight him--hey, my lord?" + +[It is a satire-royal: and if any thing were yet wanting to convince +us that Master Pindar is no turncoat, here is proof sufficient.] + +Then with his glass, as hard as eye could strain, +He kenned the trembling verger o'er again. + +"He's a poor verger, sire," his lordship cried: + "Sixpence would handsomely requite him." +"Poor verger, verger, hey?" the king replied: + "No, no, then, we won't knight him--no, won't knight him." +Now to the lofty roof the king did raise +His glass, and skipped it o'er with sounds of praise! + For thus his marveling majesty did speak: +"Fine roof this, Master Verger, quite complete; +High--high and lofty too, and clean, and neat: + What, verger, what? MOP, MOP it once a week?" + +"An't please your majesty," with marveling chops, +The verger answered, "we have got no mops + In Salisbury that will reach so high." +"Not mop, no, no, not mop it," quoth the king-- +"No, sir, our Salisbury mops do no such thing; + They might as well pretend to scrub the sky." + + +MORAL. + +This little anecdote doth plainly show + That ignorance, a king too often lurches; +For, hid from art, Lord! how should monarchs know + The natural history of mops and churches? + + +[Illustration with caption: BYRON.] + +STORY THE SECOND. + +From Salisbury church to Wilton House, so grand, +Returned the mighty ruler of the land-- + "My lord, you've got fine statues," said the king. +"A few! beneath your royal notice, sir," +Replied Lord Pembroke--"Sir, my lord, stir, stir; + Let's see them all, all, all, all, every thing, + +"Who's this? who's this?--who's this fine fellow here? +"Sesostris," bowing low, replied the peer. +"Sir Sostris, hey?--Sir Sostris?--'pon my word! +Knight or a baronet, my lord? + +One of my making?--what, my lord, my making?" +This, with a vengeance, was mistaking? + +"SE-sostris, sire," so soft, the peer replied-- + "A famous king of Egypt, sir, of old." +"Oh, poh!" th' instructed monarch snappish cried, + "I need not that--I need not that be told." + +"Pray, pray, my lord, who's that big fellow there?" +"'Tis Hercules," replies the shrinking peer; +"Strong fellow, hey, my lord? strong fellow, hey? +Cleaned stables!--cracked a lion like a flea; +Killed snakes, great snakes, that in a cradle found him-- +The queen, queen's coming! wrap an apron around him." + +Our moral is not merely water-gruel-- +It shows that curiosity's a jewel! + It shows with kings that ignorance may dwell: +It shows that subjects must not give opinions +To people reigning over wide dominions, + As information to great folk is hell: + +It shows that decency may live with kings, + On whom the bold virtu-men turn their backs; +And shows (for numerous are the naked things) + That saucy statues should be lodged in sacks. + + + +ODE TO THE DEVIL. + PETER PINDAR. + +The devil is not so black as he is painted. + +Ingratum Odi. + +Prince of the dark abodes! I ween +Your highness ne'er till now hath seen + Yourself in meter shine; +Ne'er heard a song with praise sincere. +Sweet warbled on your smutty ear, + Before this Ode of mine. + +Perhaps the reason is too plain, +Thou triest to starve the tuneful train, + Of potent verse afraid! +And yet I vow, in all my time, +I've not beheld a single rhyme + That ever spoiled thy trade. + +I've often read those pious whims-- +John Wesley's sweet damnation hymns, + That chant of heavenly riches. +What have they done?--those heavenly strains, +Devoutly squeezed from canting brains, + But filled John's earthly breeches? + +There's not a shoe-black in the land, +So humbly at the world's command, + As thy old cloven foot; +Like lightning dost thou fly, when called, +And yet no pickpocket's so mauled + As thou, O Prince of Soot! + +What thousands, hourly bent on sin, +With supplication call thee in, + To aid them to pursue it; +Yet, when detected, with a lie +Ripe at their fingers' ends, they cry, + "The Devil made me do it." + +Behold the fortunes that are made, +By men through rouguish tricks in trade, + Yet all to thee are owing-- +And though we meet it every day, +The sneaking rascals dare not say, + This is the Devil's doing. + +As to thy company, I'm sure, +No man can shun thee on that score; + The very best is thine: +With kings, queens, ministers of state, +Lords, ladies, I have seen thee great, + And many a grave divine. + +I'm sorely grieved at times to find, +The very instant thou art kind, + Some people so uncivil, +When aught offends, with face awry, +With base ingratitude to cry, + "I wish it to the Devil." + +Hath some poor blockhead got a wife, +To be the torment of his life, + By one eternal yell-- +The fellow cries out coarsely, "Zounds, +I'd give this moment twenty pounds + To see the jade in hell." + +Should Heaven their prayers so ardent grant, +Thou never company wouldst want + To make thee downright mad; +For, mind me, in their wishing mood, +They never offer thee what's good, + But every thing that's bad. + +My honest anger boils to view +A sniffling, long-faced, canting crew, + So much thy humble debtors, +Rushing, on Sundays, one and all, +With desperate prayers thy head to maul, + And thus abuse their betters. + +To seize one day in every week, +On thee their black abuse to wreak, + By whom their souls are fed +Each minute of the other six, +With every joy that heart can fix, + Is impudence indeed! + +Blushing I own thy pleasing art +Hath oft seduced my vagrant heart, + And led my steps to joy-- +The charms of beauty have been mine +And let me call the merit thine, + Who broughtst the lovely toy. + +So, Satan--if I ask thy aid, +To give my arms the blooming maid, + I will not, though the nation all, +Proclaim thee (like a gracless imp) +A vile old good-for-nothing pimp, + But say, "'Tis thy vocation, Hal." + +Since truth must out--I seldom knew +What 'twas high pleasure to pursue, + Till thou hadst won my heart-- +So social were we both together, +And beat the hoof in every weather, + I never wished to part. + +Yet when a child--good Lord! I thought +That thou a pair of horns hadst got, + With eyes like saucers staring! +And then a pair of ears so stout, +A monstrous tail and hairy snout, + With claws beyond comparing. + +Taught to avoid the paths of evil, +By day I used to dread the devil, + And trembling when 'twas night, +Methought I saw thy horns and ears, +They sung or whistled to my fears, + And ran to chase my fright. + +And every night I went to bed, +I sweated with a constant dread, + And crept beneath the rug; +There panting, thought that in my sleep +Thou slyly in the dark wouldst creep, + And eat me, though so snug. + +A haberdasher's shop is thine, +With sins of all sorts, coarse and fine, + To suit both man and maid: +Thy wares they buy, with open eyes; +How cruel then, with constant cries, + To vilify thy trade! + +To speak the truth, indeed, I'm loath-- +Life's deemed a mawkish dish of broth, + Without thy aid, old sweeper; +So mawkish, few will put it down, +Even from the cottage to the crown, + Without thy salt and pepper. + +O Satan, whatsoever geer, +Thy Proteus form shall choose to wear, + Black, red, or blue, or yellow; +Whatever hypocrites may say, +They think thee (trust my honest lay) + A most bewitching fellow. + +'Tis ordered (to deaf ears, alas!) +To praise the bridge o'er which we pass + Yet often I discover +A numerous band who daily make +An easy bridge of thy poor back, + And damn it when they 're over. + +Why art thou, then, with cup in hand, +Obsequious to a graceless band, + Whose souls are scarce worth taking; +O prince, pursue but my advice, +I'll teach your highness in a trice + To set them all a quaking. + +Plays, operas, masquerades, destroy: +Lock up each charming fille de joie; + Give race-horses the glander-- +The dice-box break, and burn each card-- +Let virtue be its own reward, + And gag the mouth of slander; + +In one week's time, I'll lay my life, +There's not a man, nor maid, nor wife, + That will not glad agree, +If thou will chaim'em as before, +To show their nose at church no more, + But quit their God for thee. + +Tis now full time my ode should end: +And now I tell thee like a friend, + Howe'er the world may scout thee; +Thy ways are all so wond'rous winning, +And folks so very fond of sinning, + They can not do without thee. + + + +THE KING OF SPAIN AND THE HORSE. + PETER PINDAR. + +In seventeen hundred seventy-eight, + The rich, the proud, the potent King of Spain, +Whose ancestors sent forth their troops to smite + The peaceful natives of the western main, +With faggots and the blood-delighting sword, +To play the devil, to oblige the Lord! + +For hunting, roasting heretics, and boiling, +Baking and barbecuing, frying, broiling, + Was thought Heaven's cause amazingly to further; +For which most pious reason, hard to work, +They went, with gun and dagger, knife and fork, + To charm the God of mercy with their murther! + +I say, this King, in seventy-eight surveyed, +In tapestry so rich, portrayed, + A horse with stirrups, crupper, bridle, saddle: +Within the stirrup, lo, the monarch tried +To fix his foot the palfry to bestride; + In vain!--he could not o'er the palfry straddle! + +Stiff as a Turk, the beast of yarn remained, +And every effort of the King disdained, +Who, 'midst his labors, to the ground was tumbled, +And greatly mortified, as well as humbled. + +Prodigious was the struggle of the day, +The horse attempted not to run away; + At which the poor-chafed monarch now 'gan grin, +And swore by every saint and holy martyr +He would not yield the traitor quarter, + Until he got possession of his skin. + +Not fiercer famed La Mancha's knight, + Hight Quixote, at a puppet-show, +Did with more valor stoutly fight, + And terrify each little squeaking foe; +When bold he pierced the lines, immortal fray! +And broke their pasteboard bones, and stabbed their hearts of hay. + +Not with more energy and fury +The beauteous street--walker of Drury + Attacks a sister of the smuggling trade, +Whose winks, and nods, and sweet resistless smile, +Ah, me! her paramour beguile, + And to her bed of healthy straw persuade; +Where mice with music charm, and vermin crawl, +And snails with silver traces deck the wall. + +And now a cane, and now a whip he used, +And now he kicked, and sore the palfry bruised; +Yet, lo, the horse seemed patient at each kick, +Arid bore with Christian spirit whip and stick; +And what excessively provoked this prince, +The horse so stubborn scorned even once to wince. + +Now rushed the monarch for a bow and arrow +To shoot the rebel like a sparrow; +And, lo, with shafts well steeled, with all his force, +Just like a pincushion, he stuck the horse! + +Now with the fury of the chafed wild boar, +With nails and teeth the wounded horse he tore, + Now to the floor he brought the stubborn beast; +Now o'er the vanquish'd horse that dared rebel, +Most Indian-like the monarch gave a yell, + Pleased on the quadruped his eyes to feast; +Blessed as Achilles when with fatal wound +He brought the mighty Hector to the ground. + +Yet more to gratify his godlike ire, +He vengeful flung the palfry in the fire! +Showing his pages round, poor trembling things, +How dangerous to resist the will of kings. + + + +THE TENDER HUSBAND. + PETER PINDAR + +Lo, to the cruel hand of fate, +My poor dear Grizzle, meek-souled mate, + Resigns her tuneful breath-- +Though dropped her jaw, her lip though pale, +And blue each harmless finger-nail, + She's beautiful in death. + +As o'er her lovely limbs I weep, +I scarce can think her but asleep-- + How wonderfully tame! +And yet her voice is really gone, +And dim those eyes that lately shone + With all the lightning's flame. + +Death was, indeed, a daring wight, +To take it in his head to smite-- + To lift his dart to hit her; +For as she was so great a woman, +And cared a single fig for no man, + I thought he feared to meet her. + +Still is that voice of late so strong, +That many a sweet capriccio sung, + And beat in sounds the spheres; +No longer must those fingers play +"Britons strike home," that many a day + Hath soothed my ravished ears, + +Ah me! indeed I 'm much inclined +To think how I may speak my mind, + Nor hurt her dear repose; +Nor think I now with rage she'd roar, +Were I to put my fingers o'er, + And touch her precious nose. + +Here let me philosophic pause- +How wonderful are nature's laws, + When ladies' breath retires, +Its fate the flaming passions share, +Supported by a little air, + Like culinary fires, + +Whene'er I hear the bagpipe's note, +Shall fancy fix on Grizzle's throat, + And loud instructive lungs; +O Death, in her, though only one, +Are lost a thousand charms unknown, + At least a thousand tongues. + +Soon as I heard her last sweet sigh, +And saw her gently-closing eye, + How great was my surprise! +Yet have I not, with impious breath, +Accused the hard decrees of death, + Nor blamed the righteous skies. + +Why do I groan in deep despair, +Since she'll be soon an angel fair? + Ah! why my bosom smite? +Could grief my Grizzle's life restore!-- +But let me give such ravings o'er-- + Whatever is, is right. + +O doctor! you are come too late; +No more of physic's virtues prate, + That could not save my lamb: +Not one more bolus shall be given-- +You shall not ope her mouth by heaven, + And Grizzle's gullet cram. + +Enough of boluses, poor heart, +And pills, she took, to load a cart, + Before she closed her eyes: +But now my word is here a law, +Zounds! with a bolus in her jaw, + She shall not seek the skies. + +Good sir, good doctor, go away; +To hear my sighs you must not stay, + For this my poor lost treasure: +I thank you for your pains and skill; +When next you come, pray bring your bill + I'll pay it; sir, with pleasure. + +Ye friends who come to mourn her doom. +For God's sake gently tread the room, + Nor call her from the blessed-- +In softest silence drop the tear, +In whispers breathe the fervent prayer, + To bid her spirit rest. + +Repress the sad, the wounding scream; +I can not bear a grief extreme-- + Enough one little sigh-- +Besides, the loud alarm of grief, +In many a mind may start belief, + Our noise is all a lie. +Good nurses, shroud my lamb with care; +Her limbs, with gentlest fingers, spare, + Her mouth, ah! slowly close; +Her mouth a magic tongue that held-- +Whose softest tone, at times, compelled + To peace my loudest woes. + +And, carpenter, for my sad sake, +Of stoutest oak her coffin make-- + I'd not be stingy, sure-- +Procure of steel the strongest screws, +For who could paltry pence refuse + To lodge his wife secure? + +Ye people who the corpse convey, +With caution tread the doleful way, + Nor shake her precious head; +Since Fame reports a coffin tossed, +With careless swing against a post, + Did once, disturb the dead. + +Farewell, my love, forever lost! +Ne'er troubled be thy gentle ghost, + That I again will woo-- +By all our past delights, my dear, +No more the marriage chain I'll wear, + Deil take me if I do! + + + +THE SOLDIER AND THE VIRGIN MARY. + PETER PINDAR. + +A Soldier at Loretto's wondrous chapel, + To parry from his soul the wrath Divine, +That followed mother Eve's unlucky apple, + Did visit oft the Virgin Mary's shrine; +Who every day is gorgeously decked out, + In silks or velvets, jewels, great and small, +Just like a fine young lady for a rout, + A concert, opera, wedding, or a ball. +At first the Soldier at a distance kept, + Begging her vote and interest in heaven-- +With seeming bitterness the sinner wept, + Wrung his two hands, and hoped to be forgiven: +Dinned her two ears with Ave-Mary flummery! + Declared what miracles the dame could do, + Even with her garter, stocking, or her shoe, +And such like wonder-working mummery. + +What answer Mary gave the wheedling sinner, +Who nearly and more nearly moved to win her, +The mouth of history doth not mention, +And therefore I can't tell but by invention, + +One day, as he was making love and praying, +And pious Aves, thick as herring, saying, + And sins so manifold confessing; +He drew, as if to whisper, very near, +And twitched a pretty diamond from her ear, + Instead of taking the good lady's blessing. + +Then off he set, with nimble shanks, +Nor once turned back to give her thanks: +A hue and cry the thief pursued, +Who, to his cost, soon understood +That he was not beyond the claw +Of that same long-armed giant, christened Law. + +With horror did his judges quake-- + As for the tender-conscienced jury, +They doomed him quickly to the stake, + Such was their devilish pious fury. + +However, after calling him hard names, + They asked if aught he had in vindication, +To save his wretched body from the flames, + And sinful soul from terrible damnation. + +The Soldier answered them with much sang froid, +Which showed, of sin, a conscience void, + That if they meant to kill him they might kill: +As for the diamond which they found about him, +He hoped they would by no means doubt him, + That madam gave it him from pure good-will. + +The answer turned both judge and jury pale; + The punishment was for a time deferred, +Until his Holiness should hear the tale, + And his infallibility be heard. + +The Pope, to all his counselors, made known + This strange affair--to cardinals and friars, +Good pious gentlemen, who ne'er were known + To act like hypocrites, and thieves, and liars. +The question now was banded to and fro, + If Mary had the power to GIVE, or NO. + +That Mary COULD NOT give it, was to say + The wonder-working lady wanted power-- +This was the stumbling-block that stopped the way-- + This made Pope, cardinals, and friars lower. + +To save the Virgin's credit, + And keep secure the diamonds that were left; +They said, she MIGHT, indeed, the gem bestow, + And consequently it might be no theft: +But then they passed immediately an act, +That every one discovered in the fact +Of taking presents from the Virgin's hand, +Or from the saints of any land, +Should know no mercy, but be led to slaughter, +Flayed here, and fried eternally hereafter. + +Ladies, I deem the moral much too clear + To need poetical assistance; +Which bids you not let men approach too near, + But keep the saucy fellows at a distance; +Since men you find, so bold, are apt to seize +Jewels from ladies, even upon their knees! + + + +A KING OF FRANCE AND THE FAIR LADY + PETER PINDAR + +A king of France upon a day, + With a fair lady of his court, +Was pleased at battledore to play + A very fashionable sport, + +Into the bosom of this fair court dame, +Whose whiteness did the snow's pure whiteness shame, +King Louis by odd mischance did knock + The shuttlecock, +Thrice happy rogue, upon the town of doves, +To nestle with the pretty little loves! +"Now, sire, pray take it out"--quoth she, +With an arch smile,--But what did he? + What? what to charming modesty belongs! +Obedient to her soft command, +He raised it--but not with his hand! + No, marveling reader, but the chimney tongs, + +What a chaste thought in this good king! + How clever! +When shall we hear agen of such a thing? + Lord! never, +Nor were our princes to be prayed +To such an act by some fair maid, + I'll bet my life not one would mind it: +But handy, without more ado, +The youths would search the bosom through, + Although it took a day to find it! + + + +THE EGGS. + +FROM THE SPANISH OF YRIARTE. + G. H. DEVEREUX. + +Beyond the sunny Philippines +An island lies, whose name I do not know; +But that's of little consequence, if so +You understand that there they had no hens; +Till, by a happy chance, a traveler, +After a while, carried some poultry there. +Fast they increased as any one could wish; +Until fresh eggs became the common dish. +But all the natives ate them boiled--they say-- +Because the stranger taught no other way. +At last the experiment by one was tried-- +Sagacious man!--of having his eggs fried. +And, O! what boundless honors, for his pains, +His fruitful and inventive fancy gains! +Another, now, to have them baked devised-- +Most happy thought I--and still another, spiced. +Who ever thought eggs were so delicate! +Next, some one gave his friends an omelette. +"Ah!" all exclaimed, "what an ingenious feat!" +But scarce a year went by, an artiste shouts, +"I have it now--ye're all a pack of louts!-- +With nice tomatoes all my eggs are stewed." +And the whole island thought the mode so good, +That they would so have cooked them to this day, +But that a stranger, wandering out that way, +Another dish the gaping natives taught, +And showed them eggs cooked a la Huguenot. + +Successive cooks thus proved their skill diverse, +But how shall I be able to rehearse +All of the new, delicious condiments +That luxury, from time to time, invents? +Soft, hard, and dropped; and now with sugar sweet, +And now boiled up with milk, the eggs they eat: +In sherbet, in preserves; at last they tickle +Their palates fanciful with eggs in pickle, +All had their day--the last was still the best +But a grave senior thus, one day, addressed +The epicures: "Boast, ninnies, if you will, +These countless prodigies of gastric skill-- +But blessings on the man WHO BROUGHT THE HENS!" + +Beyond the sunny Philippines +Our crowd of modern authors need not go +New-fangled modes of cooking eggs to show. + + + +THE ASS AND HIS MASTER. +FROM THE SPANISH OF YRIARTE. + G. H. DEVEREUX. + +"On good and bad an equal value sets +The stupid mob. From me the worst it gets, + And never fails to praise," With vile pretense, +The scurrilous author thus his trash excused. + A poet shrewd, hearing the lame defense, +Indignant, thus exposed the argument abused. + +A Donkey's master said unto his beast, + While doling out to him his lock of straw, +"Here, take it--since such diet suits your taste, + And much good may it do your vulgar maw!" +Often the slighting speech the man repeated. +The Ass--his quiet mood by insult heated-- + +Replies: "Just what you choose to give, I take, + Master unjust! but not because I choose it. +Think you I nothing like but straw? Then make + The experiment. Bring corn, and see if I refuse it." +Ye caterers for the public, hence take heed + How your defaults by false excuse you cover! +Fed upon straw--straw it may eat, indeed; + Try it with generous fare--'t will scorn the other. + + + +THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED; OR, HYPOCRISY DETECTED. + WILLIAM COWPER. + +Thus says the prophet of the Turk, +Good Mussulman, abstain from pork; +There is a part in every swine +No friend or follower of mine +May taste, whate'er his inclination, +On pain of excommunication. +Such Mohammed's mysterious charge, +And thus he left the point at large. +Had he the sinful part expressed, +They might with safety eat the rest; +But for one piece they thought it hard +From the whole hog to be debarred; +And set their wit at work to find +What joint the prophet had in mind. +Much controversy straight arose, +These chose the back, the belly those; +By some 'tis confidently said +He meant not to forbid the head; +While others at that doctrine rail, +And piously prefer the tail. +Thus, conscience freed from every clog, +Mohammedans eat up the hog. + You laugh--'tis well--The tale applied +May make you laugh on t' other side. +Renounce the world--the preacher cries. +We do--a multitude replies. +While one as innocent regards +A snug and friendly game at cards; +And one, whatever you may say, +Can see no evil in a play; +Some love a concert, or a race; +And others shooting, and the chase. +Reviled and loved, renounced and followed, +Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallowed; +Each thinks his neighbor makes too free, +Yet likes a slice as well as he; +With, sophistry their sauce they sweeten, +Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten. + + + +REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, +NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS. + WILLIAM COWPER. + +Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, + The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; +The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, + To which the said spectacles ought to belong. + +So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause + With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning; +While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, + So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. + +In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, + And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find, +That the Nose has had spectacles always to wear, + Which amounts to possession time out of mind. + +Then holding the spectacles up to the court-- + Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle +As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short, + Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. + +Again, would your lordship a moment suppose + ('Tis a case that has happened, and may be again) +That the visage or countenance had not a nose, + Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then? + +On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, + With a reasoning the court will never condemn, +That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, + And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. + +Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how), + He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes; +But what were his arguments few people know, + For the court did not think they were equally wise. + +So his lordship decreed with a grave solemn tone, + Decisive and clear, without one IF or BUT-- +That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, + By daylight or candlelight--Eyes should be shut! + + + +HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. +[Footnote: Kennedy gives the following account of the origin of "Holy +Willie's Prayer;"--Gavin Hamilton, Esq., Clerk of Ayr, the Poet's +friend and benefactor was accosted one Sunday morning by a mendicant, +who begged alms of him. Not recollecting that it was the Sabbath, +Hamilton set the man to work in his garden, which lay on lay on the +public road, and the poor fellow was discovered by the people on their +way to the kirk, and they immediately stoned him from the ground. For +this offense, Mr. Hamilton was not permitted to have a child +christened, which his wife bore him soon afterward, until he applied +to the synod. His most officious opponent was William Fisher, one of +the elders of the church: and to revenge the insult to his friend, +Burns made him the subject of this humorous ballad.] + ROBERT BURNS. + +O Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell, +Wha, as it pleases best thysel', +Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell, + A' for thy glory, +And no for ony giud or ill + They've done afore thee! + +I bless and praise thy matchless might, +When thousands thou hast left in night, +That I am here, afore thy sight. + For gifts an' grace, +A burnin' an' a shinin' light + To a' this place. + +What was I, or my generation, +That I should get sic exaltation! +I, wha deserve sic just damnation, + For broken laws, +Five thousand years 'fore my creation + Thro' Adam's cause. + +When frae my mither's womb I fell, +Thou might hae plung'd me into hell, +To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, + In burnin' lake, +Whare damned devils roar and yell, + Chain'd to a stake. + +Yet I am here a chosen sample; +To show thy grace is great and ample; +I'm here a pillar in thy temple, + Strong as a rock, +A guide, a buckler, an example + To a' thy flock. + +[O L--d, then kens what zeal I bear, +When drinkers drink, and swearers swear, +And singing there, and dancing here, + Wi' great and sma'; +For I am keepit by thy fear, + Free frae them a'.] + +But yet, O L--d! confess I must, +At times I 'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust; +And sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust, + Vile self gets in; +But thou remembers we are dust, + Defll'd in sin. + + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + * * * * * + +May be thou lets this fleshly thorn +Beset thy servant e'en and morn, +Lest he owre high and proud should turn, + 'Cause he's sae gifted +If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne, + Until thou lift it. +L--d, bless thy chosen in this place, +For here thou hast a chosen race: +But G-d confound their stubborn face, + And blast their name, +Wha bring thy elders to disgrace + And public shame. + +L--d, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts, +He drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes, +Yet has sae mony takin' arts, + Wi' great and sma', +Frae Gr-d's ain priests the people's hearts + He steals awa'. + +An' whan we chasten'd him therefore, +Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, +As set the warld in a roar + O' laughin' at us;-- +Curse thou his basket and his store, + Kail and potatoes. + +L--d, hear my earnest cry and pray'r, +Against the presbyt'ry of Ayr; +Thy strong right hand, L--d, mak' it bare + Upo' their heads, +L--d, weigh it down, and dinna spare, + For their misdeeds. + +O L--d my G-d, that glib-tongu'd Aiken, +My very heart and saul are quakin' +To think how we stood groanin', shakin', + And swat wi' dread, +While Auld wi' hinging lip gaed snakin', + And hid his head. + +L--d in the day of vengeance try him, +L--d, visit them wha did employ him, +And pass not in thy mercy by 'em, + Nor hear their pray'r; +But for thy people's sake destroy 'em, + And dinna spare. + +But, L--d, remember me and mine, +Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, +That I for gear and grace may shine, + Excell'd by nane, +An' a' the glory shall be thine, + Amen, Amen! + + + +EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE + +Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay + Taks up its last abode; +His saul has ta'en some other way, + I fear, the left-hand road. + +Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun, + Poor, silly body, see him; +Nae wonder he's as black's the grun-- + Observe wha's standing wi him! + +Your brunstane devilship, I see, + Has got him there before ye; +But haud your nine-tail cat a wee, + Till ance ye've heard my story. + +Your pity I will not implore, + For pity ye hae nane! +Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er + And mercy's day is gane. + +But hear me, sir, deil as ye are, + Look something to your credit; +A coof like him wad stain your name, + If it were kent ye did it. + + + +ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. + ROBERT BURNS. + + "O Prince! O Chief of many throned Pow'rs, + That led th' embattled Seraphim to war!"-- + MILTON. + +O Thou! whatever title suit thee, +Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, +Wha in yon cavern grim and sootie, + Closed under hatches, +Spairges about the brunstane cootie, + To scaud poor wretches! + +Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, +An' let poor damned bodies be; +I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, + E'en to a deil, +To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, + An' hear us squeel! + +Great is thy power, an' great thy fame; +Far kenn'd and noted is thy name; +An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame, + Thou travels far: +An,' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, + Nor blate nor scaur. + +Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion, +For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin'; +Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin' + Tirl in the kirks; +Whyles, in the human bosom pryin', + Unseen thou lurks. + +I've heard my reverend Grannie say, +In lanely glens ye like to stray; +Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray, + Nod to the moon, +Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way + Wi' eldritch croon. + +When twilight did my Grannie summon +To say her prayers, douce, honest woman! +Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin', + Wi' eerie drone; +Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries comin', + Wi' heavy groan. + +Ae dreary, windy, winter night, +The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light, +Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright + Ayont the lough; +Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight, + Wi' waving sough. + +The cudgel in my nieve did shake, +Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, +When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick--quack-- + Amang the springs, +Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake, + On whistling wings. + +Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags, +Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags, +They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags, + Wi' wicked speed; +And in kirk-yards renew their leagues + Owre howkit dead. + +Thence countra wives, wi' toil an' pain, +May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain: +For, oh! the yellow treasure's taen + By witching skill +An' dawtit, twal-pint hawkie's gaen + As yell's the bill. + +Thence mystic knots mak great abuse +On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse; +When the best wark-lume i' the house, + By cantrip--wit, +Is instant made no worth a louse, + Just at the bit. + +When thows dissolve the snawy hoord, +An' float the jinglin icy-boord, +Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, + By your direction; +An' sighted trav'lers are allur'd + To their destruction. + +An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies +Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is: +The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys + Delude his eyes, +Till in some miry slough he sunk is, + Ne'er mair to rise. + +When masons' mystic word an' grip +In storms an' tempests raise you up, +Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, + Or, strange to tell! +The youngest brother ye wad whip + Aff straught to hell! + +Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, +When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, +An' all the soul of love they shar'd, + The raptur'd hour. +Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry sward, + In shady bow'r: + +Then you, ye auld, snec-drawing dog! +Ye came to Paradise incog., +An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, + (Black be your fa'!) +An' gied the infant warld a shog, + Maist ruin'd a'. + +D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, +Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, +Ye did present your smoutie phiz + 'Mang better folk, +An' sklented on the man of Uz + Your spitefu' joke? + +An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, +Au' brak him out o' house an' hall, +While scabs an' botches did him gall, + Wi' bitter claw, +And lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked scawl, + Was warst ava? + +But ai your doings to rehearse, +Your wily snares an' fechtin' fierce, +Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, + Down to this time, +Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, + In prose or rhyme. + +An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', +A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', +Some luckless hour will send him linkin' + To your black pit; +But, faith! he 'll turn a corner jinkin', + An' cheat you yet. + +But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben! +O wad ye tak a thought an' men'! +Ye aiblins might--I dinna ken-- + Still hae a stake-- +I'm wae to think upo' yon den, + Ev'n for your sake!! + + + +THE DEVIL'S WALK ON EARTH. + ROBERT SOUTHEY. + +From his brimstone bed at break of day + A walking the Devil is gone, +To look at his snug little farm of the World, + And see how his stock went on. + +Over the hill and over the dale, + And he went over the plain; +And backward and forward he swish'd his tail + As a gentleman swishes a cane. + + How then was the Devil drest? + Oh, he was in his Sunday's best +His coat was red and hia breeches were blue, +And there was a hole where his tail came through. + +A lady drove by in her pride, +In whose face an expression he spied + For which he could have kiss'd her, +Such a flourishing, fine, clever woman was she, +With an eye as wicked as wicked can be, +I should take her for my Aunt, thought he, + If my dam had had a sister. + + He met a lord of high degree, + No matter what was his name; +Whose face with his own when he came to compare + The expression, the look, and the air, + And the character, too, as it seem'd to a hair-- + Such a twin-likeness there was in the pair + That it made the Devil start and stare. +For he thought there was surely a looking-glass there, + But he could not see the frame. + +He saw a Lawyer killing a viper, + On a dung-hill beside his stable; +Ha! quoth he, thou put'st me in mind + Of the story of Cain and Abel. + +An Apothecary on a white horse + Rode by on his vocation; +And the Devil thought of his old friend + Death in the Revelation. + +He pass'd a cottage with a double coach-house, + A cottage of gentility, +And he own'd with a grin +That his favorite sin, + Is pride that apes humility + +He saw a pig rapidly + Down a river float; +The pig swam well, but every stroke + Was cutting his own throat; + +And Satan gave thereat his tail + A twirl of admiration; +For he thought of his daughter War, + And her suckling babe Taxation. + +Well enough, in sooth, he liked that truth. + And nothing the worse for the jest; +But this was only a first thought + And in this he did not rest: +Another came presently into his head, +And here it proved, as has often been said + That second thoughts are best + +For as Piggy plied with wind and tide, + His way with such celerity, +And at every stroke the water dyed +With his own red blood, the Devil cried, +Behold a swinish nation's pride + In cotton-spun prosperity. + +He walk'd into London leisurely, + The streets were dirty and dim: +But there he saw Brothers the Prophet, + And Brothers the Prophet saw him, + +He entered a thriving bookseller's shop; + Quoth he, we are both of one college, +For I myself sate like a Cormorant once + Upon the Tree of Knowledge. +As he passed through Cold-Bath Fields he look'd + At a solitary cell; +And he was well-pleased, for it gave him a hint + For improving the prisons of Hell. + +He saw a turnkey tie a thief's hands + With a cordial tug and jerk; +Nimbly, quoth he, a man's fingers move + When his heart is in his work. + +He saw the same turnkey unfettering a man + With little expedition; +And he chuckled to think of his dear slave-trade, +And the long debates and delays that were made, + Concerning its abolition. +He met one of his favorite daughters + By an Evangelical Meeting: +And forgetting himself for joy at her sight, +He would have accosted her outright, + And given her a fatherly greeting. + +But she tipt him the wink, drew back, and cried, + Avaunt! my name's Religion! +And then she turn'd to the preacher + And leer'd like a love-sick pigeon. + +A fine man and a famous Professor was he, +As the great Alexander now may be, + Whose fame not yet o'erpast is: + Or that new Scotch performer + Who is fiercer and warmer, + The great Sir Arch-Bombastes. + +With throbs and throes, and ah's and oh's. + Far famed his flock for frightning; +And thundering with his voice, the while + His eyes zigzag like lightning. + +This Scotch phenomenon, I trow, + Beats Alexander hollow; +Even when most tame +He breathes more flame + Then ten Fire-Kings could swallow + +Another daughter he presently met; + With music of fife and drum, + And a consecrated flag, + And shout of tag and rag, + And march of rank and file, +Which had fill'd the crowded aisle +Of the venerable pile, + From church he saw her come. + +He call'd her aside, and began to chide, + For what dost thou here? said he, + My city of Rome is thy proper home, + And there's work enough there for thee + + Thou hast confessions to listen, + And bells to christen, +And altars and dolls to dress; + And fools to coax, + And sinners to hoax, + And beads and bones to bless; + And great pardons to sell For those who pay well, +And small ones for those who pay less. + +Nay, Father, I boast, that this is my post, + She answered; and thou wilt allow, + That the great Harlot, + Who is clothed in scarlet, + Can very well spare me now. + + Upon her business I am come here, + That we may extend our powers: +Whatever lets down this church that we hate, + Is something in favor of ours. + +You will not think, great Cosmocrat! + That I spend my time in fooling; +Many irons, my sire, have we in the fire, + And I must leave none of them cooling; +For you must know state-councils here, + Are held which I bear rule in. + When my liberal notions, + Produce mischievous motions, + There's many a man of good intent, + In either house of Parliament, + Whom I shall find a tool in; + And I have hopeful pupils too + Who all this while are schooling, + +Fine progress they make in our liberal opinions, + My Utilitarians, + + My all sorts of--inians + And all sorts of--arians; + My all sorts of--ists, + And my Prigs and my Whigs + Who have all sorts of twists +Train'd in the very way, I know, +Father, you would have them go; + High and low, + Wise and foolish, great and small, + March-of-Intellect-Boys all. + +Well pleased wilt thou be at no very far day + When the caldron of mischief boils, +And I bring them forth in battle array + And bid them suspend their broils, +That they may unite and fall on the prey, + For which we are spreading our toils. +How the nice boys all will give mouth at the call, + Hark away! hark away to the spoils! +My Macs and my Quacks and my lawless-Jacks, +My Shiels and O'Connells, my pious Mac-Donnells, + My joke-smith Sydney, and all of his kidney, + My Humes and my Broughams, + My merry old Jerry, + My Lord Kings, and my Doctor Doyles! + + At this good news, so great + The Devil's pleasure grew, +That with a joyful swish he rent + The hole where his tail came through. + +His countenance fell for a moment + When he felt the stitches go; +Ah! thought he, there's a job now + That I've made for my tailor below. + +Great news! bloody news! cried a newsman; + The Devil said, Stop, let me see! +Great news? bloody news? thought the Devil, + The bloodier the better for me. + +So he bought the newspaper, and no news + At all for his money he had. +Lying varlet, thought he, thus to take in old Nick! + But it's some satisfaction, my lad +To know thou art paid beforehand for the trick, + For the sixpence I gave thee is bad. + +And then it came into his head + By oracular inspiration, +That what he had seen and what he had said + In the course of this visitation, +Would be published in the Morning Post + For all this reading nation. + +Therewith in second sight he saw + The place and the manner and time, +In which this mortal story + Would be put in immortal rhyme. + +That it would happen when two poets + Should on a time be met, +In the town of Nether Stowey, + In the shire of Somerset. + + There while the one was shaving + Would he the song begin; +And the other when he heard it at breakfast, + In ready accord join in. + + So each would help the other, + Two heads being better than one; + And the phrase and conceit + Would in unison meet, +And so with glee the verse flow free, + In ding-dong chime of sing-song rhyme, + Till the whole were merrily done. + + And because it was set to the razor, + Not to the lute or harp, + Therefore it was that the fancy +Should be bright, and the wit be sharp. + +But, then, said Satan to himself + As for that said beginner, +Against my infernal Majesty, + There is no greater sinner. + +He hath put me in ugly ballads + With libelous pictures for sale; +He hath scoff'd at my hoofs and my horns, + And has made very free with my tail. + +But this Mister Poet shall find + I am not a safe subject for whim; +For I'll set up a School of my own, + And my Poets shall set upon him. + +He went to a coffee-house to dine, + And there he had soy in his dish; +Having ordered some soles for his dinner, + Because he was fond of flat fish. + +They are much to my palate, thought he, + And now guess the reason who can, +Why no bait should be better than place, + When I fish for a Parliament-man. + +But the soles in the bill were ten shillings; + Tell your master, quoth he, what I say; +If he charges at this rate for all things, + He must be in a pretty good way. + +But mark ye, said he to the waiter, + I'm a dealer myself in this line, +And his business, between you and me, + Nothing like so extensive as mine. + +Now soles are exceedingly cheap, + Which he will not attempt to deny, +When I see him at my fish-market, + I warrant him, by-and-by. + +As he went along the Strand + Between three in the morning and four +He observed a queer-looking person + Who staggered from Perry's door. + +And he thought that all the world over + In vain for a man you might seek, +Who could drink more like a Trojan + Or talk more like a Greek. + + The Devil then he prophesied + It would one day be matter of talk, + That with wine when smitten, +And with wit moreover being happily bitten, +The erudite bibber was he who had written + The story of this walk. + + A pretty mistake, quoth the Devil; + A pretty mistake I opine! +I have put many ill thoughts in his mouth, + He will never put good ones in mine. + +And whoever shall say that to Porson + These best of all verses belong, +He is an untruth-telling whore-son, + And so shall be call'd in the song. + +And if seeking an illicit connection with fame, + Any one else should put in a claim, + In this comical competition; + That excellent poem will prove + A man-trap for such foolish ambition, +Where the silly rogue shall be caught by the leg, + And exposed in a second edition. + +Now the morning air was cold for him + Who was used to a warm abode; +And yet he did not immediately wish, + To set out on his homeward road, + +For he had some morning calls to make + Before he went back to Hell; +So thought he I'll step into a gaming-house, + And that will do as well; +But just before he could get to the door + A wonderful chance befell. + + For all on a sudden, in a dark place, +He came upon General ----'s burning face; + And it struck him with such consternation, +That home in a hurry his way did he take, +Because he thought, by a slight mistake + 'Twas the general conflagration. + + + +CHURCH AND STATE. + THOMAS MOORE. + +When Royalty was young and bold, + Ere, touch'd by Time, he had become-- +If't is not civil to say OLD-- + At least, a ci-devant jeune homme. + +One evening, on some wild pursuit, + Driving along, he chanced to see +Religion, passing by on foot, + And took him in his vis-a-vis. + +This said Religion was a friar, + The humblest and the best of men, +Who ne'er had notion or desire + Of riding in a coach till then. + +"I say"--quoth Royalty, who rather + Enjoy'd a masquerading joke-- +"I say, suppose, my good old father, + You lend me, for a while, your cloak." + +The friar consented--little knew + What tricks the youth had in his head; +Besides, was rather tempted, too, + By a laced coat he got in stead, + +Away ran Royalty, slap-dash, + Scampering like mad about the town; +Broke windows--shiver'd lamps to smash, + And knock'd whole scores of watchmen down. + +While naught could they whose heads were broke + Learn of the "why" or the "wherefore," +Except that 't was Religion's cloak + The gentleman, who crack'd them, wore. + +Meanwhile, the Friar, whose head was turn'd + By the laced coat, grew frisky too-- +Look'd big--his former habits spurn'd-- + And storm'd about as great men do-- + +Dealt much in pompous oaths and curses-- + Said "Damn you," often, or as bad-- +Laid claim to other people's purses-- + In short, grew either knave or mad. + +As work like this was unbefitting, + And flesh and blood no longer bore it, +The Court of Common Sense then sitting, + Summon'd the culprits both before it; + +Where, after hours in wrangling spent + (As courts must wrangle to decide well), +Religion to St. Luke's was sent, + And Royalty pack'd off to Bridewell: + +With, this proviso--Should they be + Restored in due time to their senses, +They both must give security + In future, against such offenses-- + +Religion ne'er to LEND HIS CLOAK, + Seeing what dreadful work it leads to; +And Royalty to crack his joke-- + But NOT to crack poor people's heads, too. + + + +LYING. + THOMAS MOORE. + +I do confess, in many a sigh, +My lips have breath'd you many a lie, +And who, with such delights in view, +Would lose them for a lie or two? +Nay--look not thus, with brow reproving: +Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving! +If half we tell the girls were true, +If half we swear to think and do, +Were aught but lying's bright illusion, +The world would be in strange confusion! +If ladies' eyes were, every one, +As lovers swear, a radiant sun, +Astronomy should leave the skies, +To learn her lore in ladies' eyes! +Oh no!--believe me, lovely girl, +When nature turns your teeth to pearl, +Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire, +Your yellow locks to golden wire, +Then, only then, can heaven decree, +That you should live for only me, +Or I for you, as night and morn, +We've swearing kiss'd, and kissing sworn. + +And now, my gentle hints to clear, +For once, I'll tell you truth, my dear! +Whenever you may chance to meet +A loving youth, whose love is sweet, +Long as you're false and he believes you, +Long as you trust and he deceives you, +So long the blissful bond endures; +And while he lies, his heart is yours; +But, oh! you've wholly lost the youth +The instant that he tells you truth! + + + +THE MILLENNIUM. +SUGGESTBD BY THE LATE WORK OF THE KEVEKEND MR. IRVING +"ON PROPHECY." + THOMAS MOORE. + +Millennium at hand!--I'm delighted to hear it-- + As matters both public and private now go, +With multitudes round us, all starving or near it, + A good rich millennium will come A PROPOS. + +Only think, Master Fred, what delight to behold, + Instead of thy bankrupt old City of Rags, +A bran-new Jerusalem, built all of gold, + Sound bullion throughout, from the roof to the flags-- + +A city where wine and cheap corn shall abound-- + A celestial Cocaigne, on whose butterfly shelves +We may swear the best things of this world will be found, + As your saints seldom fail to take care of themselves! + +Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures elysian, + Divine Squintifobus, who, placed within reach +Of two opposite worlds by a twist of your vision + Can cast, at the same time, a sly look at eaoh;-- + +Thanks, thanks for the hopes thou hast given us, that we + May, even in our times a jubilee share, +Which so long has been promised by prophets like thee, + And so often has fail'd, we began to despair. + +There was Whiston, who learnedly took Prince Eugene + For the man who must bring the Millennium about; +There's Faber, whose pious predictions have been + All belied, ere his book's first edition was out;-- + +There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M.P., + Who discoursed on the subject with signal eclat, +And, each day of his life, sat expecting to see + A Millennium break out in the town of Armagh! + +There was also--but why should I burden my lay + With your Brotherses, Southcotes, and names less deserving +When all past Millenniums henceforth must give way + To the last new Millennium of Orator Irv-ng, + +Go on, mighty man--doom them all to the shelf-- + And, when next thou with prophecy tronblest thy sconce, +Oh, forget not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself + Art the Beast (chapter 4) that sees nine ways at once! + + + +THE LITTLE GRAND LAMA. +A FABLE FOR PRINCES ROYAL + THOMAS MOORE + +In Thibet once there reign'd, we're told, +A little Lama, one year old-- +Raised to the throne, that realm to bless, +Just when his little Holiness +Had cut--as near as can be reckoned-- +Some say his FIRST tooth, some his SECOND, +Chronologers and verses vary, +Which proves historians should be wary +We only know the important truth-- +His Majesty HAD cut a tooth. + +And much his subjects were enchanted, + As well all Lamas' subjects may be, +And would have given their heads, if wanted, + To make tee-totums for the baby +As he was there by Eight Divine + (What lawyers call Jure Divino +Meaning a right to yours and mine, + And everybody's goods and rhino)-- +Of course his faithful subjects' purses + Were ready with their aids and succors-- +Nothing was seen but pension'd nurses, + And the land groan'd with bibs and tuckers. + +Oh! had there been a Hume or Bennet +Then sitting in the Thibet Senate, +Ye gods, what room for long debates +Upon the Nursery Estimates! +What cutting down of swaddling-clothes + And pin-a-fores, in nightly battles! +What calls for papers to expose + The waste of sugar-plums and rattles? +But no--if Thibet NAD M.P.s, +They were far better bred than these, +Nor gave the slightest opposition, +During the Monarch's whole dentition. + +But short this calm; for, just when he +Had reach'd the alarming age of three, +When royal natures--and, no doubt +Those of ALL noble beasts--break out, +The Lama, who till then was quiet, +Show'd symptoms of a taste for riot; +And, ripe for mischief, early, late, +Without regard for Church or State, +Made free with whosoe'er came nigh-- + Tweak'd the Lord Chancellor by the nose, +Turn'd all the Judges' wigs awry, + And trod on the old General's toes-- +Pelted the Bishops with hot buns, + Rode cock-horse on the city maces, +And shot, from little devilish guns, + Hard peas into his subjects' faces. +In short, such wicked pranks he play'd, + And grew so mischievous (God bless him!) +That his chief Nurse--though with the aid +Of an Archbishop--was afraid, + When in these moods, to comb or dress him; +And even the persons most inclined + For Kings, through thick and thin, to stickle, +Thought him (if they'd but speak their mind + Which they did NOT) an odious pickle. + +At length, some patriot lords--a breed + Of animals they have in Thibet, +Extremely rare, and fit, indeed, + For folks like Pidcock to exhibit-- +Some patriot lords, seeing the length +To which things went, combined their strength, +And penn'd a manly, plain and free +Remonstrance to the Nursery; +In which, protesting that they yielded, + To none, that ever went before 'em-- +In loyalty to him who wielded + The hereditary pap-spoon o'er 'em--That, as for treason, 't was a +thing + That made them almost sick to think of-- +That they and theirs stood by the King, + Throughout his measles and his chin-cough, + +When others, thinking him consumptive, +Had ratted to the heir Presumptive!-- +But still--though much admiring kings +(And chiefly those in leading-strings)-- +They saw, with shame and grief of soul, + There was no longer now the wise +And constitutional control + Of BIRCH before their ruler's eyes; +But that, of late, such pranks and tricks, + And freaks occurr'd the whole day long, +As all, but men with bishoprics, + Allow'd, even in a King, were wrong-- +Wherefore it was they humbly pray'd + That Honorable Nursery, +That such reforms be henceforth made, + As all good men desired to see;-- +In other words (lest they might seem +Too tedious) as the gentlest scheme +For putting all such pranks to rest, + And in its bud the mischief nipping-- +They ventured humbly to suggest + His Majesty should have a whipping! + +When this was read--no Congreve rocket + Discharged into the Gallic trenches, +E'er equall'd the tremendous shock it + Produc'd upon the Nursery Benches. +The Bishops, who, of course had votes, + By right of age and petticoats, +Were first and foremost in the fuss-- + "What, whip a Lama!--suffer birch +To touch his sacred---infamous! + Deistical!--assailing thus +The fundamentals of the Church! +No--no--such patriot plans as these +(So help them Heaven--and their sees!) +They held to be rank blasphemies." + +The alarm thus given, by these and other + Grave ladies of the Nursery side, +Spread through the land, till, such a pother + Such party squabbles, far and wide, +Never in history's page had been +Recorded, as were then between +The Whippers and Non-whippers seen. +Till, things arriving at a state + Which gave some fears of revolution, +The patriot lords' advice, though late, + Was put at last in execution. +The Parliament of Thibet met-- + The little Lama call'd before it, +Did, then and there, his whipping get,And (as the Nursery Gazette +Assures us) like a hero bore it. + +And though 'mong Thibet Tories, some +Lament that Royal MartyrDom +(Please to observe, the letter D +In this last word's pronounced like B), +Yet to the example of that Prince + So much is Thibet's land a debtor, +'Tis said her little Lamas since + Have all behaved themselves MUCH better. + + + +ETERNAL LONDON. + THOMAS MOORE. + +And is there then no earthly place + Where we can rest, in dream Elysian, +Without some cursed, round English face, + Popping up near, to break the vision! + +'Mid northern lakes, 'mid southern vines, + Unholy cits we're doom'd to meet; +Nor highest Alps nor Appenines + Are sacred from Threadneedle-street. + +If up the Simplon's path we wind, +Fancying we leave this world behind, +Such pleasant sounds salute one's ear +As--"Baddish news from 'Change, my dear-- +The Funds--(phew, curse this ugly hill!) +Are lowering fast--(what! higher still?)-- +And--(zooks, we're mounting up to Heaven!)-- +Will soon be down to sixty-seven," + +Go where we may--rest where we will, +Eternal London haunts us still, +The trash of Almack's or Fleet-Ditch-- +And scarce a pin's head difference WHICH-- +Mixes, though even to Greece we run, +With every rill from Helicon! +And if this rage for traveling lasts, +If Cockneys of all sets and castes, +Old maidens, aldermen, and squires, +WILL leave their puddings and coal fires, +To gape at things in foreign lands +No soul among them understands-- +If Blues desert their coteries, +To show off 'mong the Wahabees--- +If neither sex nor age controls, + Nor fear of Mamelukes forbids +Young ladies, with pink parasols, + To glide among the Pyramids-- +Why, then, farewell all hope to find +A spot that's free from London-kind! +Who knows, if to the West we roam, +But we may find some Blue "at home" + Among the BLACKS of Carolina-- +Or, flying to the eastward, see +Some Mrs. HOPKINS, taking tea + And toast upon the Wall of China. + + + +OF FACTOTUM NED. + THOMAS MOORE. + +Here lies Factotum Ned at last: + Long as he breath'd the vital air, +Nothing throughout all Europe pass'd + In which he hadn't some small share. + +Whoe'er was IN, whoe'er was OUT-- + Whatever statesmen did or said-- +If not exactly brought about, + Was all, at least, contrived by Ned. + +With NAP if Russia went to war, + 'Twas owing, under Providence, +To certain hints Ned gave the Czar-- + (Vide his pamphlet--price six pence). + +If France was beat at Waterloo-- + As all, but Frenchmen, think she was-- +To Ned, as Wellington well knew, + Was owing half that day's applause. + +Then for his news--no envoy's bag + E'er pass'd so many secrets through it-- +Scarcely a telegraph could wag + Its wooden finger, but Ned knew it. + +Such tales he had of foreign plots, + With foreign names one's ear to buzz in-- +From Russia chefs and ofs in lots, + From Poland owskis by the dozen. + +When GEORGE, alarm'd for England's creed, + Turn'd out the last Whig ministry, +And men ask'd--who advised the deed? + Ned modestly confess'd 'twas he. + +For though, by some unlucky miss, + He had not downright SEEN the King, +He sent such hints through Viscount THIS, + To Marquis THAT, as clench'd the thing. + +The same it was in science, arts, + The drama, books, MS. and printed-- +Kean learn'd from Ned his cleverest parts, + And Scott's last work by him was hinted. + +Childe Harold in the proofs he read, + And, here and there, infused some soul in 't-- +Nay, Davy's lamp, till seen by Ned, + Had--odd enough--a dangerous hole in't. + +'Twas thus, all doing and all knowing, + Wit, statesman, boxer, chemist, singer, +Whatever was the best pie going, + In THAT Ned--trust him--had his finger. + + + +LETTERS +FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE AT PARIS TO MISS DOROTHY--IN IRELAND + THOMAS MOORE. + +What a time since I wrote!--I'm a sad naughty girl-- +Though, like a tee-totum, I'm all in a twirl, +Yet even (as you wittily say) a tee-totum +Between all its twirls gives a LETTER to note 'em. +But, Lord, such a place! and then, Dolly, my dresses, +My gowns, so divine!--there's no language expresses, +Except just the TWO words "superbe," "magmfique," +The trimmings of that which I had home last week! +It is call'd--I forget--a la--something which sounded +Like alicampane--but, in truth, I'm confounded +And bother'd, my dear, 'twixt that troublesome boy's +(Bob's) cookery language, and Madame Le Roi's: +What with fillets of roses, and fillets of veal, +Things garni with lace, and things garni with eel, +One's hair, and one's cutlets both en papillote, +And a thousand more things I shall ne'er have by rote, +I can scarce tell the difference, at least as to phrase, +Between beef a la Psyche and curls a la braise.-- +But, in short, dear, I'm trick'd out quite a la Francaise, +With my bonnet--so beautiful!--high up and poking, +Like things that are put to keep chimneys from smoking. + +Where SHALL I begin with the endless delights +Of this Eden of milliners, monkeys, and sights-- +This dear busy place, where there's nothing transacting, +But dressing and dinnering, dancing and acting? + +Imprimis, the Opera--mercy, my ears! + Brother Bobby's remark t'other night was a true one +"This MUST be the music," said he, "of the SPEARS, + For I'm curst if each note of it doesn't run through one!" +Pa says (and you know, love, his book's to make out), +'T was the Jacobins brought every mischief about; +That this passion for roaring has come in of late, +Since the rabble all tried for a VOICE in the State. +What a frightful idea, one's mind to o'erwhelm! + What a chorus, dear Dolly, would soon be let loose of it! +If, when of age, every man in the realm + Had a voice like old Lais, and chose to make use of it! +No--never was known in this riotous sphere +Such a breach of the peace as their singing, my dear; +So bad, too, you'd swear that the god of both arts, + Of Music and Physic, had taken a frolic +For setting a loud fit of asthma in parts, + And composing a fine rumbling base to a cholic! + +But, the dancing--ah parlez moi, Dolly, des ca-- +There, indeed, is a treat that charms all but Papa. +Such beauty--such grace--oh ye sylphs of romance! + Fly, fly to Titania, and ask her if SHE has +One light-footed nymph in her train, that can dance + Like divine Bigottini and sweet Fanny Bias! +Fanny Bias in Flora--dear creature!--you'd swear, +When her delicate feet in the dance twinkle round, +That her steps are of light, that her home is the air, + And she only par complaisance touches the ground. +And when Bigottini in Psyche dishevels + Her black flowing hair, and by demons is driven, +Oh! who does not envy those rude little devils, + That hold her, and hug her, and keep her from heaven? +Then, the music--so softly its cadences die, +So divinely--oh, Dolly! between you and I, +It's as well for my peace that there's nobody nigh +To make love to me then--YOU'VE a soul, and can judge +What a crisis 't would be for your friend Biddy Fudge! + +The next place (which Bobby has near lost his heart in), +They call it the Play-house--I think--of Saint Martin: +Quite charming--and VERY religious--what folly +To say that the French are not pious, dear Dolly, +When here one beholds, so correctly and rightly, +The Testament turn'd into melo-drames nightly +And, doubtless, so fond they're of scriptural facts, +They will soon get the Pentateuch up in five acts. +Here Daniel, in pantomime, bids bold defiance +To Nebuchadnezzar and all his stuff'd lions, +While pretty young Israelites dance round the Prophet, +In very thin clothing, and BUT little of it;-- +Here Begrand, who shines in this scriptural path, + As the lovely Susanna, without even a relic +Of drapery round her, comes out of the Bath + In a manner, that, Bob says, is quite EVE-ANGELIC! + +But, in short, dear, 't would take me a month to recite +All the exquisite places we're at, day and night; +And, besides, ere I finish, I think you'll be glad +Just to hear one delightful adventure I've had. + +Last night, at the Beaujon, a place where--I doubt +If I well can describe--there are cars that set out +From a lighted pavilion, high up in the air, +And rattle you down, Doll--you hardly know where. +These vehicles, mind me, in which you go through +This delightfully dangerous journey, hold TWO. +Some cavalier asks, with humility, whether + You'll venture down with him--you smile--'tis a match; +In an instant you're seated, and down both together + Go thundering, as if you went post to old Scratch; +Well, it was but last night, as I stood and remark'd +On the looks and odd ways of the girls who embark'd, +The impatience of some for the perilous flight, +The forc'd giggle of others, 'twixt pleasure and fright, +That there came up--imagine, dear Doll, if you can-- +A fine sallow, sublime, sort of Werter-fac'd man, +With mustaches that gave (what we read of so oft), +The dear Corsair expression, half savage, half soft +As Hyienas in love may be fancied to look, or +A something between Abelard and old Bincher! +Up he came, Doll, to me, and uncovering his head +(Rather bald, but so warlike!) in bad English said, +"Ah! my dear--if Ma'maelle vil be so very good-- +Just for von little course"--though I scarce understood +What he wish'd me to do, I said, thank him, I would. + +Off we set--and, though 'faith, dear, I hardly knew whether +My head or my heels were the uppermost then, +For 't was like heaven and earth, Dolly, coming together-- +Yet, spite of the danger, we dared it again. +And oh! as I gazed on the features and air +Of the man, who for me all this peril defied, +I could fancy almost he and I were a pair +Of unhappy young lovers, who thus, side by side, +Were taking, instead of rope, pistol, or dagger, a +Desperate dash down the falls of Niagara! + +This achiev'd, through the gardens we saunter'd about, + Saw the fire-works, exclaim'd "magnifique!" at each cracker +And, when 't was all o'er, the dear man saw us out + With the air, I WILL say, of a prince, to our fiacre. +Now, hear me--this stranger--it may be mere folly-- +But WHO do you think we all think it is, Dolly? +Why, bless you, no less than the great King of Prussia, +Who's here now incog.--he, who made such a fuss, you +Remember, in London, with Blucher and Platoff, +When Sal was near kissing old Blucher's cravat off! +Pa says he's come here to look after his money +(Not taking things now as he used under Boney), +Which suits with our friend, for Bob saw him, he swore, +Looking sharp to the silver received at the door. +Besides, too, they say that his grief for his Queen +(Which was plain in this sweet fellow's face to be seen) +Requires such a stimulant dose as this car is, +Used three times a day with young ladies in Paris. +Some Doctor, indeed, has declared that such grief + Should--unless 't would to utter despairing its folly push-- +Fly to the Beaujon, and there seek relief + By rattling, as Bob says, "like shot through a holly-bush." + +I must now bid adieu--only think, Dolly, think +If this SHOULD be the King--I have scarce slept a wink +With imagining how it will sound in the papers, + And how all the Misses my good luck will grudge, +When they read that Count Buppin, to drive away vapors, + Has gone down the Beaujon with Miss Biddy Fudge. + +Nota Bene.--Papa's almost certain 'tis he-- +For he knows the L*git**ate cut, and could see, +In the way he went poising, and managed to tower +So erect in the car, the true Balance of Power. + +SECOND LETTER. + +Well, it ISN'T the King, after all, my dear creature! + But DON'T you go laugh, now--there's nothing to quiz in 't-- +For grandeur of air and for grimness of feature, + He MIGHT be a King, Doll, though, hang him, he isn't. +At first I felt hurt, for I wish'd it, I own, + If for no other cause than to vex MISS MALONE-- +(The great heiress, you know, of Shandangan, who's here, +Showing off with SUCH airs and a real Cashmere, +While mine's but a paltry old rabbit-skin, dear!) +But says Pa, after deeply considering the thing, +"I am just as well pleased it should NOT be the King; +As I think for my BIDDY, so gentilie jolie, + Whose charms may their price in an HONEST way fetch, +That a Brandenburg--(what IS a Brandenburg, DOLLY?)-- + Would be, after all, no such very great catch, +If the R--G--T, indeed--" added he, looking sly-- +(You remember that comical squint of his eye) +But I stopp'd him--"La, Pa, how CAN you say so, +When the R--G--T loves none but old women, you know!" +Which is fact, my dear Dolly--we, girls of eighteen, +And so slim--Lord, he'd think us not fit to be seen; +And would like us much better as old--ay, as old +As that Countess of Desmond, of whom I've been told +That she lived to much more than a hundred and ten, +And was kill'd by a fall from a cherry-tree then! +What a frisky old girl! but--to come to my lover, + Who, though not a king, is a HERO I'll swear-- +You shall hear all that's happen'd just briefly run over, + Since that happy night, when we whisk'd through the air! + +Let me see--'t was on Saturday--yes, Dolly, yes-- +From that evening I date the first dawn of my bliss; +When we both rattled off in that dear little carriage, +Whose journey, Bob says, is so like love and marriage, +"Beginning gay, desperate, clashing down-hilly; +And ending as dull as a six-inside Dilly!" +Well, scarcely a wink did I sleep the night through, +And, next day, having scribbled my letter to you, +With a heart full of hope this sweet fellow to meet, +Set out with Papa, to see Louis Dix-huit +Make his bow to some half-dozen women and boys, +Who get up a small concert of shrill Vive le Rois-- +And how vastly genteeler, my clear, even this is, +Than vulgar Pall-Mall's oratorio of hisses! +The gardens seem'd full--so, of course, we walk'd o'er 'em, +'Mong orange-trees, clipp'd into town-bred decorum, +And Daphnes, and vases, and many a statue +There staring, with not even a stitch on them, at you! +The ponds, too, we view'd--stood awhile on the brink + To contemplate the play of those pretty gold fishes-- +"LIVE BULLION" says merciless Bob, "which I think, + Would, if COIN'D, with a little MINT sauce, be delicious!" + +But WHAT, Dolly, what is the gay orange-grove, +Or gold fishes, to her that's in search of her love? +In vain did I wildly explore every chair +Where a thing LIKE a man was--no lover sat there! +In vain my fond eyes did I eagerly cast +At the whiskers, mustaches, and wigs that went past, +To obtain, if I could, but a glance at that curl, +But a glimpse of those whiskers, as sacred, my girl, +As the lock that, Pa says, is to Mussulmen given, +For the angel to hold by that "lugs them to heaven!" +Alas, there went by me full many a quiz, +And mustaches in plenty, but nothing like his! +Disappointed, I found myself sighing out "well-a-day," +Thought of the words of T-H M-RE'S Irish melody, +Something about the "green spot of delight," + (Which you know, Captain Macintosh sung to us one day) +Ah, Dolly! MY "spot" was that Saturday night, + And its verdure, how fleeting, had wither'd by Sunday! + +We dined at a tavern--La, what do I say? + If Bob was to know!--a Restaurateur's, dear; +Where your PROPEREST ladies go dine every day, + And drink Burgundy out of large tumblers, like beer. +Fine Bob (for he's really grown SUPER-fine) + Condescended, for once, to make one of the party; +Of course, though but three, we had dinner for nine, + And, in spite of my grief, love, I own I ate hearty; +Indeed, Doll, I know not how 'tis, but in grief, +I have always found eating a wondrous relief; +And Bob, who's in love, said he felt the same QUITE-- + "My sighs," said he "ceased with the first glass I drank you, +The LAMB made me tranquil, the PUFFS made me light, + And now that's all o'er--why, I'm--pretty well, thank you!" + +To MY great annoyance, we sat rather late; +For Bobby and Pa had a furious debate +About singing and cookery--Bobby, of course, +Standing up for the latter Fine Art in full force; +And Pa saying, "God only knows which is worst, + The French singers or cooks, but I wish us well over it-- +What with old Lais and Very, I'm curst + If MY head or my stomach will ever recover it!" +'T was dark when we got to the Boulevards to stroll, + And in vain did I look 'mong the street Macaronis, +When sudden it struck me--last hope of my soul-- + That some angel might take the dear man to Tortoni's! +We enter'd--and scarcely had Bob, with an air, + For a grappe a la jardiniere call'd to the waiters, +When, oh! Dolly, I saw him--my hero was there + (For I knew his white small-clothes and brown leather gaiters), +A group of fair statues from Greece smiling o'er him, +And lots of red currant-juice sparkling before him! +Oh Dolly, these heroes--what creatures they are! + In the boudoir the same as in fields full of slaughter; +As cool in the Beaujon's precipitous car + As when safe at Tortoni's, o'er iced currant-water! +He joined us--imagine, dear creature my ecstasy-- +Join'd by the man I'd have broken ten necks to see! +Bob wish'd to treat him with punch a la glace, +But the sweet fellow swore that my beaute, my GRACE, +And my je-ne-sais-quoi (then his whiskers he twirl'd) +Were, to HIM, "on de top of all ponch in de vorld."-- +How pretty!--though oft (as, of course, it must be) +Both his French and his English are Greek, Doll, to me. +But, in short, I felt happy as ever fond heart did: +And, happier still, when 't was fix'd, ere we parted, +That, if the next day should be PASTORAL weather, +We all would set off in French buggies, together, +To see Montmorency--that place which, you know, +Is so famous for cherries and Jean Jacques Rousseau. +His card then he gave us--the NAME, rather creased-- +But 't was Calicot--something--a colonel, at least! +After which--sure there never was hero so civil--he +Saw us safe home to our door in Rue Rivoli, +Where his LAST words, as at parting, he threw +A soft look o'er his shoulders, were--"how do you do?" + +But, Lord--there's Papa for the post---I'm so vex'd-- +Montmorency must now, love, be kept for my next. +That dear Sunday night!--I was charmingly dress'd, +And--SO providential--was looking my best; +Such a sweet muslin gown, with a flounce--and my frills, +You've no notion how rich--(though Pa has by the bills)-- +And you'd smile had you seen, when we sat rather near, +Colonel Calicot eyeing the cambric, my dear. +Then the flowers in my bonnet--but, la, it's in vain-- +So, good by, my sweet Doll--I shall soon write again, + +R.F. + +Nota bene--our love to all neighbors about-- +Your papa in particular--how is his gout? + +P. S.--I 've just open'd my letter to say, +In your next you must tell me (now DO, Dolly, pray +For I hate to ask Bob, he's so ready to quiz) +What sort of a thing, dear, a BRANDENBURG is. + +THIRD LETTER. + +At last, DOLLY--thanks to a potent emetic +Which BOBBY and Pa, with grimace sympathetic, +Have swallowed this morning to balance the bliss +Of an eel matelote, and a bisque d'ecrevisses-- +I've a morning at home to myself, and sit down +To describe you our heavenly trip out of town. +How agog you must be for this letter, my dear! +Lady JANE in the novel less languish'd to hear +If that elegant cornet she met at LORD NEVILLE'S +Was actually dying with love or--blue devils. +But love, DOLLY, love is the theme _I_ pursue; +With, blue devils, thank heaven, I've nothing to do-- +Except, indeed, dear Colonel CALICOT spies +Any imps of that color in CERTAIN blue eyes, +Which he stares at till _I_, DOLL, at HIS do the same; +Then he simpers--I blush--and would often exclaim, +If I knew but the French for it, "Lord, sir, for shame!" + +Well, the morning was lovely--the trees in full dress +For the happy occasion--the sunshine EXPRESS-- +Had we order'd it dear, of the best poet going, +It scarce could be furnish'd more golden and glowing. +Though late when we started, the scent of the air +Was like GATTIE'S rose-water, and bright here and there +On the grass an odd dew-drop was glittering yet, +Like my aunt's diamond pin on her green tabinet! +And the birds seemed to warble, as blest on the boughs, +As if EACH a plumed CALICOT had for her spouse, +And the grapes were all blushing and kissing in rows, +And--in short, need I tell you, wherever one goes +With the creature one loves, 'tis all couleur de rose; +And ah, I shall ne'er, lived I ever so long, see +A day such as that at divine Montmorency! + +There was but ONE drawback---at first when we started, +The Colonel and I were inhumanly parted; +How cruel--young hearts of such moments to rob! +He went in Pa's buggy, and I went with BOB: +And, I own, I felt spitefully happy to know +That Papa and his comrade agreed but so-so, +For the Colonel, it seems, is a stickler of BONEY'S-- +Served with him, of course--nay, I'm sure they were cronies; +So martial his features, dear DOLL, you can trace +Ulm, Austerlitz, Lodi, as plain in his face +As you do on that pillar of glory and brass +Which the poor Duc de B**RI must hate so to pass, +It appears, too, he made--as most foreigners do-- +About English affairs an odd blunder or two. +For example--misled by the names. I dare say-- +He confounded JACK CASTLES with Lord CASTLEREAGH, +And--such a mistake as no mortal hit ever on-- +Fancied the PRESENT Lord CAMDEN the CLEVER one! + +But politics ne'er were the sweet fellow's trade; +'T was for war and the ladies my Colonel was made. +And, oh, had you heard, as together we walk'd +Through that beautiful forest, how sweetly he talk'd; +And how perfectly well he appear'd, DOLL, to know +All the life and adventures of JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU!-- +"'T was there," said he--not that his WORDS I can state-- +'T was a gibberish that Cupid alone could translate;-- +But "there," said he (pointing where, small and remote, +The dear Hermitage rose), "there his JULIE he wrote, +Upon paper gilt-edged, without blot or erasure, +Then sanded it over with silver and azure, +And--oh, what will genius and fancy not do?- +Tied the leaves up together with nomparsille blue!" +What a trait of Rousseau! what a crowd of emotions + From sand and blue ribbons are conjured up here! +Alas! that a man of such exquisite notions, + Should send his poor brats to the Foundling, my dear! + +"'T was here, too, perhaps," Colonel CALICOT said-- +As down the small garden he pensively led-- +(Though once I could see his sublime forehead wrinkle +With rage not to find there the loved periwinkle)-- +"'T was here he received from the fair D'EPINAY, +(Who call'd him so sweetly HER BEAR, every day), +That dear flannel petticoat, pull'd off to form +A waistcoat to keep the enthusiast warm!" + +Such, DOLL, were the sweet recollections we ponder'd, +As, full of romance, through that valley we wander'd, +The flannel (one's train of ideas, how odd it is) +Led us to talk about other commodities, +Cambric, and silk, and I ne'er shall forget, +For the sun way then hastening in pomp to its set, +And full on the Colonel's dark whiskers shone down, +When he ask'd ne, with eagerness--who made my gown? +The question confused me--for, DOLL, you must know, +And I OUGHT to have told my best friend long ago, +That, by Pa's strict command, I no longer employ +That enchanting couturiere, Madame LE ROI, +But am forc'd, dear, to have VICTORINE, who--deuce take her-- +It seems is, at present, the king's mantua-maker-- +I mean OF HIS PARTY--and, though much the smartest, +LE ROI is condemned as a rank B*n*pa*t*st. + +Think, DOLL, how confounded I look'd--so well knowing +The Colonel's opinions--my cheeks were quite glowing; +I stammer'd out something--nay, even half named +The LEGITIMATE semptress, when, loud, he exclaimed, +"Yes, yes, by the stiching 'tis plain to be seen +It was made by that B*rb*n**t b--h, VIOTORINE!" +What a word for a hero, but heroes WILL err, +And I thought, dear, I'd tell you things JUST as they were, +Besides, though the word on good manners intrench, +I assure you, 'tis not HALF so shocking in French. + +But this cloud, though embarrassing, soon pass'd away, +And the bliss altogether, the dreams of that day, +The thoughts that arise when such dear fellows woo us-- +The NOTHINGS that then, love, are EVERYTHING to us-- +That quick correspondence of glances and sighs, +And what BOB calls the "Twopenny-Post of the Eyes"-- +Ah DOLL, though I KNOW you've a heart, 'tis in vain +To a heart so unpracticed these things to explain, +They can only be felt in their fullness divine +By her who has wander'd, at evening's decline, +Through a valley like that, with a Colonel like mine! + +But here I must finish--for BOB, my dear DOLLY, +Whom physic, I find, always makes melancholy, +Is seized with a fancy for church-yard reflections; +And full of all yesterday's rich recollections, +Is just setting off for Montmartre--"for THERE is," +Said he, looking solemn, "the tomb of the VERYS! +Long, long have I wisn'd, as a votary true, + O'er the grave of such talents to utter my moans; +And to-day, as my stomach is not in good cue + For the FLESH of the VERYS--I'll visit their BONES!" +He insists upon MY going with him--how teasing! + This letter, however, dear DOLLY, shall lie +Unseal'd in my drawer, that if any thing pleasing + Occurs while I'm out, I may tell you--Good-by. + B. F. + + Four o'clock. +Oh, DOLLY, dear DOLLY, I'm ruin'd forever-- +I ne'er shall be happy again, DOLLY, never; +To think of the wretch!--what a victim was _I_! +'Tis too much to endure--I shall die, I shall die! +My brain's in a fever--my pulses beat quick-- +I shall die, or, at least, be exceedingly sick! +Oh what do you think? after all my romancing, +My visions of glory, my sighing, my glancing, +This Colonel--I scarce can commit it to paper-- +This Colonel's no more than a vile linen-draper!! +'Tis true as I live--I had coax'd brother BOB so +(You'll hardly make out what I'm writing, I sob so), +For some little gift on my birth-day--September +The thirtieth, dear, I'm eighteen, you remember-- +That BOB to a shop kindly order'd the coach + (Ah, little thought I who the shopman would prove), +To bespeak me a few of those mouchoirs de poche, + Which, in happier hours, I have sighed for, my love-- +(The most beautiful things--two Napoleons the price-- +And one's name in the corner embroidered so nice!) +Well, with heart full of pleasure, I enter'd the shop, +But--ye gods, what a phantom!--I thought I should drop-- +There he stood, my dear DOLLY--no room for a doubt-- + There, behind the vile counter, these eyes saw him stand, +With a piece of French cambric before him roll'd out, + And that horrid yard-measure upraised in his hand! +Oh--Papa all along knew the secret, 'tis clear-- +'T was a SHOPMAN he meant by a "Brandenburg," dear! +The man, whom I fondly had fancied a King, + And when THAT too delightful illusion was past, +As a hero had worship'd--vile treacherous thing-- + To turn out but a low linen-draper at last! +My head swam round--the wretch smil'd, I believe, +But his smiling, alas! could no longer deceive-- +I fell back on BOB--my whole heart seem'd to wither, +And, pale as a ghost, I was carried back hither! + +I only remember that BOB, as I caught him, + With cruel facetiousness said--"Curse the Kiddy, +A staunch Revolutionist always I've thought him, + But now I find out he's a COUNTER one, BIDDY!" +Only think, my dear creature, if this should be known +To that saucy satirical thing, MISS MALONE! +What a story 't will be at Shandangen forever! + What laughs and what quizzing she'll have with the men! +It will spread through the country--and never, oh never + Can BIDDY be seen at Kilrandy again! + +Farewell--I shall do something desperate, I fear-- +And ah! if my fate ever reaches your ear, +One tear of compassion my DOLL will not grudge +To her poor--broken-hearted--young friend, + BIDDY FUDGE + +Nota Bene,--I'm sure you will hear with delight, +That we're going, all three, to see BRUNET to-night +A laugh will revive me--and kind Mr. Cox +(Do you know him?) has got us the Governor's box. + + +[Illustration: POPE.] + + + +THE LITERARY LADY. + RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. + +What motley cares Corilla's mind perplex, +Whom maids and metaphors conspire to vex! +In studious dishabille behold her sit, +A lettered gossip and a household wit; +At once invoking, though for different views, +Her gods, her cook, her milliner and muse. +Bound her strewed room a frippery chaos lies, +A checkered wreck of notable and wise, +Bills, books, caps, couplets, combs, a varied mass, +Oppress the toilet and obscure the glass; +Unfinished here an epigram is laid, +And there a mantua-maker's bill unpaid. +There new-born plays foretaste the town's applause, +There dormant patterns pine for future gauze. +A moral essay now is all her care, +A satire next, and then a bill of fare. +A scene she now projects, and now a dish; +Here Act the First, and here, Remove with Fish. +Now, while this eye in a fine frenzy rolls, +That soberly casts up a bill for coals; +Black pins and daggers in one leaf she sticks, +And tears, and threads, and bowls, and thimbles mix. + + + +NETLEY ABBEY. +[Footnote: A noted ruin, much frequented by pleasure-parties.] + R. HARRIS RARHAM + + I saw thee, Netley, as the sun + Across the western wave + Was sinking slow, + And a golden glow + To thy roofless towers he gave; + And the ivy sheen + With its mantle of green + That wrapt thy walls around, + Shone lovehly bright + In that glorious light, + And I felt 't was holy ground. + + Then I thought of the ancient time-- + The days of thy monks of old,-- +When to matin, and vesper, and compline chime, + The loud Hosanna roll'd, + And, thy courts and "long-drawn aisles" among, + Swell'd the full tide of sacred song. + + And then a vision pass'd + Across my mental eye; + And silver shrines, and shaven crowns, + And delicate ladies, in bombazeen gowns, + And long white vails, went by; + Stiff, and staid, and solemn, and sad,-- +--But one, methought, wink'd at the Gardener-lad! + +Then came the Abbot, with miter and ring, +And pastoral staff, and all that sort of thing, +And a monk with a book, and a monk with a bell, + And "dear linen souls," + In clean linen stoles, + Swinging their censers, and making a smell.-- +And see where the Choir-master walks in the rear + With front severe + And brow austere, +Now and then pinching a little boy's ear +When he chants the responses too late or too soon, +Or his Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La's not quite in tune. + (Then you know + They'd a "movable Do," +Not a fix'd one as now--and of course never knew +How to set up a musical Hullah-baloo.) +It was, in sooth, a comely sight, +And I welcom'd the vision with pure delight. + + But then "a change came o'er" + My spirit--a change of fear-- + That gorgeous scene I beheld no more, + But deep beneath the basement floor + A dungeon dark and drear! +And there was an ugly hole in the wall-- +For an oven too big,--for a cellar too small! + And mortar and bricks + All ready to fix, +And I said, "Here's a Nun has been playing some tricks!-- +That horrible hole!--it seems to say, +'I'm a grave that gapes for a living prey!'" +And my heart grew sick, and my brow grew sad-- +And I thought of that wink at the Gardener-lad. + Ah me! ah me!--'tis sad to think + That maiden's eye, which was made to wink, + Should here be compelled to grow blear and blink, + Or be closed for aye + In this kind of way, + Shut out forever from wholesome day, + Wall'd up in a hole with never a chink, + No light,--no air,--no victuals,--no drink!-- + And that maiden's lip, + Which was made to sip, + Should here grow wither'd and dry as a chip! + --That wandering glance and furtive kiss, + Exceedingly naughty, and wrong, I wis, + Should yet be considered so much amiss + As to call for a sentence severe as this!-- + And I said to myself, as I heard with a sigh + The poor lone victim's stifled cry, + "Well, I can't understand + How any man's hand + COULD wall up that hole in a Christian land! + Why, a Mussulman Turk + Would recoil from the work, +And though, when his ladies run after the fellows, he +Stands not on trifles, if madden'd by jealousy, +Its objects, I'm sure, would declare, could they speak, +In their Georgian, Circassian, or Turkish, or Greek, +'When all's said and done, far better it was for us, + Tied back to back + And sewn up in a sack, +To be pitch'd neck-and-heels from a boat in the Bosphorus!' +Oh! a saint 't would vex + To think that the sex +Should be no better treated than Combe's double X! +Sure some one might run to the Abbess, and tell her +A much better method of stocking her cellar." + + If ever on polluted walls + Heaven's right arm in vengeance falls,-- + If e'er its justice wraps in flame + The black abodes of sin and shame, + That justice, in its own good time, + Shall visit, for so foul a crime, + Ope desolation's floodgate wide, + And blast thee, Netley, in thy pride! + + Lo where it comes!--the tempest lowers,-- + It bursts on thy devoted towers; + Ruthless Tudor's bloated form + Rides on the blast, and guides the storm + I hear the sacrilegious cry, + "Down--with the nests, and the rooks will fly!" + + Down! down they come--a fearful fall-- + Arch, and pillar, and roof-tree, and all, + Stained pane, and sculptured stone, + There they lie on the greensward strown-- + Moldering walls remain alone! + Shaven crown + Bombazeen gown, + Miter, and crosier, and all are flown! + + And yet, fair Netley, as I gaze + Upon that gray and moldering wall. + The glories of thy palmy days + Its very stones recall!-- + They "come like shadows, so depart"-- + I see thee as thou wert--and art-- + + Sublime in ruin!--grand in woe! + Lone refuge of the owl and bat; + No voice awakes thine echoes now! + No sound--good gracious!--what was that? + Was it the moan, + The parting groan + Of her who died forlorn and alone, + Embedded in mortar, and bricks, and stone?-- + Full and clear + On my listening ear + It comes--again--near and more near-- + Why zooks! it's the popping of Ginger Beer + --I rush to the door-- + I tread the floor, + By abbots and abbesses trodden before, + In the good old chivalric days of yore, + And what see I there?-- + In a rush-bottom'd chair + A hag surrounded by crockery-ware, + Vending, in cups, to the credulous throng + A nasty decoction miscall'd Souchong,-- +And a squeaking fiddle and "wry-necked fife" +Are screeching away, for the life!--for the life! +Danced to by "All the World and his Wife." + +Tag, Rag, and Bobtail, are capering there, +Worse scene, I ween, than Bartlemy Fair!-- +Two or three chimney-sweeps, two or three clowns, +Playing at "pitch and toss," sport their "Browns," +Two or three damsels, frank and free, +Are ogling, and smiling, and sipping Bohea. +Parties below, and parties above, +Some making tea, and some making love. + Then the "toot--toot--toot" + Of that vile demi-flute,-- + The detestable din + Of that cracked violin, +And the odors of "Stout," and tobacco, and gin! +"--Dear me!" I exclaim'd, "what a place to be in!" +And I said to the person who drove my "shay" +(A very intelligent man, by the way), +"This, all things considered, is rather too gay! +It don't suit my humor,--so take me away! +Dancing! and drinking!--cigar and song! +If not profanation, it's 'coming it strong,' +And I really consider it all very wrong.-- +--Pray, to whom does this property now belong?"-- + He paus'd, and said, + Scratching his head, +"Why I really DO think he's a little to blame, +But I can't say I knows the gentleman's name!" + + "Well--well!" quoth I, + As I heaved a sigh, +And a tear-drop fell from my twinkling eye, +"My vastly good man, as I scarcely doubt +That some day or other you'll find it out, + Should he come in your way, + Or ride in your 'shay' + (As perhaps he may), + Be so good as to say +That a Visitor whom you drove over one day, +Was exceedingly angry, and very much scandalized, +Finding these beautiful ruins so Vandalized, +And thus of their owner to speak began, + As he ordered you home in haste, +No DOUBT HE'S A VERY RESPECTABLE MAN, +But--'_I_ CAN'T SAY MUCH FOR HIS TASTE!'" + + + + +FAMILY POETRY. + R. HARRIS BARHAM + +Zooks! I must woo the Muse to-day, + Though line before I never wrote! +"On what occasion?" do you say? + Our Dick has got a long-tail'd coat!! + +Not a coatee, which soldiers wear + Button'd up high about the throat, +But easy, flowing, debonair, + In short a CIVIL long-tail'd coat. + +A smarter you'll not find in town, + Cut by Nugee, that snip of note; +A very quiet olive brown + 's the color of Dick's long-tail'd coat. + +Gay jackets clothe the stately Pole, + The proud Hungarian, and the Croat, +Yet Esterhazy, on the whole + Looks best when in a long-tail'd coat + +Lord Byron most admired, we know, + The Albanian dress, or Suliote, +But then he died some years ago, + And never saw Dick's long-tail'd coat; + +Or past all doubt the poet's theme + Had never been the "White Capote," +Had he once view'd in Fancy's dream, + The glories of Dick's long-tail'd coat! + +We also know on Highland kilt + Poor dear Glengarry used to dote, +And had esteem'd it actual guilt + I' "the Gael" to wear a long-tail'd coat! + +No wonder 'twould his eyes annoy, + Monkbarns himself would never quote +"Sir Robert Sibbald," "Gordon," "Ray," + Or "Stukely" for a long-tail'd coat. + +Jackets may do to ride or race, + Or row in, when one's in a boat, +But in the boudoir, sure, for grace + There's nothing like Dick's long-tail'd cost, + +Of course in climbing up a tree, + On terra-firma, or afloat, +To mount the giddy topmast, he + Would doff awhile his long-tail'd coat. + +What makes you simper, then, and sneer? + From out your own eye pull the mote! +A PRETTY thing for you to jeer-- + Haven't YOU, too, got a long-tail'd coat? + +Oh! "Dick's scarce old enough," you mean. + Why, though too young to give a note, +Or make a will, yet, sure Fifteen + 's a ripe age for a long-tail'd coat. + +What! would you have him sport a chin + Like Colonel Stanhope, or that goat +O' German Mahon, ere begin + To figure in a long-tail'd coat? + +Suppose he goes to France--can he + Sit down at any table d' hote, +With any sort of decency, + Unless he's got a long-tail'd coat? + +Why Louis Philippe, Royal Cit, + There soon may be a sans culotte, +And Nugent's self may then admit + The advantage of a long-tail'd coat. + +Things are not now as when, of yore, + In tower encircled by a moat, +The lion-hearted chieftain wore + A corselet for a long-tail'd coat; + +Then ample mail his form embraced, + Not like a weasel or a stoat, +"Cribb'd and confined" about the waist, + And pinch'd in like Dick's long-tail'd coat + +With beamy spear or biting ax, + To right and left he thrust and smote-- +Ah! what a change! no sinewy thwacks + Fall from a modern long-tail'd coati + +More changes still! now, well-a-day! + A few cant phrases learned by rote, +Each beardless booby spouts away, + A Solon, in a long-tail'd coat! + +Prates of the "March of Intellect"-- + "The Schoolmaster." A PATRIOTE +So noble, who could e'er suspect + Had just put on a long-tail'd coat? + +Alack! alack! that every thick- + Skull'd lad must find an antidote +For England's woes, because, like Dick, + He has put on a long-tail'd coat! + +But lo! my rhyme's begun to fail, + Nor can I longer time devote; +Thus rhyme and time cut short the TALE, + The long tale of Dick's long-tail'd coat. + + + + +THE SUNDAY QUESTION. + THOMAS HOOD. + +"It is the king's highway that we are in, and in this way it is that +thou hast placed the lions,"--BUNYAN. + +What! shut the Gardens! lock the latticed gate! + Refuse the shilling and the fellow's ticket! +And hang a wooden notice up to state, + On Sundays no admittance at this wicket! +The Birds, the Beasts, and all the Reptile race, + Denied to friends and visitors till Monday! +Now, really, this appears the common case + Of putting too much Sabbath into Sunday-- +But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +The Gardens--so unlike the ones we dub + Of Tea, wherein the artisan carouses-- +Mere shrubberies without one drop of shrub-- + Wherefore should they be closed like public-houses? +No ale is vended at the wild Deer's Head-- + No rum--nor gin--not even of a Monday-- +The Lion is not carved--or gilt--or red, + And does not send out porter of a Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +The Bear denied! the Leopard under looks! + As if his spots would give contagious fevers! +The Beaver close as hat within its box; + So different from other Sunday beavers! +The Birds invisible--the Gnaw-way Rats-- + The Seal hermetically sealed till Monday-- +The Monkey tribe--the Family of Cats-- + We visit other families on Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy + +What is the brute profanity that shocks + The super-sensitively serious feeling? +The Kangaroo--is he not orthodox + To bend his legs, the way he does, in kneeling? +Was strict Sir Andrew, in his Sabbath coat, + Struck all a-heap to see a Coati mundi? +Or did the Kentish Plumtree faint to note + The Pelicans presenting bills on Sunday?-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +What feature has repulsed the serious set? + What error in the bestial birth or breeding, +To put their tender fancies on the fret? + One thing is plain--it is not in the feeding! +Some stiffish people think that smoking joints + Are carnal sins 'twixt Saturday and Monday-- +But then the beasts are pious on these points, + For they all eat cold dinners on a Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +What change comes o'er the spirit of the place, + As if transmuted by some spell organic? +Turns fell Hyena of the Ghoulish race? + The Snake, pro tempore, the true Satanic? +Do Irish minds--(whose theory allows + That now and then Good Friday falls on Monday)-- +Do Irish minds suppose that Indian Cows + Are wicked Bulls of Bashan on a Sunday?-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs, Grundy? + +There are some moody Fellows, not a few, + Who, turned by nature with a gloomy bias, +Renounce black devils to adopt the blue, + And think when they are dismal they are pious: +Is't possible that Pug's untimely fun + Has sent the brutes to Coventry till Monday?-- +Or perhaps some animal, no serious one, + Was overheard in laughter on a Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +What dire offense have serious Fellows found + To raise their spleen against the Regent's spinney? +Were charitable boxes handed round, + And would not Guinea Pigs subscribe their guinea? +Perchance, the Demoiselle refused to molt + The feathers in her head--at least till Monday; +Or did the Elephant, unseemly, bolt + A tract presented to be read on Sunday?-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs, Grundy? + +At whom did Leo struggle to get loose? + Who mourns through Monkey-tricks his damaged clothing? +Who has been hissed by the Canadian Goose? + On whom did Llama spit in utter loathing? +Some Smithfield Saint did jealous feelings tell + To keep the Puma out of sight till Monday, +Because he preyed extempore as well + As certain wild Itinerants on Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +To me it seems that in the oddest way + (Begging the pardon of each rigid Socius) +Our would-be Keepers of the Sabbath-day + Are like the Keepers of the brutes ferocious-- +As soon the Tiger might expect to stalk + About the grounds from Saturday till Monday, +As any harmless man to take a walk, + If Saints could clap him in a cage on Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +In spite of all hypocrisy can spin, + As surely as I am a Christian scion, +I cannot think it is a mortal sin-- + (Unless he's loose)--to look upon a lion. +I really think that one may go, perchance, + To see a bear, as guiltless as on Monday-- +(That is, provided that he did not dance)-- + Bruin's no worse than bakin' on a Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +In spite of all the fanatic compiles, + I can not think the day a bit diviner, +Because no children, with forestalling smiles, + Throng, happy, to the gates of Eden Minor-- +It is not plain, to my poor faith at least, + That what we christen "Natural" on Monday, +The wondrous history of Bird and Beast, + Can be unnatural because it's Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +Whereon is sinful fantasy to work? + The Dove, the winged Columbus of man's haven? +The tender Love-Bird--or the filial Stork? + The punctual Crane--the providential Raven? +The Pelican whose bosom feeds her young? + Nay, must we cut from Saturday till Monday +That feathered marvel with a human tongue, + Because she does not preach upon a Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +The busy Beaver--that sagacious beast! + The Sheep that owned an Oriental Shepherd-- +That Desert-ship, the Camel of the East, + The horned Rhinoceros--the spotted Leopard-- +The Creatures of the Great Creator's hand + Are surely sights for better days than Monday-- +The Elephant, although he wears no band, + Has he no sermon in his trunk for Sunday?-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs, Grundy? + +What harm if men who burn the midnight-oil, + Weary of frame, and worn and wan of feature, +Seek once a week their spirits to assoil, + And snatch a glimpse of "Animated Nature?" +Better it were if, in his best of suits, + The artisan, who goes to work on Monday, +Should spend a leisure-hour among the brutes, + Than make a beast of his own self on Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +Why, zounds! what raised so Protestant a fuss + (Omit the zounds! for which I make apology) +But that the Papists, like some Fellows, thus + Had somehow mixed up Deus with their Theology? +Is Brahma's Bull--a Hindoo god at home-- + A Papal Bull to be tied up till Monday?-- +Or Leo, like his namesake, Pope of Rome, + That there is such a dread of them on Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? + +Spirit of Kant! have we not had enough + To make Religion sad, and sour, and snubbish, +But Saints Zoological must cant their stuff, + As vessels cant their ballast-rattling rubbish! +Once let the sect, triumphant to their text, + Shut Nero up from Saturday till Monday, +And sure as fate they will deny us next + To see the Dandelions on a Sunday-- + But what is your opinion, Mrs, Grundy? + + + + +ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQUIRE +[Footnote: Who had, in one of his books, characterized some of Hood's +verses as "profaneness and ribaldry."] + THOMAS HOOD. + + "Close, close your eyes with holy dread, + And weave a circle round him thrice; + For he on honey-dew hath fed, + And drunk the milk of Paradise!"--Coleridge. + + + "It's very hard them kind of men + Won't let a body be."--Old Ballad. + +A wanderer, Wilson, from my native land, +Remote, O Rae, from godliness and thee, +Where rolls between us the eternal sea, +Besides some furlongs of a foreign sand-- +Beyond the broadest Scotch of London Wall; +Beyond the loudest Saint that has a call; +Across the wavy waste between us stretched, +A friendly missive warns me of a stricture, +Wherein my likeness you have darkly etched, +And though I have not seen the shadow sketched, +Thus I remark prophetic on the picture. + +I guess the features:--in a line to paint +Their moral ugliness, I'm not a saint, +Not one of those self-constituted saints, +Quacks--not physicians--in the cure of souls, +Censors who sniff out moral taints, +And call the devil over his own coals-- +Those pseudo Privy Councillors of God, +Who write down judgments with a pen hard-nibbed: +Ushers of Beelzebub's Black Rod, +Commending sinners not to ice thick-ribbed, +But endless flames, to scorch them like flax-- +Yet sure of heaven themselves, as if they'd cribbed +The impression of St. Peter's keys in wax! + +Of such a character no single trace +Exists, I know, in my fictitious face; +There wants a certain cast about the eye; +A certain lifting of the nose's tip; +A certain curling of the nether lip, +In scorn of all that is, beneath the sky; +In brief, it is an aspect deleterious, +A face decidedly not serious, +A face profane, that would not do at all +To make a face at Exeter Hall-- +That Hall where bigots rant, and cant, and pray, +And laud each other face to face, +Till every farthing-candle RAY +Conceives itself a great gas-light of grace! + +Well!--be the graceless lineaments confest +I do enjoy this bounteous beauteous earth; + And dote upon a jest +"Within the limits of becoming mirth;"-- +No solemn sanctimonious face I pull, +Nor think I'm pious when I'm only bilious-- +Nor study in my sanctum supercilious +To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull, +I pray for grace--repent each sinful act-- +Peruse, but underneath the rose, my Bible; +And love my neighbor, far too well, in fact, +To call and twit him with a godly tract +That's turned by application to a libel. +My heart ferments not with the bigot's leaven, +All creeds I view with toleration thorough, +And have a horror of regarding heaven +As any body's rotten borough. + +What else? No part I take in party fray, +With tropes from Billingsgate's slang-whanging Tartars, +I fear no Pope--and let great Ernest play +At Fox and Goose with Fox's Martyrs! +I own I laugh at over-righteous men, +I own I shake my sides at ranters, +And treat sham Abr'am saints with wicked banters, +I even own, that there are times--but then +It's when I 've got my wine--I say d---- canters! + +I've no ambition to enact the spy +On fellow-souls, a spiritual Pry-- +'Tis said that people ought to guard their noses +Who thrust them into matters none of theirs +And, though no delicacy discomposes +Your saint, yet I consider faith and prayers +Among the privatest of men's affairs. + +I do not hash the Gospel in my books, +And thus upon the public mind intrude it, +As if I thought, like Otahei-tan cooks, +No food was fit to eat till I had chewed it. + +On Bible stilts I don't affect to stalk; +Nor lard with Scripture my familiar talk-- + For man may pious texts repeat, +And yet religion have no inward seat; +'Tis not so plain as the old Hill of Howth, +A man has got his belly full of meat +Because he talks with victuals in his mouth! + +Mere verbiage--it is not worth a carrot! +Why, Socrates or Plato--where 's the odds?-- +Once taught a Jay to supplicate the gods, +And made a Polly-theist of a Parrot! + +A mere professor, spite of all his cant, is + Not a whit better than a Mantis-- +An insect, of what clime I can't determine, +That lifts its paws most parson-like, and thence, +By simple savages--through sheer pretense-- +Is reckoned quite a saint among the vermin. +But where's the reverence, or where the nous, +To ride on one's religion through the lobby, + Whether as stalking-horse or hobby, +To show its pious paces to "the house." + +I honestly confess that I would hinder +The Scottish member's legislative rigs, + That spiritual Pindar, +Who looks on erring souls as straying pigs, +That must be lashed by law, wherever found, +And driven to church as to the parish pound. + +I do confess, without reserve or wheedle, +I view that groveling idea as one +Worthy some parish clerk's ambitious son, +A charity-boy who longs to be a beadle. +On such a vital topic sure 'tis odd +How much a man can differ from his neighbor, +One wishes worship freely given to God, +Another wants to make it statute-labor-- +The broad distinction in a line to draw, +As means to lead us to the skies above, +You say--Sir Andrew and his love of law, +And I--the Saviour with his law of love. + +Spontaneously to God should tend the soul, +Like the magnetic needle to the Pole; +But what were that intrinsic virtue worth, +Suppose some fellow with more zeal than knowledge, + Fresh from St. Andrew's college, +Should nail the conscious needle to the north? +I do confess that I abhor and shrink +Prom schemes, with a religious willy-nilly, +That frown upon St. Giles' sins, but blink +The peccadilloes of all Piccadilly-- +My soul revolts at such bare hypocrisy, +And will not, dare not, fancy in accord +The Lord of hosts with an exclusive lord +Of this world's aristocracy, +It will not own a nation so unholy, +As thinking that the rich by easy trips +May go to heaven, whereas the poor and lowly +Must work their passage as they do in ships. + +One place there is--beneath the burial-sod, +Where all mankind are equalized by death; +Another place there is--the Fane of God, +Where all are equal who draw living breath;-- +Juggle who will ELSEWHERE with his own soul, +Playing the Judas with a temporal dole-- +He who can come beneath that awful cope, +In the dread presence of a Maker just, +Who metes to every pinch of human dust +One even measure of immortal hope-- +He who can stand within that holy door, +With soul unbowed by that pure spirit-level, +And frame unequal laws for rich and poor,-- +Might sit for Hell, and represent the Devil! + +Such are the solemn sentiments, O Rae, +In your last journey-work, perchance, you ravage, +Seeming, but in more courtly terms, to say +I'm but a heedless, creedless, godless, savage; +A very Guy, deserving fire and faggots,-- + A scoffer, always on the grin, +And sadly given to the mortal sin +Of liking Mawworms less than merry maggots! + +The humble records of my life to search, +I have not herded with mere pagan beasts: +But sometimes I have "sat at good men's feasts," +And I have been "where bells have knolled to church." +Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells +When on the undulating air they swim! +Now loud as welcomes! faint, now, as farewells! +And trembling all about the breezy dells, +As fluttered by the wings of Cherubim. +Meanwhile the bees are chanting a low hymn; +And lost to sight the ecstatic lark above +Sings, like a soul beatified, of love, +With, now and then, the coo of the wild pigeon:-- +O pagans, heathens, infidels, and doubters! +If such sweet sounds can't woo you to religion, +Will the harsh voices of church cads and touters? + +A man may cry Church! Church! at every word, +With no more piety than other people-- +A daw's not reckoned a religious bird +Because it keeps a-cawing from a steeple; +The Temple is a good, a holy place, +But quacking only gives it an ill savor; +While saintly mountebanks the porch disgrace, +And bring religion's self into disfavor! + +Behold yon servitor of God and Mammon, +Who, binding up his Bible with his ledger, + Blends Gospel texts with trading gammon, +A black-leg saint, a spiritual hedger, +Who backs his rigid Sabbath, so to speak, +Against the wicked remnant of the week, +A saving bet against, his sinful bias-- +"Rogue that I am," he whispers to himself, +"I lie--I cheat--do any thing for pelf, +But who on earth can say I am not pious!" + +In proof how over-righteousness re-acts, +Accept an anecdote well based on facts; +On Sunday morning--(at the day don't fret)-- +In riding with a friend to Ponder's End +Outside the stage, we happened to commend +A certain mansion that we saw To Let. +"Ay," cried our coachman, with our talk to grapple, +"You're right! no house along the road comes nigh it! +'T was built by the same man as built yon chapel, + And master wanted once to buy it,-- +But t' other driv' the bargain much too hard,-- + He axed sure-LY a sum prodigious! +But being so particular religious, +Why, THAT you see, put master on his guard!" + Church is "a little heaven below, + I have been there and still would go," +Yet I am none of those who think it odd + A man can pray unbidden from the cassock, + And, passing by the customary hassock +Kneel down remote upon the simple sod, +And sue in forma pauperis to God. + +As for the rest,--intolerant to none, +Whatever shape the pious rite may bear, +Even the poor Pagan's homage to the sun +I would not harshly scorn, lest even there +I spurned some elements of Christian prayer-- +An aim, though erring, at a "world ayont"-- +Acknowledgment of good--of man's futility, +A sense of need, and weakness, and indeed +That very thing so many Christians want-- + Humilty. + +Such, unto Papists, Jews or Turbaned Turks, +Such is my spirit--(I don't mean my wraith!) +Such, may it please you, is my humble faith; +I know, full well, you do not like my WORKS! + +I have not sought, 'tis true, the Holy Land, +As full of texts as Cuddie Headrigg's mother, + The Bible in one hand, +And my own common-place-book in the other-- +But you have been to Palestine--alas +Some minds improve by travel--others, rather, + Resemble copper wire or brass, +Which gets the narrower by going further! + +Worthless are all such pilgrimages--very! +If Palmers at the Holy Tomb contrive +The humans heats and rancor to revive +That at the Sepulcher they ought to bury. +A sorry sight it is to rest the eye on, +To see a Christian creature graze at Sion, +Then homeward, of the saintly pasture full, +Rush bellowing, and breathing fire and smoke, +At crippled Papistry to butt and poke, +Exactly as a skittish Scottish bull +Haunts an old woman in a scarlet cloak. + +Why leave a serious, moral, pious home, +Scotland, renewned for sanctity of old, +Far distant Catholics to rate and scold +For--doing as the Romans do at Rome? +With such a bristling spirit wherefore quit +The Land of Cakes for any land of wafers, +About the graceless images to flit, +And buzz and chafe importunate as chafers, +Longing to carve the carvers to Scotch collops?-- +People who hold such absolute opinions +Should stay at home in Protestant dominions, + Not travel like male Mrs. Trollopes. + + Gifted with noble tendency to climb, + Yet weak at the same time, +Faith is a kind of parasitic plant, +That grasps the nearest stem with tendril rings; +And as the climate and the soil may grant, +So is the sort of tree to which it clings. +Consider, then, before, like Hurlothrumbo, +You aim your club at any creed on earth, +That, by the simple accident of birth, +YOU might have been High Priest to Mungo Jumbo. + +For me--through heathen ignorance perchance, +Not having knelt in Palestine,--I feel +None of that griffinish excess of zeal, +Some travelers would blaze with here in France. +Dolls I can see in Virgin-like array, +Nor for a scuffle with the idols hanker +Like crazy Quixotte at the puppet's play, +If their "offense be rank," should mine be RANCOR? + +Mild light, and by degrees, should be the plan +To cure the dark and erring mind; +But who would rush at a benighted man, +And give him, two black eyes for being blind? + +Suppose the tender but luxuriant hop +Around a cankered stem should twine, +What Kentish boor would tear away the prop +So roughly as to wound, nay, kill the bine? + +The images, 'tis true, are strangely dressed, +With gauds and toys extremely out of season; +The carving nothing of the very best, +The whole repugnant to the eye of Reason, +Shocking to Taste, and to Fine Arts a treason-- +Yet ne'er o'erlook in bigotry of sect +One truly CATHOLIC, one common form, + At which unchecked +All Christian hearts may kindle or keep warm. + +Say, was it to my spirit's gain or loss +One bright and balmy morning, as I went +From Liege's lovely environs to Ghent, +If hard by the wayside I found a cross, +That made me breathe a prayer upon the spot-- +While Nature of herself, as if to trace +The emblem's use, had trailed around its base +The blue significant Forget-Me-Not? +Methought, the claims of Charity to urge +More forcibly along with Faith and Hope, +The pious choice had pitched upon the verge + Of a delicious slope, +Giving the eye much variegated scope!-- +"Look round," it whispered, "on that prospect rare, +Those vales so verdant, and those hills so blue; +Enjoy the sunny world, so fresh, and fair, +But"--(how the simple legend pierced me through!) + "PRIEZ POUR LES MALHEUREUX." + +With sweet kind natures, as in honeyed cells, +Religion lives and feels herself at home; +But only on a formal visit dwells +Where wasps instead of bees have formed the comb. + +Shun pride, O Rae!--whatever sort beside +You take in lieu, shun spiritual pride! +A pride there is of rank--a pride of birth, +A pride of learning, and a pride of purse, +A London pride--in short, there be on earth +A host of prides, some better and some worse; +But of all prides, since Lucifer's attaint, +The proudest swells a self-elected Saint. + +To picture that cold pride so harsh and hard, +Fancy a peacock in a poultry-yard. +Behold him in conceited circles sail, +Strutting and dancing, and now planted stiff, +In all his pomp of pageantry, as if +He felt "the eyes of Europe" on his tail! +As for the humble breed retained by man, + He scorns the whole domestic clan-- + He bows, he bridles, + He wheels, he sidles, +As last, with stately dodgings in a corner, +He pens a simple russet hen, to scorn her +Full in the blaze of his resplendent fan! + + "Look here," he cries (to give him words), + "Thou feathered clay--thou scum of birds!" +Flirting the rustling plumage in her eyes-- + "Look here, thou vile predestined sinner, + Doomed to be roasted for a dinner, +Behold these lovely variegated dyes! +These are the rainbow colors of the skies, +That heaven has shed upon me con amore-- +A Bird of Paradise?--a pretty story! +_I_ am that Saintly Fowl, thou paltry chick! + Look at my crown of glory! +Thou dingy, dirty, dabbled, draggled jill!" +And off goes Partlett, wriggling from a kick, +With bleeding scalp laid open by his bill! + +That little simile exactly paints +How sinners are despised by saints. +By saints!--the Hypocrites that ope heaven's door +Obsequious to the sinful man of riches-- +But put the wicked, naked, bare-legged poor, + In parish stocks, instead of breeches. + +The Saints?--the Bigots that in public spout, +Spread phosphorus of zeal on scraps of fustian, +And go like walking "Lucifers" about-- + Mere living bundles of combustion. + +The Saints!--the aping Fanatics that talk +All cant and rant and rhapsodies high flown-- + That bid you balk + A Sunday walk, +And shun God's work as you should shun your own. + +The Saints!--the Formalists, the extra pious, +Who think the mortal husk can save the soul, +By trundling, with a mere mechanic bias, +To church, just like a lignum-vitae bowl! + +The Saints!--the Pharisees, whose beadle stands + Beside a stern coercive kirk, + A piece of human mason-work, +Calling all sermons contrabands, +In that great Temple that's not made with hands! + +Thrice blessed, rather, is the man with whom +The gracious prodigality of nature, +The balm, the bliss, the beauty, and the bloom, +The bounteous providence in every feature, +Recall the good Creator to his creature, +Making all earth a fane, all heaven its dome! +To HIS tuned spirit the wild heather-bells + Ring Sabbath knells; +The jubilate of the soaring lark + Is chant of clerk; +For Choir, the thrush and the gregarious linnet; +The sod's a cushion for his pious want; +And, consecrated by the heaven within it, +The sky-blue pool, a font. +Each cloud-capped mountain is a holy altar; + An organ breathes in every grove; + And the fall heart's a Psalter, +Rich in deep hymns of gratitude and love! + +Sufficiently by stern necessitarians +Poor Nature, with her face begrimmed by dust, +Is stoked, coked, smoked, and almost choked: but must +Religion have its own Utilitarians, +Labeled with evangelical phylacteries, +To make the road to heaven a railway trust, +And churches--that's the naked fact--mere factories? + +O! simply open wide the temple door, +And let the solemn, swelling organ greet, + With VOLUNTARIES meet, +The WILLING advent of the rich and poor! +And while to God the loud Hosannas soar, +With rich vibiations from the vocal throng-- +From quiet shades that to the woods belong, + And brooks with music of their own, +Voices may come to swell the choral song +With notes of praise they learned in musings lone. + +How strange it is, while on all vital questions, +That occupy the House and public mind, +We always meet with some humane suggestions +Of gentle measures of a healing kind, +Instead of harsh severity and vigor, +The saint alone his preference retains +For bills of penalties and pains, +And marks his narrow code with legal rigor! +Why shun, as worthless of affiliation, +What men of all political persuasion +Extol--and even use upon occasion-- +That Christian principle, conciliation? +But possibly the men who make such fuss +With Sunday pippins and old Trots infirm, +Attach some other meaning to the term, + As thus: + +One market morning, in my usual rambles, +Passing along Whitechapel's ancient shambles, +Where meat was hung in many a joint and quarter, +I had to halt a while, like other folks, + To let a killing butcher coax +A score of lambs and fatted sheep to slaughter. +A sturdy man he looked to fell an ox, +Bull-fronted, ruddy, with a formal streak +Of well-greased hair down either cheek, +As if he dee-dashed-dee'd some other flocks +Besides those woolly-headed stubborn blocks +That stood before him, in vexatious huddle-- +Poor little lambs, with bleating wethers grouped, +While, now and then, a thirsty creature stooped +And meekly snuffed, but did not taste the puddle. + +Fierce barked the dog, and many a blow was dealt, +That loin, and chump, and scrag and saddle felt, +Yet still, that fatal step they all declined it-- +And shunned the tainted door as if they smelt +Onions, mint-sauce, and lemon-juice behind it. +At last there came a pause of brutal force; + The cur was silent, for his jaws were full + Of tangled locks of tarry wool; +The man had whooped and bellowed till dead hoarse, +The time was ripe for mild expostulation, +And thus it stammered ftom a stander-by-- +"Zounds!--my good fellow--it quite makes me--why +It really--my dear fellow--do just try + Conciliation!" + + Stringing his nerves like flint, +The sturdy butcher seized upon the hint-- +At least he seized upon the foremost wether-- +And hugged and lugged and tugged him neck and crop +Just nolens volens through the open shop-- +If tails come off he didn't care a feather-- +Then walking to the door, and smiling grim, +He rubbed his forehead and his sleeve together-- + "There!--I've CONciliated him!" + +Again--good-humoredly to end our quarrel-- + (Good humor should prevail!) + I'll fit you with a tale + Whereto is tied a moral. +Once on a time a certain English lass +Was seized with symptoms of such deep decline, +Cough, hectic flushes, every evil sign, +That, as their wont is at such desperate pass, +The doctors gave her over--to an ass. + +Accordingly, the grisly Shade to bilk, +Each morn the patient quaffed a frothy bowl + Of assinine new milk, +Robbing a shaggy suckling of a foal +Which got proportionably spare and skinny-- +Meanwhile the neighbors cried "Poor Mary Ann! +She can't get over it! she never can!" +When lo! to prove each prophet was a ninny, +The one that died was the poor wet-nurse Jenny. + + To aggravate the case, +There were but two grown donkeys in the place; +And, most unluckily for Eve's sick daughter, +The other long-eared creature was a male, +Who never in his life had given a pail + Of milk, or even chalk and water. +No matter: at the usual hour of eight +Down trots a donkey to the wicket-gate, +With Mister Simon Gubbins on his back-- +"Your sarvant, Miss--a werry spring-like day-- +Bad time for hasses, though! good lack! good lack! +Jenny be dead, Miss--but I'ze brought ye Jack-- +He doesn't give no milk--but he can bray." + + So runs the story, + And, in vain self-glory, +Some Saints would sneer at Gubbins for his blindness; + But what the better are their pious saws + To ailing souls, than dry hee-haws, +Without the milk of human kindness? + + + + +DEATH'S RAMBLE. + THOMAS HOOD. + +One day the dreary old King of Death + Inclined for some sport with the carnal, +So he tied a pack of darts on his back, + And quietly stole from his charnel. + +His head was bald of flesh and of hair, + His body was lean and lank; +His joints at each stir made a crack, and the cur + Took a gnaw, by the way, at his shank. + +And what did he do with his deadly darts, + This goblin of grisly bone? +He dabbled and spilled man's blood, and he killed + Like a butcher that kills his own. + +The first he slaughtered it made him laugh + (For the man was a coffin-maker), +To think how the mutes, and men in black suits, + Would mourn for an undertaker. + +Death saw two Quakers sitting at church; + Quoth he, "We shall not differ." +And he let them alone, like figures of stone, + For he could not make them stiffer. + +He saw two duellists going to fight, + In fear they could not smother; +And he shot one through at once--for he knew + They never would shoot each other. + +He saw a watchman fast in his box, + And he gave a snore infernal; +Said Death, "He may keep his breath, for his sleep + Can never be more eternal." + +He met a coachman driving a coach + So slow that his fare grew sick; +But he let him stray on his tedious way, + For Death only wars on the QUICK. + +Death saw a tollman taking a toll, + In the spirit of his fraternity; +But he knew that sort of man would extort, + Though summoned to all eternity. + +He found an author writing his life, + But he let him write no further; +For Death, who strikes whenever he likes, + Is jealous of all self-murther! + +Death saw a patient that pulled out his purse, + And a doctor that took the sum; +But he let them be--for he knew that the "fee" + Was a prelude to "faw" and "fum." + +He met a dustman ringing a bell, + And he gave him a mortal thrust; +For himself, by law, since Adam's flaw, + Is contractor for all our dust. + +He saw a sailor mixing his grog, + And he marked him out for slaughter; +For on water he scarcely had cared for death, + And never on rum-and-water. + +Death saw two players playing at cards, + But the game wasn't worth a dump, +For he quickly laid them flat with a spade, + To wait for the final trump! + + + +THE BACHELOR'S DREAM. + THOMAS HOOD. + +My pipe is lit, my grog is mixed, +My curtains drawn and all is snug; +Old Puss is in her elbow chair, +And Tray is sitting on the rug. +Last night I had a curious dream, +Miss Susan Bates was Mistress Mogg-- +What d'ye think of that, my cat? +What d'ye think of that, my dog? + +She look'd so fair, she sang so well, +I could but woo and she was won; +Myself in blue, the bride in white, +The ring was placed, the deed was done! +Away we went in chaise-and-four, +As fast as grinning boys could flog-- +What d'ye think of that my cat? +What d'ye think of that my dog? + +What loving tete-a-tetes to come! +What tete-a-tetes must still defer! +When Susan came to live with me, +Her mother came to live with her! +With sister Belle she couldn't part, +But all MY ties had leave to jog-- +What d'ye think of that, my cat? +What d'ye think of that, my dog? + +The mother brought a pretty Poll-- +A monkey, too, what work he made! +The sister introduced a beau-- +My Susan brought a favorite maid. +She had a tabby of her own,-- +A snappish mongrel christened Grog,-- +What d'ye think of that, my cat? +What d'ye think of that, my dog? + +The monkey bit--the parrot screamed, +All day the sister strummed and sung, +The petted maid was such a scold! +My Susan learned to use her tongue; +Her mother had such wretched health, +She sat and croaked like any frog-- +What d'ye think of that, my cat? +What d'ye think of that, my dog? + +No longer Deary, Duck, and Love, +I soon came down to simple "M!" +The very servants crossed my wish, +My Susan let me down to them. +The poker hardly seemed my own, +I might as well have been a log-- +What d'ye think of that, my cat? +What d'ye think of that, my dog? + +My clothes they were the queerest shape! +Such coats and hats she never met! +My ways they were the oddest ways! +My friends were such a vulgar set! +Poor Tompkinson was snubbed and huffed, +She could not bear that Mister Blogg-- +What d'ye think of that, my cat? +What d'ye think of that, my dog? + +At times we had a spar, and then +Mamma must mingle in the song-- +The sister took a sister's part-- +The maid declared her master wrong-- +The parrot learned to call me "Fool!" +My life was like a London fog-- +What d'ye think of that, my cat? +What d'ye think of that, my dog? + +My Susan's taste was superfine, +As proved by bills that had no end; +_I_ never had a decent coat-- +_I_ never had a coin to spend! +She forced me to resign my club, +Lay down my pipe, retrench my grog-- +What d'ye think of that, my cat? +What d'ye think of that, my dog? + +Each Sunday night we gave a rout +To fops and flirts, a pretty list; +And when I tried to steal away +I found my study full of whist! +Then, first to come, and last to go, +There always was a Captain Hogg-- +What d'ye think of that, my cat? +What d'ye think of that, my dog? + +Now was not that an awful dream +For one who single is and snug-- +With Pussy in the elbow-chair, +And Tray reposing on the rug?-- +If I must totter down the hill +'Tis safest done without a clog-- +What d'ye think of that, my cat? +What d'ye think of that, my dog? + + + + +ON SAMUEL ROGERS. + LORD BYRON. + +Question. + +Nose and chin would shame a knocker, +Wrinkles that would puzzle Cocker: +Mouth which marks the envious scorner, +With a scorpion in each corner, +Turning its quick tail to sting you +In the place that most may wring you: +Eyes of lead-like hue, and gummy; +Carcass picked out from some mummy +Bowels (but they were forgotten, +Save the liver, and that's rotten); +Skin all sallow, flesh all sodden-- +Form the Devil would frighten God in. +Is't a corpse stuck up for show, +Galvanized at times to go +With the Scripture in connection, +New proof of the resurrection? +Vampyre, ghost, or ghoul, what is it? +I would walk ten miles to miss it. + +Answer. + +Many passengers arrest one, +To demand the same free question. +Shorter's my reply, and franker-- +That's the Bard, the Beau, the Banker. +Yet if you could bring about, +Just to turn him inside out, +Satan's self would seem less sooty, +And his present aspect--Beauty. +Mark that (as he masks the bilious +Air, so softly supercilious) +Chastened bow, and mock humility, +Almost sickened to servility; +Hear his tone, (which is to talking +That which creeping is to walking-- +Now on all-fours, now on tiptoe), +Hear the tales he lends his lip to; +Little hints of heavy scandals, +Every friend in turn he handles; +All which women or which men do, +Glides forth in an innuendo, +Clothed in odds and ends of humor-- +Herald of each paltry rumor. +From divorces down to dresses, +Women's frailties, men's excesses, +All which life presents of evil +Make for him a constant revel. +You're his foe--for that he fears you, +And in absence blasts and sears you: +You're his friend--for that he hates you, +First caresses, and then baits you, +Darting on the opportunity +When to do it with impunity: +You are neither--then he'll flatter +Till he finds some trait for satire; +Hunts your weak point out, then shows it +Where it injures to disclose it, +In the mode that's most invidious, +Adding every trait that's hideous, +From the bile, whose blackening river +Rushes through his Stygian liver. +Then he thinks himself a lover: +Why I really can't discover +In his mind, age, face, or figure: +Viper-broth might give him vigor. +Let him keep the caldron steady, +He the venom has already. +For his faults, he has but ONE-- +'Tis but envy, when all's done. +He but pays the pain he suffers; +Clipping, like a pair of snuffers, +Lights which ought to burn the brighter +For this temporary blighter. +He's the cancer of his species, +And will eat himself to pieces; +Plague personified, and famine; +Devil, whose sole delight is damning! + +For his merits, would you know 'em? +Once he wrote a pretty Poem. + + + + +MY PARTNER. + W. MACKWORTH PRAED. + +At Cheltenham, where one drinks one's fill + Of folly and cold water, +I danced, last year, my first quadrille + With old Sir Geoffrey's daughter. +Her cheek with summer's rose might vie, + When summer's rose is newest; +Her eyes were blue as autumn's sky, + When autumn's sky is bluest; +And well my heart might deem her one + Of life's most precious flowers, +For half her thoughts were of its sun, + And half were of its showers. + +I spoke of novels:--"Vivian Gray" + Was positively charming, +And "Almack's" infinitely gay, + And "Frankenstein" alarming; +I said "De Vere" was chastely told. + Thought well of "Herbert Lacy," +Called Mr. Banim's sketches "bold," + And Lady Morgan's "racy;" +I vowed the last new thing of Hook's + Was vastly entertaining; + And Laura said--"I dote on books, +Because it's always raining!" + +I talked of music's gorgeous fane, + I raved about Rossini, +Hoped Ronzo would come back again, + And criticized Paccini; +I wished the chorus singers dumb. + The trumpets more pacific, +And eulogized Brocard's APLOMB + And voted Paul "terrific." +What cared she for Medea's pride + Or Desdemona's sorrow? +"Alas!" my beauteous listener sighed, + "We MUST have storms to-morrow!" + +I told her tales of other lands; + Of ever-boiling fountains, +Of poisonous lakes, and barren sands, + Vast forests, trackless mountains; +I painted bright Italian skies, + I lauded Persian roses, +Coined similes for Spanish eyes, + And jests for Indian noses; +I laughed at Lisbon's love of mass, + And Vienna's dread of treason; +And Laura asked me where the glass + Stood at Madrid last season. + +I broached whate'er had gone its rounds, + The week before, of scandal; +What made Sir Luke lay down his hounds + And Jane take up her Handel; +Why Julia walked upon the heath, + With the pale moon above her; +Where Flora lost her false front teeth, + And Anne her false lover; +How Lord de B. and Mrs. L. + Had crossed the sea together; +My shuddering partner cried--"Oh, God! +How could they in such weather?" + +Was she a blue?--I put my trust + In strata, petals, gases; +A boudoir pedant?--I discussed + The toga and the fasces; +A cockney-muse?--I mouthed a deal + Of folly from Endymion: +A saint?--I praised the pious zeal + Of Messrs. Way and Simeon; +A politician?--It was vain + To quote the morning paper; +The horrid phantoms come again, + Rain, hail, and snow, and vapor. + +Flat flattery was my only chance, + I acted deep devotion, +Found magic in her every glance, + Grace in her every motion; +I wasted all a stripling's lore, + Prayer, passion, folly, feeling; +And wildly looked upon the floor, + And wildly on the ceiling; +I envied gloves upon her arm, + And shawls upon her shoulder; +And when my worship was most warm, + She "never found it colder." + +I don't object to wealth or land + And she will have the giving +Of an extremely pretty hand, + Some thousands, and a living. +She makes silk purses, broiders stools, + Sings sweetly, dances finely, +Paints screens, subscribes to Sunday-schools, + And sits a horse divinely. +But to be linked for life to her!-- + The desperate man who tried it, +Might marry a barometer, + And hang himself beside it! + + + + +THE BELLE OF THE BALL. + W. MACKWORTH PRAED. + +Years--years ago--ere yet my dreams + Had been of being wise and witty; +Ere I had done with writing themes, + Or yawn'd o'er this infernal Chitty; +Years, years ago, while all my joys + Were in my fowling-piece and filly: +In short, while I was yet a boy, + I fell in love with Laura Lilly. + +I saw her at a country ball; + There when the sound of flute and fiddle +Gave signal sweet in that old hall, + Of hands across and down the middle, +Hers was the subtlest spell by far + Of all that sets young hearts romancing: +She was our queen, our rose, our star; + And when she danced--oh, heaven, her dancing! + +Dark was her hair, her hand was white; + Her voice was exquisitely tender, +Her eyes were full of liquid light; + I never saw a waist so slender; +Her every look, her every smile, + Shot right and left a score of arrows; +I thought't was Venus from her isle, + I wondered where she'd left her sparrows. + +She talk'd of politics or prayers; + Of Southey's prose, or Wordsworth's sonnets; +Of daggers or of dancing bears, + Of battles, or the last new bonnets; +By candle-light, at twelve o'clock, + To me it matter'd not a tittle, +If those bright lips had quoted Locke, + I might have thought they murmured Little. + +Through sunny May, through sultry June, + I loved her with a love eternal; +I spoke her praises to the moon, + I wrote them for the Sunday Journal. +My mother laughed; I soon found out + That ancient ladies have no feeling; +My father frown'd; but how should gout + Find any happiness in kneeling? + +She was the daughter of a dean, + Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic; +She had one brother just thirteen. + Whose color was extremely hectic; +Her grandmother, for many a year, + Had fed the parish with her bounty; +Her second cousin was a peer, + And lord-lieutenant of the county. + +But titles and the three per cents, + And mortgages, and great relations, +And India bonds, and tithes and rents, + Oh! what are they to love's sensations? +Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks, + Such wealth, such honors, Cupid chooses; +He cares as little for the stocks, + As Baron Rothschild for the muses. + +She sketch'd; the vale, the wood, the beach, + Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading; +She botanized; I envied each + Young blossom in her boudoir fading; +She warbled Handel; it was grand-- + She made the Catalina jealous; +She touch'd the organ; I could stand + For hours and hours and blow the bellows. + +She kept an album, too, at home, + Well fill'd with all an album's glories; +Paintings of butterflies and Rome, + Patterns for trimming, Persian stories; +Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo, + Fierce odes to famine and to slaughter; +And autographs of Prince Laboo, + And recipes of elder water. + +And she was flatter'd, worship'd, bored, + Her steps were watch'd, her dress was noted, +Her poodle dog was quite adored, + Her sayings were extremely quoted. +She laugh'd, and every heart was glad, + As if the taxes were abolish'd; +She frown'd, and every look was sad, + As if the opera were demolishd. + +She smil'd on many just for fun-- + I knew that there was nothing in it; +I was the first the only one + Her heart thought of for a minute; +I knew it, for she told me so, + In phrase which was divinely molded; +She wrote a charming hand, and oh! + How sweetly all her notes were folded! + +Our love was like most other loves-- + A little glow, a little shiver; +A rosebud and a pair of gloves, + And "Fly Not Yet," upon the river; +Some jealousy of some one's heir, + Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, +A miniature, a lock of hair, + The usual vows--and then we parted. + +We parted--months and years roll'd by; + We met again for summers after; +Our parting was all sob and sigh-- + Our meeting was all mirth and laughter; +For in my heart's most secret cell, + There had been many other lodgers; +And she was not the ball-room belle, + But only Mrs.--Something--Rogers. + + + + +SORROWS OF WERTHER. + W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. + +Werther had a love for Charlotte + Such as words could never utter; +Would you know how first he met her? + She was cutting bread and butter. + +Charlotte was a married lady, + And a moral man was Werther, +And for all the wealth of Indies, + Would do nothing for to hurt her. + +So he sighed and pined and ogled, + And his passion boiled and bubbled. +Till he blew his silly brains out, + And no more was by it troubled. + +Charlotte, having seen his body + Borne before her on a shutter, +Like a well-conducted person, + Went on cutting bread and butter. + + + + +THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS. + W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. + +["A surgeon of the United States army says, that on inquiring of the +Captain of his company, he found THAT NINE-TENTHS of the men had +enlisted on account of some female difficulty."]--Morning Paper. + +Ye Yankee volunteers! +It makes my bosom bleed +When I your story read, + Though oft 'tis told one. +So--in both hemispheres +The woman are untrue, +And cruel in the New, + As in the Old one! + +What--in this company +Of sixty sons of Mars, +Who march 'neath Stripes and Stars, + With fife and horn, +Nine tenths of all we see +Along the warlike line +Had but one cause to join + This Hope Folorn? + +Deserters from the realm +Where tyrant Venus reigns, +You slipped her wicked chains, + Fled and out-ran her. +And now, with sword and helm, +Together banded are +Beneath the Stripe and Star- + embroidered banner! + +And so it is with all +The warriors ranged in line, +With lace bedizened fine + And swords gold-hilted-- +Yon lusty corporal, +Yon color-man who gripes +The flag of Stars and Stripes-- + Has each been jilted? + +Come, each man of this line, +The privates strong and tall, +"The pioneers and all," + The fifer nimble-- +Lieutenant and Ensign, +Captain with epaulets, +And Blacky there, who beats + The clanging cymbal-- + +O cymbal-beating black, +Tell us, as thou canst feel, +Was it some Lucy Neal + Who caused thy ruin? +O nimble fifing Jack, +And drummer making din +So deftly on the skin, + With thy rat-tattooing. + +Confess, ye volunteers, +Lieutenant and Ensign, +And Captain of the line, + As bold as Roman-- +Confess, ye grenadiers, +However strong and tall, +The Conqueror of you all + Is Woman, Woman! + +No corselet is so proof, +But through it from her bow, +The shafts that she can throw + Will pierce and rankle. +No champion e'er so tough, +But's in the struggle thrown, +And tripped and trodden down + By her slim ankle. + +Thus, always it has ruled, +And when a woman smiled, +The strong man was a child, + The sage a noodle. +Alcides was befooled, +And silly Samson shorn, +Long, long ere you were born, + Poor Yankee Doodle! + + + + +COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. +A POEM, IN TWO CANTOS. + PUNCH. + +CANTO THE FIRST. + +COURTSHIP. + +Fairest of earth! if thou wilt hear my vow, + Lo! at thy feet I swear to love thee ever; +And by this kiss upon thy radiant brow, + Promise afiection which no time shall sever; +And love which e'er shall burn as bright as now, + To be extinguished--never, dearest, never! +Wilt thou that naughty, fluttering heart resign? +CATHERINE! my own sweet Kate! wilt thou be mine? + +Thou shalt have pearls to deck thy raven hair-- + Thou shalt have all this world of ours can bring, +And we will live in solitude, nor care + For aught save for each other. We will fling +Away all sorrow--Eden shall be there! + And thou shalt be my queen, and I thy king! +Still coy, and still reluctant? Sweetheart say, +When shall we monarchs be? and which the day? + + +CANTO THE SECOND. + +MATRIMONY. + +Now MRS. PRINGLE, once for all, I say + I will not such extravagance allow! +Bills upon bills, and larger every day, + Enough to drive a man to drink, I vow! +Bonnets, gloves, frippery and trash--nay, nay, + Tears, MRS. PRINGLE, will not gull me now-- +I say I won't allow ten pounds a week; +I can't afford it; madam, do not speak! + +In wedding you I thought I had a treasure; + I find myself most miserably mistaken! +You rise at ten, then spend the day in pleasure;-- + In fact, my confidence is slightly shaken. +Ha! what's that uproar? This, ma'am, is my leisure; + Sufficient noise the slumbering dead to waken! +I seek retirement, and I find--a riot; +Confound those children, but I'll make them quiet! + + + + +CONCERNING SISTERS-IN-LAW. + PUNCH. +I. + +They looked so alike as they sat at their work, +(What a pity it is that one isn't a Turk!) +The same glances and smiles, the same habits and arts, +The same tastes, the same frocks, and (no doubt) the same hearts +The same irresistible cut in their jibs, +The same little jokes, and the same little fibs-- +That I thought the best way to get out of my pain +Was by--HEADS for Maria, and WOMAN for Jane; +For hang ME if it seemed it could matter a straw, +Which dear became wife, and which sister-in-law. + +II. + +But now, I will own, I feel rather inclined +To suspect I've some reason to alter my mind; +And the doubt in my breast daily grows a more strong one, +That they're not QUITE alike, and I've taken the wrong one. +Jane is always so gentle, obliging, and cool; +Never calls me a monster--not even a fool; +All our little contentions, 'tis she makes them up, +And she knows how much sugar to put in my cup:-- +Yes, I sometimes HAVE wished--Heav'n forgive me the flaw!-- +That my very dear wife was my sister-in-law. + +III. + +Oh, your sister-in-law, is a dangerous thing! +The daily comparisons, too, she will bring! +Wife--curl-papered, slip-shod, unwashed and undressed; +She--ringleted, booted, and "fixed in her best;" +Wife--sulky, or storming, or preaching, or prating; +She--merrily singing, or laughing, or chatting: +Then the innocent freedom her friendship allows +To the happy half-way between mother and spouse. +In short, if the Devil e'er needs a cat's-paw, +He can't find one more sure than a sister-in-law. + +IV. + +That no good upon earth can be had undiluted +Is a maxim experience has seldom refuted; +And preachers and poets have proved it is so +With abundance of tropes, more or less apropos. +Every light has its shade, every rose has its thorn, +The cup has its head-ache, its poppy the corn, +There's a fly in the ointment, a spot on the sun-- +In short, they've used all illustrations--but one; +And have left it to me the most striking to draw-- +Viz.: that none, without WIVES, can have SISTERS-IN-LAW. + + + + +THE LOBSTERS. +[Footnote: Appeared at the time of the Anti-popery excitement, +produced by the titles of Cardinal Wiseman, etc.] + PUNCH. + +As a young Lobster roamed about, +Itself and mother being out, +Their eyes at the same moment fell +On a boiled lobster's scarlet shell +"Look," said the younger; "is it true +That we might wear so bright a hue? +No coral, if I trust mine eye, +Can with its startling brilliance vie; +While you and I must be content +A dingy aspect to present." +"Proud heedless fool," the parent cried; +"Know'st thou the penalty of pride? +The tawdry finery you wish, +Has ruined this unhappy fish. +The hue so much by you desired +By his destruction was acquired-- +So be contented with your lot, +Nor seek to change by going to pot." + + + + +TO SONG-BIRDS ON A SUNDAY. + PUNCH. + +Silence, all! ye winged choir; +Let not yon right reverend sire +Hear your happy symphony: +'Tis too good for such as he. + +On the day of rest divine, +He poor townsfolk would confine +In their crowded streets and lanes, +Where they can not hear your strains. + +All the week they drudge away, +Having but one holiday; +No more time for you, than that-- +Unlike bishops, rich and fat. + +Utter not your cheerful sounds, +Therefore, in the bishop's grounds; +Make him melody no more, +Who denies you to the poor. +Linnet, hist! and blackbird, hush! +Throstle, be a songless thrush; +Nightingale and lark, be mute, +Never sing to such a brute. + +Robin, at the twilight dim, +Never let thine evening hymn, +Bird of red and ruthful breast, +Lend the bishop's Port a zest. + +Soothe not, birds, his lonesome hours, +Keeping us from fields and flowers, +Who to pen us tries, instead, +'Mong the intramural dead. + +Only let the raven croak +At him from the rotten oak; +Let the magpie and the jay +Chatter at him on his way. +And when he to rest has laid him, + Let his ears the screech-owl harry; +And the night-jar serenade him + With a proper charivari. + + + + +THE FIRST SENSIBLE VALENTINE. +(ONE OF THE MOST ASTONISHING FRUITS OF THE EMIGRATION MANIA.) + PUNCH. + +Let other swains, upon the best cream-laid + Or wire-wove note, their amorous strains indite; +Or, in despair, invoke the limner's aid + To paint the sufferings they can not write: + +Upon their page, transfixed with numerous darts, + Let slender youths in agony expire; +Or, on one spit, let two pale pink calves' hearts + Roast at some fierce imaginary fire. + +Let ANGELINA there, as in a bower + Of shrubs, unknown to LINDLEY, she reposes, +See her own ALFRED to the old church tower + Led on by CUPID, in a chain of roses; +Or let the wreath, when raised, a cage reveal, + Wherein two doves their little bills entwine; +(A vile device, which always makes me feel + Marriage would only add your bills to mine.) + +For arts like these I've neither skill nor time; + But if you'll seek the Diggings, dearest maid, +And share my fortune in that happier clime, + Your berth is taken, and your passage paid. +For reading, lately, in my list of things, + "Twelve dozen shirts! twelve dozen collars," too! +The horrid host of buttons and of strings + Flashed on my spirit, and I thought--of you. + +"Surely," I said, as in my chest I dived-- + That vast receptacle of all things known-- +"To teach this truth my outfit was contrived, + It is not good for man to be alone!" +Then fly with me! My bark is on the shore + (Her mark A 1, her size eight hundred tons), +And though she's nearly full, can take some more + Dry goods, by measurement--say GREEN and SONS. + +Yes, fly with me! Had all our friends been blind, + We might have married, and been happy HERE; +But since young married folks the means must find + The eyes of stern society to cheer, +And satisfy its numerous demands, + I think 'twill save us many a vain expense, +If on our wedding cards this Notice stands, + "At Home, at Ballarat, just three months hence!" + + + + +A SCENE ON THE AUSTRIAN FRONTIER. + PUNCH. + +"Dey must not pass!" was the warning cry of the Austrian sentinel +To one whose little knapsack bore the books he loved so well +"Thev must not pass? Now, wherefore not?" the wond'ring tourist cried; +"No English book can pass mit me;" the sentinel replied. +The tourist laughed a scornful laugh; quoth he, "Indeed, I hope +There are few English books would please a Kaiser or a Pope; +But these are books in common use: plain truths and facts they tell--" +"Der Teufel! Den dey MOST NOT pass!" said the startled sentinel. + +"This Handbook to North Germany, by worthy Mr. MURRAY, +Need scarcely put your government in such a mighty flurry; +If tourists' handbooks be proscribed, pray have you ever tried +To find a treasonable page in Bradshaws Railway Guide? +This map, again, of Switzerland--nay, man, you needn't start or +Look black at such a little map, as if't were Magna Charta; +I know it is the land of TELL, but, curb your idle fury-- +We've not the slightest hope, to-day, to find a TELL in your eye +(Uri)." + +"Sturmwetter!" said the sentinel, "Come! cease dis idle babbles! +Was ist dis oder book I see? Das Haus mit sieben Gabbles? +I nevvare heard of him bifor, ver mosh I wish I had, +For now Ich kann nicht let him pass, for fear he should be bad. +Das Haus of Commons it must be; Ja wohl! 'tis so, and den +Die Sieben Gabbles are de talk of your chief public men; +Potzmiekchen! it is dreadful books. Ja! Ja! I know him well; +Hoch Himmel! here he most not pass:" said the learned sentinel. + +"Dis PLATO, too, I ver mosh fear, he will corrupt the land, +He has soch many long big words, Ich kann nicht onderstand." +"My friend," the tourist said, "I fear you're really in the way to +Quite change the proverb, and be friends will neither Truth nor PLATO. +My books, 'tis true, are little worth, but they have served me long, +And I regard the greatness less than the nature of the wrong; +So, if the books must stay behind, I stay behind as well." +"Es ist mir nichts, mein lieber Freund," said the courteous sentinel. + + + + +ODE TO THE GREAT SEA-SERPENT ON HIS WONDERFUL REAPPEARANCE. + PUNCH. + +From what abysses of the unfathom'd sea + Turnest thou up, Great Serpent, now and then, +If we may venture to believe in thee, + And affidavits of sea-faring men? + +What whirlpool gulf to thee affords a home! + Amid the unknown depths where dost thou dwell? +If--like the mermaid, with her glass and comb-- + Thou art not what the vulgar call a Sell. + +Art thou, indeed, a serpent and no sham? + Or, if no serpent, a prodigious eel, +An entity, though modified by flam, + A basking shark, or monstrous kind of seal? + +I'll think that thou a true Ophidian art; + I can not say a reptile of the deep, +Because thou dost not play a reptile's part; + Thou swimmest, it appears, and dost not creep. + +The Captain was not WALKER but M'QUHAE, + I'll trust, by whom thou some time since wast seen +And him who says he saw thee t'other day, + I will not bid address the corps marine. + +Sea-Serpent, art thou venomous or not? + What sort of snake may be thy class and style? +That of Mud-Python, by APOLLO shot, + And mentioned--rather often--by CARLYLE? + +Or, art thou but a serpent of the mind? + Doubts, though subdued, will oft recur again-- +A serpent of the visionary kind, + Proceeding from the grog-oppressed brain? + +Art thou a giant adder, or huge asp, + And hast thou got a rattle at thy tail? +If of the Boa species, couldst thou clasp + Within thy fold, and suffocate, a whale? + +How long art thou?--Some sixty feet, they say, + And more--but how much more they do not know: +I fancy thou couldst reach across a bay + From head to head, a dozen miles or so. + +Scales hast thou got, of course--but what's thy weight? + On either side 'tis said thou hast a fin, +A crest, too, on thy neck, deponents state, + A saw-shaped ridge of flabby, dabby skin. + +If I could clutch thee--in a giant's grip-- + Could I retain thee in that grasp sublime? +Wouldst thou not quickly through my fingers slip, + Being all over glazed with fishy slime? + +Hast thou a forked tongue--and dost thou hiss + If ever thou art bored with Ocean's play? +And is it the correct hypothesis + That thou of gills or lungs dost breathe by way? + +What spines, or spikes, or claws, or nails, or fin, + Or paddle, Ocean-Serpent, dost thou bear? +What kind of teeth show'st thou when thou dost grin?-- + A set that probably would make one stare. + +What is thy diet? Canst thou gulp a shoal + Of herrings? Or hast thou the gorge and room +To bolt fat porpoises and dolphins, whole, + By dozens, e'en as oysters we consume? + +Art thou alone, thou serpent, on the brine, + The sole surviving member of thy race? +Is there no brother, sister, wife, of thine, + But thou alone, afloat on Ocean's face? + +If such a calculation may be made, + Thine age at what a figure may we take? +When first the granite mountain-stones were laid, + Wast thou not present there and then, old Snake? + +What fossil Saurians in thy time have been? + How many Mammoths crumbled into mold? +What geologic periods hast thou seen, + Long as the tail thou doubtless canst unfold? + +As a dead whale, but as a whale, though dead, + Thy floating bulk a British crew did strike; +And, so far, none will question what they said, + That thou unto a whale wast very like. + +A flock of birds a record, rather loose, + Describes as hovering o'er thy lengthy hull; +Among them, doubtless, there was many a Goose, + And also several of the genus Gull. + + + +THE FEAST OF VEGETABLES, AND THE FLOW OF WATER. + PUNCH. + +New Year comes,--so let's be jolly; + On the board the Turnip smokes, +While we sit beneath, the holly, + Eating Greens and passing jokes + +How the Cauliflower is steaming, + Sweetest flower that ever blows. +See, good old Sir Kidney, beaming, + Shows his jovial famed red nose. + +Here behold the reign of Plenty,-- + Help the Carrots, hand the Kail; +Roots how nice, and herbs how dainty, + Well washed down with ADAM'S Ale! + +Feed your fill,--untasted only + Let the fragrant onion go; +Or, amid the revels lonely, + Go not nigh the mistletoe! + + + + +KINDRED QUACKS. + PUNCH. + +I overheard two matrons grave, allied by close affinity +(The name of one was PHYSIC, and the other's was DIVINITY), +As they put their groans together, both so doleful and lugubrious: + +Says PHYSIC, "To unload the heart of grief, ma'am, is salubrious: +Here am I, at my time of life, in this year of our deliverance; +My age gives me a right to look for some esteem and reverence. +But, ma'am, I feel it is too true what every body says to me,-- +Too many of my children are a shame and a disgrace to me." + +"Ah!" says DIVINITY, "my heart can suffer with another, ma'am; +I'm sure I can well understand your feelings as a mother, ma'am. +I've some, as well,--no doubt but what you're perfectly aware on't, + ma'am, +Whose doings bring derision and discredit on their parent, ma'am." + +"There are boys of mine," says PHYSIC, "ma'am, such silly fancies + nourishing, +As curing gout and stomach-ache by pawing and by flourishing." + +"Well," says DIVINITY, "I've those that teach that Heaven's beatitudes +Are to be earned by postures, genuflexions, bows, and attitudes." + +"My good-for-nothing sons," says PHYSIC, "some have turned + hydropathists, +Some taken up with mesmerism, or joined the homoeopathists." + +"Mine," says DIVINITY, "pursue a system of gimcrackery, +Called Puseyism, a pack of stuff, and quite as arrant quackery." + +Says PHYSIC, "Mine have sleep-walkers, pretending through the hide of + you, +To look, although their eyes are shut, and tell you what's inside of + you." + +"Ah!" says DIVINITY, "so mine, with quibbling and with caviling, +Would have you, ma'am, to blind yourself, to see the road to travel + in." + +"Mine," PHYSIC says, "have quite renounced their good old pills and + potions, ma'am, +For doses of a billionth of a grain, and such wild notions, ma'am." + +"So," says DIVINITY, "have mine left wholesome exhortation, ma'am, +For credence-tables, reredoses, rood-lofts, and maceration, ma'am." + +"But hospitals," says PHYSIC, "my misguided boys are founding, ma'am." + +"Well," says DIVINITY, "of mine, the chapels are abounding, ma'am." + +"Mine are trifling with diseases, ma'am," says PHYSIC, "not attacking + them." + +"Mine," says DIVINITY, "instead of curing souls, are quacking them." + +"Ah, ma'am," says PHYSIC, "I'm to blame, I fear, for these + absurdities." + +"That's my fear too," DIVINITY says; "ma'am, upon my word it is." + +Says PHYSIC, "Fees, not science, have been far too much my wishes, + ma'am." + +"Truth," says DIVINITY, "I've loved much less than loaves and fishes, + ma'am." + +Says each to each, "We're simpletons, or sad deceivers, some of us; +And I am sure, ma'am, I don't know whatever will become of us." + + + + +THE RAILWAY TRAVELER'S FAREWELL TO HIS FAMILY. + PUNCH. + +'T was business call'd a Father to travel by the Rail; +His eye was calm, his hand was firm, although his cheek was pale. +He took his little boy and girl, and set them on his knee; +And their mother hung about his neck, and her tears flowed fast and + free. + +I'm going by the Rail, my dears--ELIZA, love, don't cry-- +Now, kiss me both before I leave, and wish Papa good-by. +I hope I shall be back again, this afternoon, to tea, +And then, I hope, alive and well, that your Papa you'll see. + +I'm going by the Rail, my dears, where the engines puff and hiss; +And ten to one the chances are that something goes amiss; +And in an instant, quick as thought--before you could cry "Ah!" +An accident occurs, and--say good-by to poor Papa! + +Sometimes from scandalous neglect, my dears, the sleepers sink, +And then you have the carriages upset, as you may think. +The progress of the train, sometimes, a truck or coal-box checks, +And there's a risk for poor Papa's, and every body's necks. + +Or there may be a screw loose, a hook, or bolt, or pin-- +Or else an ill-made tunnel may give way, and tumble in; +And in the wreck the passengers and poor Papa remain +Confined, till down upon them comes the next Excursion-train. + +If a policeman's careless, dears, or if not over-bright, +When he should show a red flag, it may be he shows a white; +Between two trains, in consequence, there's presently a clash, +If poor Papa is only bruised, he's lucky in the smash. + +Points may be badly managed, as they were the other day, +Because a stingy Company for hands enough won't pay; +Over and over goes the train--the engine off the rail, +And poor Papa's unable, when he's found, to tell the tale. + +And should your poor Papa escape, my darlings, with his life, +May he return on two legs, to his children and his wife-- +With both his arms, my little dears, return your fond embrace, +And present to you, unalter'd, every feature of his face. + +I hope I shall come back, my dears--but, mind, I am insured-- +So, in case the worst may happen, you are so far all secured. +An action then will also lie for you and your Mamma-- +And don't forget to bring it--on account of poor Papa. + + + + +A LETTER AND AN ANSWER. + PUNCH. + +THE PRESBYTERS TO PALMERSTON. + +The Plague has come among us, + Miserable sinners! +Fear and remorse have stung us, + Miserable sinners! +We ask the State to fix a day, +Whereon all men may fast and pray, +That Heaven will please to turn away +The Plague that works us sore dismay, + Miserable sinners! + +PALMERSTON TO THE PRESBYTERS. + +The Plague that comes among you, + Miserable sinners! +To effort hath it strung you? + Miserable sinners! +You ask that all should fast and pray; +Better all wake and work, I say; +Sloth and supineness put away, +That so the Plague may cease to slay; + Miserable sinners! + +For Plagues, like other evils, + Miserable sinners! +Are GOD'S and not the Devil's, + Miserable sinners! +Scourges they are, but in a hand +Which love and pity do command: +And when the heaviest stripes do fall, +'Tis where they're wanted most of all, + Miserable sinners! + +Look round about your city, + Miserable sinners! +Arouse to shame and pity, + Miserable sinners! +Pray: but use brush and limewash pail; +Fast: but feed those for want who fail; +Bow down, gude town, to ask for grace +But bow with cleaner hands and face, + Miserable sinners! + +All Time GOD'S Law hath spoken, + Miserable sinners! +That Law may not be broken, + Miserable sinners! +But he that breaks it must endure +The penalty which works the cure. +To us, for GOD'S great laws transgressed, +Is doomsman Pestilence addressed, + Miserable sinners! + +We can not juggle Heaven, + Miserable sinners! +With one day out of seven, + Miserable sinners! +Shall any force of fasts atone +For years of duty left undone? +How expiate with prayer or psalm, +Deaf ear, blind eye, and folded palm? + Miserable sinners! + +Let us be up and stirring, + Miserable sinners! +'Mong ignorant and erring, + Miserable sinners! +Sloth and self-seeking from us cast, +Believing this the fittest fast, +For of all prayers prayed 'neath the sun +There is no prayer like work well done, + Miserable sinners! + + + + +PAPA TO HIS HEIR, + A FAST MINOR. + PUNCH. + +My son, a father's warning heed; + I think my end is nigh: +And then, you dog, you will succeed + Unto my property. + +But, seeing you are not, just yet. + Arrived at man's estate, +Before you full possession get, + You'll have a while to wait. + +A large allowance I allot + You during that delay; +And I don't recommend you not + To throw it all away. + +To such advice you'd ne'er attend; + You won't let prudence rule +Your courses; but, I know, will spend + Your money like a fool. + +I do not ask you to eschew + The paths of vice and sin; +You'll do as all young boobies, who + Are left, as you say, tin. + +You'll sot, you'll bet; and, being green, + At all that's right you'll joke; +Your life will be a constant scene + Of billiards and of smoke. + +With bad companions you'll consort + With creatures vile and base, +Who'll rob you; yours will be, in short, + The puppy's common case. + +But oh, my son! although you must + Through this ordeal pass, +You will not be, I hope--I trust-- + A wholly senseless ass. + +Of course at prudence you will sneer, + On that theme I won't harp; +Be good, I won't say--that's severe; + But be a little sharp. + +All rascally associates shun + To bid you were too much, +But, oh I beware, my spooney son, + Beware one kind of such. + +It asks no penetrative mind + To know these fellows: when +You meet them, you, unless you're blind, + At once discern the men. + +The turgid lip, the piggish eye, + The nose in form of hook, +The rings, the pins, you tell them by, + The vulgar flashy look. + +Spend every sixpence, if you please, + But do not, I implore, +Oh! I do not go, my son, to these + Vultures to borrow more. + +Live at a foolish wicked rate, + My hopeful, if you choose, +But don't your means anticipate + Through bill-discounting Jews. + + +[Illustration: CHAUCER] + + + +SELLING OFF AT THE OPERA HOUSE +A POETICAL CATALOGUE. + PUNCH. + + +Lot One, The well-known village, with bridge, and church, and green, +Of half a score divertissements the well-remembered scene, +Including six substantial planks, forming the eight-inch ridge +On which the happy peasantry came dancing down the bridge. +Lot Two, A Sheet of Thunder. Lot Three, A Box of Peas +Employed in sending storms of hail to rattle through the trees. +Lot Four, A Canvas Mossy Bank for Cupids to repose. +Lot Five, The old Stage Watering-pot, complete--except the nose. +Lot Six, The favorite Water-mill, used for Amina's dream, +Complete, with practicable wheel, and painted canvas stream. +Lots Seven to Twelve, Some sundries--A Pair of Sylphide's Wings; +Three dozen Druid's Dresses (one of them wanting strings). +Lots Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen--Three Services of Plate +In real papier mache--all in a decent state; +One of these services includes--its value to increase-- +A full dessert, each plate of fruit forming a single piece. +Lot Seventeen, The Gilded Cup, from which Genarro quaffed, +Mid loud applause, night after night, Lucrezia's poisoned draught. +Lots Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Three rich White Satin Skirts, +Lot Twenty-one, A set of six Swiss Peasants' Cotton Shirts. +Lot Twenty-two, The sheet that backed Mascaniello's tent. +Lot Twenty-three, The Long White Wig--in wool--of Bide-the-Bent. +Lots Twenty-three to Forty, The Fish--Soles, Cod, and Dace-- +For pelting the Vice-regal Guard in Naples' Market-place. +Lot Forty-one, Vesuvius, rather the worse for wear. +Lots Forty-two to Fifty, Priests' Leggings--at per pair. +Lot Fifty-one, The well-known Throne, with canopy and seat, +And plank in front, for courtiers to kneel at Sovereigns' feet. +Lot Fifty-two, A Royal Robe of Flannel, nearly white, +Warranted equal to Cashmere--upon the stage at night-- +With handsome ermine collar thrown elegantly back; +The tails of twisted worsted--pale yellow, tipped with black. +Lots Fifty-three to Sixty, Some Jewellery rare-- +The Crown of Semiramide--complete, with false back hair; +The Order worn by Ferdinand, when he proceeds to fling +His sword and medals at the feet of the astonished king. +Lot Sixty-one, The Bellows used in Cinderella's song. +Lot Sixty-two, A Document. Lot Sixty-three, A Gong. +Lots Sixty-four to Eighty, Of Wigs a large array, +Beginning at the Druids down to the present day. +Lot Eighty-one, The Bedstead on which Amina falls. +Lots Eighty-two to Ninety, Some sets of Outer Walls. +Lot Ninety-one, The Furniture of a Grand Ducal Room, +Including Chair and Table. Lot Ninety-two, A Tomb. +Lot Ninety-three, A set of Kilts. Lot Ninety-four, A Rill. +Lot Ninety-five, A Scroll, To form death-warrant, deed, or will. +Lot Ninety-six, An ample fall of best White Paper Snow. +Lot Ninety-seven, A Drinking-cup, brimmed with stout extra tow. +Lot Ninety-eight, A Set of Clouds, a Moon, to work on flat; +Water with practicable boat. Lot Ninety-nine, A Hat. +Lot Hundred, Massive Chandelier. Hundred and one, A Bower. +Hundred and two, A Canvas Grove. Hundred and three, A Tower. +Hundred and four, A Fountain. Hundred and five, Some Rocks. +Hundred and six, The Hood that hides the Prompter in his box. + + + + +WONDERS OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. + PUNCH. + +Our gracious Queen--long may she fill her throne-- +Has been to see Louis Napoleon. +The Majesty of England--bless her heart!-- +Has cut her mutton with a Bonaparte; +And Cousin Germans have survived the view +Of Albert taking luncheon at St. Cloud. + +In our young days we little thought to see +Such legs stretched under such mahogany; +That British Royalty would ever share +At a French Palace, French Imperial fare: +Nor eat--as we should have believed at school-- +The croaking tenant of the marshy pool. +At the Trois Freres we had not feasted then, +As we have since, and hope to do again. + +This great event of course could not take place +Without fit prodigies for such a case; +The brazen pig-tail of King George the Third +Thrice with a horizontal motion stirr'd, +Then rose on end, and stood so all day long, +Amid the cheers of an admiring throng. +In every lawyer's office Eldon shed +From plaster nose three heavy drops of red. +Each Statue, too, of Pitt turn'd up the point +Of its proboscis--was that out of joint? +While Charles James Fox's grinn'd from ear to ear, +And Peel's emitted frequent cries of "Hear!" + + + + +TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A GENTLEMAN," +IN THE ATHENAEUM GALLERY. + OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. + +It may be so--perhaps thou hast + A warm and loving heart; +I will not blame thee for thy face, + Poor devil as thou art. + +That thing, thou fondly deem'st a nose, + Unsightly though it be,-- +In spite of all the cold world's scorn, + It may be much to thee. + +Those eyes,--among thine elder friends + Perhaps they pass for blue;-- +No matter,--if a man can see, + What more have eyes to do? + +Thy mouth--that fissure in thy face + By something like a chin,-- +May be a very useful place + To put thy victual in. + +I know thou hast a wife at home, + I know thou hast a child, +By that subdued, domestic smile + Upon thy features mild. + +That wife sits fearless by thy side, + That cherub on thy knee; +They do not shudder at thy looks, + They do not shrink from thee. + +Above thy mantel is a hook,-- + A portrait once was there; +It was thine only ornament,-- + Alas! that hook is bare. + +She begged thee not to let it go, + She begged thee all in vain: +She wept,--and breathed a trembling prayer + To meet it safe again. + +It was a bitter sight to see + That picture torn away; +It was a solemn thought to think + What all her friends would say! + +And often in her calmer hours, + And in her happy dreams, +Upon its long-deserted hook + The absent portrait seems. + +Thy wretched infant turns his head + In melancholy wise, +And looks to meet the placid stare + Of those unbending eyes. + +I never saw thee, lovely one,-- + Perchance I never may; +It is not often that we cross + Such people in our way; + +But if we meet in distant years, + Or on some foreign shore, +Sure I can take my Bible oath + I've seen that face before. + + + + +MY AUNT. + OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. + +My aunt! my dear unmarried aunt! + Long years have o'er her flown; +Yet still she strains the aching clasp + That binds her virgin zone; +I know it hurts her--though she looks + As cheerful as she can; +Her waist is ampler than her life, + For life is but a span. + +My aunt! my poor deluded aunt! + Her hair is almost gray; +Why will she train that winter curl + In such a spring-like way? +How can she lay her glasses down, + And say she reads as well, +When, through a double convex lens, + She just makes out to spell? + +Her father--grandpapa! forgive + This erring lip its smiles-- +Vowed she should make the finest girl + Within a hundred miles; +He sent her to a stylish school; + 'T was in her thirteenth June; +And with her, as the rules required, + "Two towels and a spoon." + +They braced my aunt against a board, + To make her straight and tall; +They laced her up, they starved her down, + To make her light and small. +They pinched her feet, they singed her hair, + They screwed it up with pins;-- +O never mortal suffered more + In penance for her sins. + +So, when my precious aunt was done, + My grandsire brought her back; +(By daylight, lest some rabid youth + Might follow on the track;) +"Ah!" said my grandsire, as he shook + Some powder in his pan, +"What could this lovely creature do + Against a desperate man!" + +Alas! nor chariot, nor barouche, + Nor bandit cavalcade, +Tore from the trembling father's arms + His all-accomplished maid. +For her how happy had it been! + And heaven had spared to me +To see one sad, ungathered rose + On my ancestral tree. + + + + +COMIC MISERIES. + JOHN G. SAXE. + +My dear young friend, whose shining wit + Sets all the room a-blaze, +Don't think yourself a "happy dog," + For all your merry ways; +But learn to wear a sober phiz, + Be stupid, if you can, +It's such a very serious thing + To be a funny man! + +You're at an evening party, with + A group of pleasant folks,-- +You venture quietly to crack + The least of little jokes,-- +A lady doesn't catch the point, + And begs you to explain-- +Alas for one that drops a jest + And takes it up again! + +You're talking deep philosophy + With very special force, +To edify a clergyman + With suitable discourse,-- +You think you 've got him--when he calls + A friend across the way, +And begs you'll say that funny thing + You said the other day! + +You drop a pretty jeu-de-mot + Into a neighbor's ears, +Who likes to give you credit for + The clever thing he hears, +And so he hawks your jest about + The old authentic one, +Just breaking off the point of it, + And leaving out the pun! + +By sudden change in politics, + Or sadder change in Polly, +You, lose your love, or loaves, and fall + A prey to melancholy, +While every body marvels why + Your mirth is under ban,-- +They think your very grief "a joke," + You're such a funny man! + +You follow up a stylish card + That bids you come and dine, +And bring along your freshest wit + (To pay for musty wine), +You're looking very dismal, when + My lady bounces in, +And wonders what you're thinking of + And why you don't begin! + +You're telling to a knot of friends + A fancy-tale of woes +That cloud your matrimonial sky, + And banish all repose-- +A solemn lady overhears + The story of your strife, +And tells the town the pleasant news: + You quarrel with your wife! + +My dear young friend, whose shining wit + Sets all the room a-blaze, +Don't think yourself "a happy dog," + For all your merry ways; +But learn to wear a sober phiz, + Be stupid, if you can, +It's such a very serious thing + To be a funny man! + + + +IDEES NAPOLEONIENNES. + WILLIAM AYTOUN. + +The impossibility of translating this now well-known expression +(imperfectly rendered in a companion-work, "Ideas of Napoleonism"), +will excuse the title and burden of the present ballad being left in +the original French.--TRANSLATOR. + +Come, listen all who wish to learn + How nations should be ruled, +From one who from his youth has been + In such-like matters school'd; +From one who knows the art to please, + Improve and govern men-- +Eh bien! Ecoutez, aux Idees, + Napoleoniennes! + +To keep the mind intently fixed + On number One alone-- +To look to no one's interest, + But push along your own, +Without the slightest reference + To how, or what, or when-- +Eh bien! c'est la premiere Idee + Napoleonienne. + +To make a friend, and use him well, + By which, of course, I mean +To use him up--until he's drain'd + Completely dry and clean +Of all that makes him useful, and + To kick him over then +Without remorse--c'est une Idee + Napoleonienne. + +To sneak into a good man's house + With sham credentials penn'd-- +to sneak into his heart and trust, + And seem his children's friend-- +To learn his secrets, find out where + He keeps his keys--and then +To bone his spoons--c'est une Idee + Napoleonienne. + +To gain your point in view--to wade + Through dirt, and slime, and blood-- +To stoop to pick up what you want + Through any depth of mud. +But always in the fire to thrust + Some helpless cat's-paw, when +Your chestnuts burn--c'est une Idee + Napoleonienne. + +To clutch and keep the lion's share-- + To kill or drive away +The wolves, that you upon the lambs + May, unmolested, prey-- +To keep a gang of jackals fierce + To guard and stock your den, +While you lie down--c'est une Idee + Napoleonienne. + +To bribe the base, to crush the good, + And bring them to their knees-- +To stick at nothing, or to stick + At what or whom you please-- +To stoop, to lie, to brag, to swear, + Forswear, and swear again-- +To rise--Ah! voia des Idees + Napoleoniennes. + + + + +THE LAY OF THE LOVER'S FRIEND + WILLIAM AYTOUN + +Air--"The days we went a-gipsying." + +I would all womankind were dead, + Or banished o'er the sea; +For they have been a bitter plague + These last six weeks to me: +It is not that I'm touched myself, + For that I do not fear; +No female face hath shown me grace + For many a bygone year. + But 'tis the most infernal bore, + Of all the bores I know, + To have a friend who's lost his heart + A short time ago. + +Whene'er we steam it to Blackwall, + Or down to Greenwich run, +To quaff the pleasant cider cup, + And feed on fish and fun; +Or climb the slopes of Richmond Hill, + To catch a breath of air: +Then, for my sins, he straight begins + To rave about his fair. + Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore, + Of all the bores I know, + To have a friend who's lost his heart + A short time ago. + +In vain you pour into his ear + Your own confiding grief; +In vain you claim his sympathy, + In vain you ask relief; +In vain you try to rouse him by + Joke, repartee, or quiz; +His sole reply's a burning sigh, + And "What a mind it is!" + O Lord! it is the greatest bore, + Of all the bores I know, + To have a friend who's lost his heart + A short time ago. + +I've heard her thoroughly described + A hundred times, I'm sure; +And all the while I've tried to smile, + And patiently endure; +He waxes, strong upon his pangs, + And potters o'er his grog; +And still I say, in a playful way-- + "Why you're a lucky dog!" + But oh! it is the heaviest bore, + Of all the bores I know, + To have a friend who's lost his heart + A short time ago. + +I really wish he'd do like me + When I was young and strong; +I formed a passion every week, + But never kept it long. +But he has not the sportive mood-- + That always rescued me, +And so I would all women could + Be banished o'er the sea. + For 'tis the most egregious bore, + Of all the bores I know. + To have a friend who's lost his heart + A short time ago. + + + + + +PARODIES AND BURLESQUES + + + +WINE. + JOHN GAY. + + Nulla placere diu, nec vivere carmina possunt, + Quae scribuntur aquae potoribus. HOR. + +Of happiness terrestrial, and the source +Whence human pleasures flow, sing, heavenly Muse! +Of sparkling juices, of the enlivening grape, +Whose quickening taste adds vigor to the soul, +Whose sovereign power revives decaying nature, +And thaws the frozen blood of hoary Age, +A kindly warmth diffusing;--youthful fires +Gild his dim eyes, and paint with ruddy hue +His wrinkled visage, ghastly wan before: +Cordial restorative to mortal man, +With copious hand by bounteous gods bestow'd! + +Bacchus divine! aid my adventurous song, +That with no middle flight intends to soar +Inspir'd sublime, on Pegasean wing, +By thee upborne, I draw Miltonic air. +When fumy vapors clog our loaded brows +With furrow'd frowns, when stupid downcast eyes, +The external symptoms of remorse within, +Express our grief, or when in sullen dumps, +With head incumbent on expanded palm, +Moping we sit, in silent sorrow drown'd; +Whether inveigling Hymen has trepann'd +The unwary youth, and tied the gordian knot +Of jangling wedlock not to be dissolv'd; +Worried all day by loud Xantippe's din, +Who fails not to exalt him to the stars, +And fix him there among the branched crew +(Taurus, and Aries, and Capricorn, +The greatest monsters of the Zodiac), +Or for the loss of anxious worldly pelf, +Or Delia's scornful slights, and cold disdain, +Which check'd his amorous flame with coy repulse, +The worst events that mortals can befall; +By cares depress'd, in pensive hippish mood, +With slowest pace the tedious minutes roll, +Thy charming sight, but much more charming gust, +New life incites, and warms our chilly blood. +Straight with pert looks we raise our drooping fronts, +And pour in crystal pure thy purer juice;-- +With cheerful countenance and steady hand +Raise it lip-high, then fix the spacious rim +To the expecting mouth:--with grateful taste +The ebbing wine glides swiftly o'er the tongue; +The circling blood with quicker motion flies: +Such is thy powerful influence, thou straight +Dispell'st those clouds that, lowering dark, eclips'd +The whilom glories of the gladsome face;-- +While dimpled cheeks, and sparkling rolling eyes, +Thy cheering virtues, and thy worth proclaim. +So mists and exhalations that arise +From "hills or steamy lake, dusky or gray," +Prevail, till Phoebus sheds Titanian rays, +And paints their fleecy skirts with shining gold; +Unable to resist, the foggy damps, +That vail'd the surface of the verdant fields, +At the god's penetrating beams disperse! +The earth again in former beauty smiles, +In gaudiest livery drest, all gay and clear. + +When disappointed Strephon meets repulse, +Scoff'd at, despis'd, in melancholic mood +Joyless he wastes in sighs the lazy hours, +Till reinforc'd by thy most potent aid +He storms the breach, and wins the beauteous fort. + +To pay thee homage, and receive thy blessing, +The British seaman quits his native shore, +And ventures through the trackless, deep abyss, +Plowing the ocean, while the upheav'd oak, +"With beaked prow, rides tilting o'er the waves;" +Shock'd by tempestuous jarring winds, she rolls +In dangers imminent, till she arrives +At those blest climes thou favor'st with thy presence. +Whether at Lusitania's sultry coast, +Or lofty Teneriffe, Palma, Ferro, +Provence, or at the Celtiberian shores, +With gazing pleasure and astonishment, +At Paradise (seat of our ancient sire) +He thinks himself arrived: the purple grapes, +In largest clusters pendent, grace the vines +Innumerous: in fields grotesque and wild, +They with implicit curls the oak entwine, +And load with fruit divine his spreading boughs: +Sight most delicious! not an irksome thought, +Or of left native isle, or absent friends, +Or dearest wife, or tender sucking babe, +His kindly treacherous memory now presents; +The jovial god has left no room for cares. + +Celestial Liquor! thou that didst inspire +Maro and Flaccus, and the Grecian bard, +With lofty numbers, and heroic strains +Unparallel'd, with eloquence profound, +And arguments convictive, didst enforce +Fam'd Tully, and Demosthenes renown'd; +Ennius, first fam'd in Latin song, in vain +Drew Heliconian streams, ungrateful whet +To jaded Muse, and oft with vain attempt, +Heroic acts, in flagging numbers dull, +With pains essay'd; but, abject still and low, +His unrecruited Muse could never reach +The mighty theme, till, from the purple fount +Of bright Lenaean sire, her barren drought +He quench'd, and with inspiring nectarous juice +Her drooping spirits cheer'd:--aloft she towers, +Borne on stiff pennons, and of war's alarms, +And trophies won, in loftiest numbers sings. +'Tis thou the hero's breast to martial acts, +And resolution bold, and ardor brave, +Excit'st: thou check'st inglorious lolling ease, +And sluggish minds with generous fires inflam'st. +O thou! that first my quickened soul didst warm, +Still with thy aid assist me, that thy praise, +Thy universal sway o'er all the world, +In everlasting numbers, like the theme, +I may record, and sing thy matchless worth. + +Had the Oxonian bard thy praise rehears'd, +His Muse had yet retain'd her wonted height; +Such as of late o'er Blenheim's field she soar'd +Aerial; now in Ariconian bogs +She lies inglorious, floundering, like her theme, +Languid and faint, and on damp wing, immerg'd +In acid juice, in vain attempts to rise. + +With what sublimest joy from noisy town, +At rural seat, Lucretius retir'd: +Flaccus, untainted by perplexing cares, +Where the white poplar and the lofty pine +Join neighboring boughs, sweet hospitable shade, +Creating, from Phoebean rays secure, +A cool retreat, with few well-chosen friends, +On flowery mead recumbent, spent the hours +In mirth innocuous, and alternate verse! +With roses interwoven, poplar wreaths, +Their temples bind, dress of sylvestrian gods! +Choicest nectarean juice crown'd largest bowls, +And overlook'd the brim, alluring sight, +Of fragrant scent, attractive, taste divine! +Whether from Formian grape depressed, Falern, +Or Setin, Massic, Gauran, or Sabine, +Lesbian, or Coecuban, the cheering bowl +Mov'd briskly round, and spurr'd their heighten'd wit +To sing Mecaena's praise, their patron kind. + +But we not as our pristine sires repair +To umbrageous grot or vale; but when the sun +Faintly from western skies his rays oblique +Darts sloping, and to Thetis' wat'ry lap +Hastens in prone career, with friends select +Swiftly we hie to Devil,* young or old, +*[Footnote: The Devil's Tavern, Temple Bar.] +Jocund and boon; where at the entrance stands +A stripling, who with scrapes and humil cringe +Greets us in winning speech, and accent bland: +With lightest bound, and safe unerring step, +He skips before, and nimbly climbs the stairs. +Melampus thus, panting with lolling tongue, +And wagging tail, gambols and frisks before +His sequent lord, from pensive walk return'd, +Whether in shady wood or pasture green, +And waits his coming at the well-known gate. +Nigh to the stairs' ascent, in regal port, +Sits a majestic dame, whose looks denounce +Command and sovereignty: with haughty air, +And studied mien, in semicircular throne +Enclos'd, she deals around her dread commands; +Behind her (dazzling sight!) in order rang'd, +Pile above pile, crystalline vessels shine: +Attendant slaves with eager strides advance, +And, after homage paid, bawl out aloud +Words unintelligible, noise confus'd: +She knows the jargon sounds, and straight describes, +In characters mysterious, words obscure: +More legible are algebraic signs, +Or mystic figures by magicians drawn, +When they invoke the infernal spirit's aid. + +Drive hence the rude and barbarous dissonance +Of savage Thracians and Croatian boors; +The loud Centaurian broils with Lapithae +Sound harsh, and grating to Lenaean god; +Chase brutal feuds of Belgian skippers hence +(Amid their cups whose innate temper's shown), +In clumsy fist wielding scymetrian knife, +Who slash each other's eyes, and blubber'd face, +Profaning Bacchanalian solemn rites: +Music's harmonious numbers better suit +His festivals, from instruments or voice, +Or Gasperani's hand the trembling string +Should touch; or from the dulcet Tuscan dames, +Or warbling Toft's far more melodious tongue, +Sweet symphonies should flow: the Delian god +For airy Bacchus is associate meet. + The stair's ascent now gain'd, our guide unbars +The door of spacious room, and creaking chairs +(To ear offensive) round the table sets. +We sit; when thus his florid speech begins: +"Name, sirs! the wine that most invites your taste; +Champaign, or Burgundy, or Florence pure, +Or Hock antique, or Lisbon new or old, +Bourdeaux, or neat French white, or Alicant." +For Bourdeaux we with voice unanimous +Declare, (such sympathy's in boon compeers). +He quits the room alert, but soon returns, +One hand capacious glistering vessels bears +Resplendent, the other, with a grasp secure, +A bottle (mighty charge!) upstaid, full fraught +With goodly wine. He, with extended hand +Rais'd high, pours forth the sanguine frothy juice, +O'erspread with bubbles, dissipated soon: +We straight to arms repair, experienc'd chiefs: +Now glasses clash with glasses (charming sound!) +And glorious Anna's health, the first, the best, +Crowns the full glass; at her inspiring name +The sprightly wine results, and seems to smile: +With hearty zeal and wish unanimous, +Her health we drink, and in her health our own. + +A pause ensues: and now with grateful chat +We improve the interval, and joyous mirth +Engages our rais'd souls; pat repartee, +Or witty joke, our airy senses moves +To pleasant laughter; straight the echoing room +With universal peals and shouts resounds. + +The royal Dane, blest consort of the Queen, +Next crowns the ruby'd nectar, all whose bliss +In Anna's plac'd: with sympathetic flame, +And mutual endearments, all her joys, +Like to the kind turtle's pure untainted love, +Center in him, who shares the grateful hearts +Of loyal subjects, with his sovereign queen; +For by his prudent care united shores +Were sav'd from hostile fleets' invasion dire. + +The hero Marlborough next, whose vast exploits +Fame's clarion sounds; fresh laurels, triumphs new +We wish, like those he won at Hockstet's field. + +Next Devonshire illustrious, who from race +Of noblest patriots sprang, whose worthy soul +Is with each fair and virtuous gift adorn'd, +That shone in his most worthy ancestors; +For then distinct in separate breasts were seen +Virtues distinct, but all in him unite. + +Prudent Godolphin, of the nation's weal +Frugal, but free and generous of his own. +Next crowns the bowl; with faithful Sunderland, +And Halifax, the Muses' darling son, +In whom conspicuous, with full luster, shine +The surest judgment and the brightest wit, +Himself Mecaenas and a Flaccus too; +And all the worthies of the British realm, +In order rang'd succeed; such healths as tinge +The dulcet wine with a more charming gust. + +Now each his mistress toasts, by whose bright eye +He's fired; Cosmelia fair, or Dulcibell, +Or Sylvia, comely black, with jetty eyes +Piercing, or airy Celia, sprightly maid!-- +Insensibly thus flow unnumber'd hours; +Glass succeeds glass, till the Dircean god +Shines in our eyes, and with his fulgent rays +Enlightens our glad looks with lovely dye; +All blithe and jolly, that like Arthur's knights +Of Rotund Table, fam'd in old records, +Now most we seem'd--such is the power of Wine. + +Thus we the winged hours in harmless mirth +And joys unsullied pass, till humid Night +Has half her race perform'd; now all abroad +Is hush'd and silent, nor the rumbling noise +Of coach, or cant, or smoky link-boy's call, +Is heard--but universal silence reigns; +When we in merry plight, airy and gay, +Surpris'd to find the hours so swiftly fly, +With hasty knock, or twang of pendant cord, +Alarm the drowsy youth from slumbering nod: +Startled he flies, and stumbles o'er the stairs +Erroneous, and with busy knuckles plies +His yet clung eyelids, and with staggering reel +Enters confus'd, and muttering asks our wills; +When we with liberal hand the score discharge, +And homeward each his course with steady step +Unerring steers, of cares and coin bereft. + + + + +ODE ON SCIENCE. + DEAN SWIFT. + +O, heavenly born! in deepest dells +If fairer science ever dwells + Beneath the mossy cave; +Indulge the verdure of the woods, +With azure beauty gild the floods, + And flowery carpets lave. + +For, Melancholy ever reigns +Delighted in the sylvan scenes + With scientific light +While Dian, huntress of the vales, +Seeks lulling sounds and fanning gales + Though wrapt from mortal sight + +Yet, goddess, yet the way explore +With magic rites and heathen lore + Obstructed and depress'd; +Till Wisdom give the sacred Nine, +Untaught, not uninspired, to shine + By Reason's power redress'd. + +When Solon and Lycurgus taught +To moralize the human thought + Of mad opinion's maze, +To erring zeal they gave new laws, +Thy charms, O Liberty, the cause, + That blends congenial rays. + +Bid bright Astraea gild the morn, +Or bid a hundred suns be born, + To hecatomb the year; +Without thy aid, in vain the poles, +In vain the zodiac system rolls, + In vain the lunar sphere. + +Come, fairest princess of the throng; +Bring sweet philosophy along, + In metaphysic dreams: +While raptured bards no more behold +A vernal age of purer gold, + In Heliconian streams. + +Drive thraldom with malignant hand, +To curse some other destined land. + By Folly led astray: +Ierne bear on azure wing; +Energic let her soar, and sing + Thy universal sway. + +So when Amphion bade the lyre +To more majestic sound aspire, + Behold the mad'ning throng, +In wonder and oblivion drowned, +To sculpture turned by magic sound, + And petrifying song. + + + +A LOVE SONG, +IN THE MODERN TASTE. + DEAN SWIFT. + +Fluttering spread thy purple pinions + Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart: +I a slave in thy dominions; + Nature must give way to art. + +Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, + Nightly nodding o'er your flocks, +See my weary days consuming + All beneath yon flowery rocks. + +Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping + Mourned Adonis, darling youth; +Him the boar, in silence creeping, + Gored with unrelenting tooth. + +Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers; + Fair Discretion, string the lyre: +Soothe my ever-waking slumbers: + Bright Apollo, lend thy choir. + +Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors, + Arm'd in adamantine chains, +Lead me to the crystal mirrors, + Watering soft Elysian plains. + +Mournful cypress, verdant willow, + Gilding my Aurelia's brows, +Morpheus, hovering o'er my pillow, + Hear me pay my dying vows. + +Melancholy smooth Meander, + Swiftly purling in a round, +On thy margin lovers wander, + With thy flowery chaplets crown'd. + +Thus when Philomela drooping, + Softly seeks her silent mate, +See the bird of Juno stooping; + Melody resigns to fate. + + + +BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. + +ON THE EVER-LAMENTED LOSS OF THE TWO YEW-TREES IN THE + PARISH OF CHILTHORNE, SOMERSET. IMITATED FROM THE EIGHTH + BOOK OF OVID. + DEAN SWIFT + + +In ancient time, as story tells, +The saints would often leave their cells, +And stroll about, but hide their quality, +To try good people's hospitality. + +It happen'd on a winter night, +As authors of the legend write, +Two brother hermits, saints by trade, +Taking their tour in masquerade, +Disguised in tatter'd habits, went +To a small village down in Kent; +Where, in the strollers' canting strain, +They begg'd from door to door in vain, +Tried every tone might pity win; +But not a soul would let them in. + +Our wandering saints, in woeful state, +Treated at this ungodly rate, +Having through all the village past, +To a small cottage came at last +Where dwelt a good old honest ye'man, +Call'd in the neighborhood Philemon; +Who kindly did these saints invite +In his poor hut to pass the night; +And then the hospitable sire +Bid Goody Baucis mend the fire; +While he from out the chimney took +A flitch of bacon off the hook, +And freely from the fattest side +Cut out large slices to be fried; +Then stepp'd aside to fetch them drink, +Fill'd a large jug up to the brink, +And saw it fairly twice go round; +Yet (what was wonderful) they found +'T was still replenish'd to the top, +As if they ne'er had touch'd a drop. +The good old couple were amazed, +And often on each other gazed; +For both were frighten'd to the heart, +And just began to cry, "What ar't!" +Then softly turn'd aside, to view +Whether the lights were burning blue +The gentle pilgrims, soon aware on't, +Told them their calling and their errand: +"Good folks, you need not be afraid, +We are but saints," the hermits said; +"No hurt shall come to you or yours: +But for that pack of churlish boors, +Not fit to live on Christian ground, +They and their houses shall be drown'd, +While you shall see your cottage rise, +And grow a church before your eyes." + +They scarce had spoke, when fair and soft, +The roof began to mount aloft; +Aloft rose every beam and rafter; +The heavy wall climb'd slowly after. + +The chimney widen'd, and grew higher, +Became a steeple with a spire. + +The kettle to the top was hoist, +And there stood fasten'd to a joist, +But with the upside down, to show +Its inclination for below: +In vain; for a superior force +Applied at bottom stops its course: +Doom'd ever in suspense to dwell, +'Tis now no kettle, but a bell. + +A wooden jack, which had almost +Lost by disuse the art to roast, +A sudden alteration feels, +Increased by new intestine wheels; +And, what exalts the wonder more, +The number made the motion slower. +The flier, though it had leaden feet, +Turn'd round so quick you scarce could see't; +But, slacken'd by some secret power, +Now hardly moves an inch an hour. +The jack and chimney, near allied, +Had never left each other's side; +The chimney to a steeple grown, +The jack would not be left alone; +But, up against the steeple rear'd, +Became a clock, and still adhered; +And still its love to household cares, +By a shrill voice at noon, declares, +Warning the cook-maid not to burn +That roast meat, which it can not turn. + +The groaning-chair began to crawl, +Like a huge snail, along the wall; +There stuck aloft in public view, +And with small change, a pulpit grew. + +The porringers, that in a row +Hung high, and made a glittering show, +To a less noble substance changed, +Were now but leathern buckets ranged. + +The ballads, pasted on the wall, +Of Joan of France, and English Moll +Fair Rosamond, and Robin Hood, +The little Children in the Wood, +Now seem'd to look abundance better, +Improved in picture, size, and letter: +And, high in order placed, describe +The heraldry of every tribe. + +A bedstead of the antique mode, +Compact of timber many a load, +Such as our ancestors did use, +Was metamorphosed into pews; +Which still their ancient nature keep +By lodging folks disposed to sleep. + +The cottage, by such feats as these, +Grown to a church by just degrees, +The hermits then desired their host +To ask for what he fancied most +Philemon, having paused a while, +Return'd them thanks in homely style; +Then said, "My house is grown so fine, +Methinks, I still would call it mine. +I'm old, and fain would live at ease; +Make me the parson if you please." + +He spoke, and presently he feels +His grazier's coat fall down his heels: +He sees, yet hardly can believe, +About each arm a pudding sleeve; +His waistcoat to a cassock grew, +And both assumed a sable hue; +But, being old, continued just +As threadbare, and as full of dust. +His talk was now of tithes and dues: +He smoked his pipe, and read the news; +Knew how to preach old sermons next, +Vamp'd in the preface and the text; +At christenings well could act his part, +And had the service all by heart; +Wish'd women might have children fast, +And thought whose sow had farrow'd last; +Against dissenters would repine, +And stood up firm for "right divine;" +Found his head fill'd with many a system; +But classic authors--he ne'er miss'd 'em. + +Thus having furbish'd up a parson, +Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on. +Instead of homespun coifs, were seen +Good pinners edged with colberteen; +Her petticoat transform'd apace, +Became black satin, flounced with lace. +"Plain Goody" would no longer down, +'T was "Madam," in her grogram gown. +Philemon was in great surprise, +And hardly could believe his eyes. +Amazed to see her look so prim, +And she admired as much at him. + +Thus happy in their change of life, +Were several years this man and wife: +When on a day, which proved their last, +Discoursing o'er old stories past, +They went by chance, amid their talk, +To the church-yard to take a walk; +When Baucis hastily cried out, +"My dear, I see your forehead sprout!"-- +"Sprout," quoth the man; "what's this you tell us? +I hope you don't believe me jealous! +But yet, methinks I feel it true, +And really yours is budding too-- +Nay--now I can not stir my foot; +It feels as if 't were taking root." + +Description would but tire my Muse, +In short, they both were turn'd to yews. +Old Goodman Dobson of the green +Remembers he the trees has seen; +He'll talk of them from noon till night, +And goes with folks to show the sight; +On Sundays, after evening prayer, +He gathers all the parish there; +Points out the place of either yew, +Here Baucis, there Philemon, grew: +Till once a parson of our town, +To mend his barn, cut Baucis down; +At which, 'tis hard to be believed +How much the other tree was grieved, +Grew scrubbed, died a-top, was stunted, +So the next parson stubb'd and burnt it. + + + + +A DESCRIPTION OF A CITY SHOWER + IN IMITATION OP VIRGIL'S GEORGICS. + DEAN SWIFT. + +Careful, observers may foretell the hour, +(By sure prognostics), when to dread a shower. +While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er +Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more. +Returning home at night, you'll find the sink +Strike your offended sense with double stink. +If you be wise, then, go not far to dine: +You'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine +A coming shower your shooting corns presage, +Old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage; +Sauntering in coffee-house is Dulman seen; +He damns the climate, and complains of spleen. +Meanwhile the South, rising with dabbled wings, +A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings, +That swill'd more liquor than it could contain, +And, like a drunkard, gives it up again. +Brisk Susan whips her linen from the rope, +While the first drizzling shower is borne aslope; +Such is that sprinkling which some careless quear. +Flirts on you from her mop, but not so clean: +You fly, invoke the gods; then, turning, stop +To rail; she singing, still whirls on her mop. +Not yet the dust had shunn'd the unequal strife, +But, aided by the wind, fought still for life, +And wafted with its foe by violent gust, +'T was doubtful which was rain, and which was dust. +Ah! where must needy poet seek for aid, +When dust and rain at once his coat invade? +Sole coat! where dust, cemented by the rain, +Erects the nap, and leaves a cloudy stain! +Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down, +Threatening with deluge this DEVOTED town. +To shops in crowds the daggled females fly, +Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy. +The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach. +Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach. +The tuck'd up sempstress walks with hasty strides, +While streams run down her oil'd umbrella's sides. +Here various kinds, by various fortunes led, +Commence acquaintance underneath a shed. +Triumphant Tories, and desponding Whigs, +Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs. +Box'd in a chair the beau impatient sits, +While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits, +And ever and anon with frightful din +The leather sounds; he trembles from within. +So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed, +Pregnant with Greeks impatient to be freed, +(Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do, +Instead of paying chairmen, ran them through), +Laocoon struck the outside with his spear, +And each imprison'd hero quaked for fear. + +Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow, +And bear their trophies with them as they go: +Filth of all hues and odor, seem to tell +What street they sail'd from by their sight and smell. +They, as each torrent drives with rapid force, +From Smithfield to St. Pulchre's shape their course, +And in huge confluence join'd at Snowhill ridge, +Fall from the conduit prone to Holborne bridge. +Sweeping from butchers' stalls, dung, guts, and blood; +Drown'd puppies, stinking sprats, all drench'd in mud, +Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down the flood. + + + + +THE PROGRESS OF CURIOSITY; + OR A ROYAL VISIT TO WHITBKEAD'S BREWERY. + PETER PINDAR. + + Sic transit gloria mundi!--Old Sun Dials. + + From House of Buckingham, in grand parade, + To Whitbread's Brewhouse, moved the cavalcade. + +THE ARGUMENT.--Peter's loyalty.--He suspecteth Mr. Warton [Footnote: +The Poet Laureate.] of joking.--Complimenteth the poet Laureate.-- +Peter differeth in opinion from Mr. Warton.--Taketh up the cudgels for +King Edward, King Harry V., and Queen Bess.--Feats on Blackheath and +Wimbledon performed by our most gracious sovereign.--King Charles the +Second half damned by Peter, yet praised for keeping company with +gentlemen.--Peter praiseth himself.--Peter reproved by Mr. +Warton.--Desireth Mr. Warton's prayers.--A fine simile.--Peter still +suspecteth the Laureate of ironical dealings.--Peter expostulateth +with Mr. Warton.--Mr. Warton replieth.--Peter administereth bold +advice.--Wittily calleth death and physicians poachers.--Praiseth the +king for parental tenderness.--Peter maketh a natural simile.--Peter +furthermore telleth Thomas Warton what to say.--Peter giveth a +beautiful example of ode-writing. + +THE CONTENTS OF THE ODE.--His Majesty's [Footnote: George III.] love +for the arts and sciences, even in quadrupeds.--His resolution to know +the history of brewing beer.--Billy Ramus sent ambassador to Chiswell +street.--Interview between Messrs. Ramus and Whitbread.--Mr. +Whitbread's bow, and compliments to Majesty.--Mr. Ramus's return from +his embassy.--Mr. Whitbread's terrors described to Majesty by Mr. +Ramus.--The King's pleasure thereat.--Description of people of +worship.--Account of the Whitbread preparation.--The royal cavalcade +to Chiswell-street.--The arrival at the brewhouse.--Great joy of Mr. +Whitbread.--His Majesty's nod, the Queen's dip, and a number of +questions.--A West India simile.--The marvelings of the draymen +described.--His Majesty peepeth into a pump.--Beautifully compared to +a magpie peeping into a marrow-bone.--The MINUTE curiosity of the +King.--Mr. Whitbread endeavoreth to surprise Majesty.--His Majesty +puzzleth Mr. Whitbread.--Mr. Whitbread's horse espresseth +wonder.--Also Mr. Whitbread's dog.--His Majesty maketh laudable +inquiry about Porter.--Again puzzleth Mr. Whitbread.--King noteth +NOTABLE things.--Profound questions proposed by Majesty.--As +profoundly answered by Mr. Whitbread.--Majesty in a +mistake.--Corrected by the brewer.--A nose simile.--Majesty's +admiration of the bell.--Good manners of the bell.--Fine appearance of +Mr. Whitbread's pigs.--Majesty proposeth questions, but benevolently +waiteth not for answers.--Peter telleth the duty of Kings.-- +Discovereth one of his shrewd maxims.--Sublime sympathy of a water- +spout and a king.--The great use of asking questions.--The habitation +of truth.--The collation.--The wonders performed by the Royal +Visitors.--Majesty proposeth to take leave.--Offereth knighthood to +Whitbread.--Mr. Whitbread's objections.--The king runneth a rig on his +host.--Mr. Whitbread thanketh Majesty.--Miss Whitbread curtsieth.--The +queen dippeth.--The Cavalcade departeth. + +Peter triumpheth.--Admonisheth the Laureate.--Peter croweth over the +Laureate.--Discovereth deep knowledge of kings, and surgeons, and men +who have lost their legs.--Peter reasoneth.--Vaunteth.--Even insulteth +the Laureate.--Peter proclaimeth his peaceable disposition.--Praiseth +Majesty, and concludeth with a prayer for curious kings. + +Tom, soon as e'er thou strik'st thy golden lyre, +Thy brother Peter's muse is all on fire, + To sing of kings and queens, and such rare folk +Yet, 'midst thy heap of compliments so fine, +Say, may we venture to believe a line? + You Oxford wits most dearly love a joke. + +Son of the Nine, thou writest well on naught; +Thy thundering stanza, and its pompous thought, + I think, must put a dog into a laugh: +Edward and Harry were much braver men +Than this new-christened hero of thy pen. + Yes, laurelled Odeman, braver far by half; + +Though on Blackheath and Wimbledon's wide plain, +George keeps his hat off in a shower of rain; +Sees swords and bayonets without a dread, +Nor at a volley winks, nor ducks his head: + + Although at grand reviews he seems so blest, + And leaves at six o'clock his downy nest, +Dead to the charms of blanket, wife, and bolster; + Unlike his officers, who, fond of cramming, + And at reviews afraid of thirst and famine, +With bread and cheese and brandy fill their holsters. + + Sure, Tom, we should do justice to Queen Bess: + His present majesty, whom Heaven long bless +With wisdom, wit, and art of choicest quality, + Will never get, I fear, so fine a niche + As that old queen, though often called old b--ch, +In fame's colossal house of immortality. + + As for John Dryden's Charles--that king + Indeed was never any mighty thing; +He merited few honors from the pen: + And yet he was a devilish hearty fellow, + Enjoyed his beef, and bottle, and got mellow, +And mind--kept company with GENTLEMEN: + + For, like some kings, in hobby grooms, + Knights of the manger, curry-combs, and brooms, +Lost to all glory, Charles did not delight-- + Nor joked by day with pages, servant-maids, + Large, red-polled, blowzy, hard two-handed jades: +Indeed I know not what Charles did by night. + + Thomas, I AM of CANDOR a GREAT lover; + In short, I'm candor's self all over; +Sweet as a candied cake from top to toe; + Make it a rule that Virtue shall be praised, + And humble Merit from the ground be raised: +What thinkest thou of Peter now? + + Thou cryest "Oh! how false! behold thy king, + Of whom thou scarcely say'st a handsome thing; +That king has virtues that should make thee stare." + Is it so?--Then the sin's in me-- + 'Tis my vile optics that can't see; +Then pray for them when next thou sayest a prayer. + +But, p'rhaps aloft on his imperial throne, +So distant, O ye gods! from every one, +The royal virtues are like many a star, +From this our pigmy system rather far: +Whose light, though flying ever since creation, +Has not yet pitched upon our nation. +[Footnote: Such was the sublime opinion of the Dutch astronomer, +Huygens] + +Then may the royal ray be soon explored-- + And Thomas, if thou'lt swear thou art not humming, +I'll take my spying-glass and bring thee word + The instant I behold it coming. +But, Thomas Warton, without joking, +Art thou, or art thou not, thy sovereign smoking? + +How canst thou seriously declare, + That George the Third +With Cressy's Edward can compare, + Or Harry?--'Tis too bad, upon my word: +George is a clever king, I needs must own, +And cuts a jolly figure on the throne. + +Now thou exclaim'st, "God rot it! Peter, pray +What to the devil shall I sing or say?" + +I'll tell thee what to say, O tuneful Tom: +Sing how a monarch, when his son was dying, + His gracious eyes and ears was edifying, +By abbey company and kettle drum: +Leaving that son to death and the physician, +Between two fires-a forlorn-hope condition; +Two poachers, who make man their game, +And, special marksmen! seldom miss their aim. + +Say, though the monarch did not see his son, + He kept aloof through fatherly affection; +Determined nothing should be done, + To bring on useless tears, and dismal recollection. +For what can tears avail, and piteous sighs? +Death heeds not howls nor dripping eyes; +And what are sighs and tears but wind and water, +That show the leakiness of feeble nature? + +Tom, with my simile thou wilt not quarrel; + Like air and any sort of drink, + Whizzing and oozing through each chink, +That proves the weakness of the barrel. + +Say--for the prince, when wet was every eye, +And thousands poured to heaven the pitying sigh Devout; +Say how a King, unable to dissemble, +Ordered Dame Siddons to his house, and Kemble, To spout: + +Gave them ice creams and wines, so dear! +Denied till then a thimble full of beer; +For which they've thanked the author of this meter, +Videlicet, the moral mender, Peter +Who, in his Ode on Ode, did dare exclaim, +And call such royal avarice, a shame. + +Say--but I'll teach thee how to make an ode; +Thus shall thy labors visit fame's abode, +In company with my immortal lay; +And look, Tom--thus I fire away-- + + +BIRTH-DAY ODE. + +This day, this very day, gave birth, +Not to the brightest monarch upon earth, +Because there are some brighter and as big; + Who love the arts that man exalt to heaven, + George loves them also, when they're given +To four-legged Gentry, christened dog and pig.* +Whose deeds in this our wonder-hunting nation +Prove what a charming thing is education. +*[Footnote: The dancing dogs and wise pig have formed a considerable +part of the royal amusement.] + +Full of the art of brewing beer, + The monarch heard of Mr. Whitbread's fame: +Quoth he unto the queen "My dear, my dear, + Whitbread hath got a marvelous great name; +Charly, we must, must, must see Whitbread brew-- +Rich as us, Charly, richer than a Jew: +Shame, shame, we have not yet his brewhouse seen!" +Thus sweetly said the king unto the queen! + +Red-hot with novelty's delightful rage, +To Mr. Whitbread forth he sent a page, + To say that majesty proposed to view, +With thirst of wondrous knowledge deep inflamed, +His vats, and tubs, and hops, and hogsheads famed, + And learn the noble secret how to brew. + +Of such undreamt-of honor proud, +Meet reverently the brewer bowed; +So humbly (so the humble story goes,) +He touched even terra firma with his nose; + +Then said unto the page, hight Billy Ramus, +"Happy are we that our great king should name us, +As worthy unto majesty to show, +How we poor Chiswell people brew." + +Away sprung Billy Ramus quick as thought, +To majesty tha welcome tidings brought, + How Whitbread, staring, stood like any stake, +And trembled--then the civil things he said-- +On which the king did smile and nod his head: + For monarchs like to see their subjects quake: + +Such horrors unto kings most pleasant are, + Proclaiming reverence and humility: +High thoughts, too, all those shaking fits declare + Of kingly grandeur and great capability! + +People of worship, wealth, and birth, +Look on the humbler sons of earth, + Indeed in a most humble light, God knows! +High stations are like Dover's towering cliffs, +Where ships below appear like little skiffs, + While people walking on the strand like crows. + +Muse, sing the stir that Mr. Whitbread made; +Poor gentleman! most terribly afraid + He should not charm enough his guests divine: +He gave his maids new aprons, gowns and smocks; +And lo! two hundred pounds were spent in frocks, + To make the apprentices and draymen fine: + +Busy as horses in a field of clover, +Dogs, cats, and chairs, and stools, were tumbled over, +Amid the Whitbread rout of preparation, +To treat the lofty ruler of the nation. + +Now moved king, queen, and princesses so grand, +To visit the first brewer in the land; +Who sometimes swills his beer and grinds his meat +In a snug corner christened Chiswell-street; +But oftener charmed with fashionable air, +Amid the gaudy great of Portman-square. + +Lord Aylesbury, and Denbigh's Lord ALSO, + His grace the Duke of Montague LIKEWISE. +With Lady Harcourt joined the raree-show, + And fixed all Smithfield's marveling eyes: +For lo! a greater show ne'er graced those quarters, +Since Mary roasted, just like crabs, the martyrs. + +Arrived, the king broad grinned, and gave a nod +To smiling Whitbread, who, had God + Come with his angels to behold his beer, +With more respect he never could have met-- +Indeed the man was in a sweat, + So much the brewer did the king revere. + +Her majesty contrived to make a dip: +Light as a feather then the king did skip, +And asked a thousand questions, with a laugh, +Before poor Whitbread comprehended half. + +Reader, my Ode should have a simile-- +Well, in Jamaica, on a tamarind tree, + Five hundred parrots, gabbling just like Jews, +I've seen--such noise the feathered imps did make, +As made my very pericranium ache-- + Asking and telling parrot news: + +Thus was the brewhouse filled with gabbling noise, +Whilst draymen and the brewer's boys, + Devoured the questions that the king did ask: +In different parties were they staring seen, +Wondering to think they saw a king and queen! + Behind a tub were some, and some behind a cask. + +Some draymen forced themselves (a pretty luncheon) +Into the mouth of many a gaping puncheon; +And through the bung-hole winked with curious eye, + To view, and be assured what sort of things + Were princesses, and queens, and kings, +For whose most lofty station thousands sigh! +And lo! of all the gaping puncheon clan, +Few were the mouths that had not got a man! +Now majesty into a pump so deep +Did with an opera-glass so curious peep: +Examining with care each wondrous matter + That brought up water! + +Thus have I seen a magpie in the street, +A chattering bird we often meet, +A bird for curiosity well known; + With head awry, + And cunning eye, +Peep knowingly into a marrow-bone. + +And now his curious majesty did stoop +To count the nails on every hoop; +And, lo! no single thing came in his way, +That, full of deep research, he did not say, +"What's this! hae, hae? what's that? what's this? what's that?" +So quick the words, too, when he deigned to speak, +As if each syllable would break his neck. + +Thus, to the world of GREAT whilst others crawl, +Our sovereign peeps into the world of SMALL; +Thus microscopic genuises explore + Things that too oft provoke the public scorn, +Yet swell of useful knowledges the store, + By finding systems in a pepper-corn. + +Now boasting Whitbread serious did declare, +To make the majesty of England stare, +That he had butts enough, he knew, +Placed side by side, to reach along to Kew: +On which the king with wonder swiftly cried, +"What, if they reach to Kew then, side by side, + What would they do, what, what, placed end to end?" +To whom with knitted, calculating brow, +The man of beer most solemnly did vow, + Almost to Windsor that they would extend; +On which the king, with wondering mien, +Repeated it unto the wondering queen: +On which, quick turning round his haltered head, +The brewer's horse, with face astonished neighed; +The brewer's dog too poured a note of thunder, +Rattled his chain, and wagged his tail for wonder. + +Now did the king for other beers inquire, +For Calvert's, Jordan's, Thrale's entire +And, after talking of these different beers, +Asked Whitbread if his porter equalled theirs? + +This was a puzzling, disagreeing question; +Grating like arsenic on his host's digestion: +A kind of question to the man of cask, +That not even Solomon himself would ask. + +Now majesty, alive to knowledge, took +A very pretty memorandum-book, +With gilded leaves of asses' skin so white, +And in it legibly began to write-- + + MEMORANDUM. +A charming place beneath the grates +For roasting chestnuts or potates. + + MEM. +'Tis hops that give a bitterness to beer-- +Hops grow in Kent, says Whitbread, and elsewhere. + + QUOERE. +Is there no cheaper stuff? where doth it dwell? +Would not horse-aloes bitter it as well? + + MEM. +To try it soon on our small beer-- +'Twill save us several pound a year. + + MEM. +To remember to forget to ask + Old Whitbread to my house one day + + MEM. +Not to forget to take of beer the cask, + The brewer offered me, away. + +Now having penciled his remarks so shrewd, + Sharp as the point indeed of a new pin, +His majesty his watch most sagely viewed, + And then put up his asses' skin. + +To Whitbread now deigned majesty to say, +"Whitbread, are all your horses fond of hay!" +"Yes, please your majesty," in humble notes, +The brewer answered--"also, sir, of oats: +Another thing my horses too maintains, +And that, an't please your majesty, are grains." + +"Grains, grains," said majesty, "to fill their crops? +Grains, grains?--that comes from hops--yes, hops, hops? + hops?" + +Here was the king, like hounds sometimes, at fault-- + "Sire," cried the humble brewer, "give me leave + Your sacred majesty to undeceive; +Grains, sire, are never made from hops, but malt." + +"True," said the cautious monarch, with a smile: +"From malt, malt, malt--I meant malt all the while." +"Yes," with the sweetest bow, rejoined the brewer, +"An't please your majesty, you did, I'm sure." +"Yes," answered majesty, with quick reply, +"I did, I did, I did I, I, I, I." + +Now this was wise in Whitbread--here we find +A very pretty knowledge of mankind; +As monarchs never must be in the wrong, +'Twas really a bright thought in Whitbread's tongue, +To tell a little fib, or some such thing, +To save the sinking credit of a king. +Some brewers, in a rage of information, +Proud to instruct the ruler of a nation, + Had on the folly dwelt, to seem damned clever! +Now, what had been the consequence? Too plain! +The man had cut his consequence in twain; + The king had hated the WISE fool forever! + +Reader, whene'er thou dost espy a nose +That bright with many a ruby glows, +That nose thou mayest pronounce, nay safely swear, +Is nursed on something better than small-beer. + +Thus when thou findest kings in brewing wise, + Or natural history holding lofty station, +Thou mayest conclude, with marveling eyes, + Such kings have had a goodly education. + +Now did the king admire the bell so fine, +That daily asks the draymen all to dine: +On which the bell rung out (how very proper!) +To show it was a bell, and had a clapper. + +And now before their sovereign's curious eye, + Parents and children, fine, fat, hopeful sprigs, +All snuffling, squinting, grunting in their style, + Appeared the brewer's tribe of handsome pigs: +On which the observant man, who fills a throne, +Declared the pigs were vastly like his own: + +On which, the brewer, swallowed up in joys, +Tears and astonishment in both his eyes, +His soul brim full of sentiments so loyal, + Exclaimed, "O heavens! and can my swine + Be deemed by majesty so fine! +Heavens! can my pigs compare, sire, with pigs royal?" +To which the king assented with a nod; +On which the brewer bowed, and said, "Good God!" +Then winked significant on Miss; +Significant of wonder and of bliss; + Who, bridling in her chin divine, +Crossed her fair hands, a dear old maid, +And then her lowest courtesy made + For such high honor done her father's swine. + +Now did his majesty so gracious say +To Mr. Whitbread, in his flying way, + "Whitbread, d'ye nick the excisemen now and then? +Hae, Whitbread, when d'ye think to leave off trade? +Hae? what? Miss Whitbread's still a maid, a maid? + What, what's the matter with the men? + +"D'ye hunt!--hae, hunt? No, no, you are too old-- + You'll be lord mayor--lord mayor one day-- +Yes, yes, I've heard so--yes, yes, so I'm told: + Don't, don't the fine for sheriff pay? +I'll prick you every year, man, I declare: +Yes, Whitbread-yes, yes-you shall be lord mayor. + +"Whitbread, d'ye keep a coach, or job one, pray? + Job, job, that's cheapest; yes, that's best, that's best +You put your liveries on the draymen-hee? +Hae, Whitbread? you have feather'd well your nest. +What, what's the price now, hee, of all your stock? +But, Whitbread, what's o'clock, pray, what's o'clock?" + +Now Whitbread inward said, "May I be cursed +If I know what to answer first;" + Then searched his brains with ruminating eye: +But e'er the man of malt an answer found, +Quick on his heel, lo, majesty turned round, + Skipped off, and baulked the pleasure of reply. + +Kings in inquisitiveness should be strong- + From curiosity doth wisdom flow: +For 'tis a maxim I've adopted long, + The more a man inquires, the more he'll know. + +Reader, didst ever see a water-spout? + 'Tis possible that thou wilt answer, "No." +Well then! he makes a most infernal rout; + Sucks, like an elephant, the waves below, +With huge proboscis reaching from the sky, +As if he meant to drink the ocean dry: +At length so full he can't hold one drop more-. +He bursts-down rush the waters with a roar +On some poor boat, or sloop, or brig, or ship, +And almost sinks the wand'rer of the deep: +Thus have I seen a monarch at reviews, +Suck from the tribe of officers the news, +Then bear in triumph off each WONDROUS matter, +And souse it on the queen with such a clatter! + +I always would advise folks to ask questions; + For, truly, questions are the keys of knowledge: +Soldiers, who forage for the mind's digestions, + Cut figures at the Old Bailey, and at college; +Make chancellors, chief justices, and judges, +Even of the lowest green-bag drudges. + +The sages say, Dame Truth delights to dwell, +Strange mansion! in the bottom of a well, +Questions are then the windlass and the rope +That pull the grave old gentlewoman up: +Damn jokes then, and unmannerly suggestions, +Reflecting upon kings for asking questions. + +Now having well employed his royal lungs +On nails, hoops, staves, pumps, barrels, and their bungs, +The king and Co. sat down to a collation +Of flesh and fish, and fowl of every nation. +Dire was the clang of plates, of knife and fork, +That merciless fell like tomahawks to work, +And fearless scalped the fowl, the fish, and cattle, +While Whitbread, in the rear, beheld the battle. + +The conquering monarch, stopping to take breath +Amidst the regiments of death, + Now turned to Whitbread with complacence round, +And, merry, thus addressed the man of beer +"Whitbread, is't true? I hear, I hear, + You're of an ancient family--renowned-- +What? what? I'm told that you're a limb +Of Pym, the famous fellow Pym: +What Whitbread, is it true what people say? +Son of a round-head are you? hae? hae? hae? +I'm told that you send Bibles to your votes-- + A snuffling round-headed society-- +Prayer-books instead of cash to buy them coats-- + Bunyans, and Practices of Piety: +Your Bedford votes would wish to change their fare-- +Rather see cash--yes, yes--than books of prayer. +Thirtieth of January don't you FEED? +Yes, yes, you eat calf's head, you eat calf's head." + +Now having wonders done on flesh, fowl, fish, + Whole hosts o'erturned--and seized on all supplies; +The royal visitors expressed a wish + To turn to House of Buckingham their eyes. + +But first the monarch, so polite, +Asked Mr. Whitbread if he'd be a KNIGHT. + Unwilling in the list to be enrolled, +Whitbread contemplated the knights of Peg, +Then to his generous sovereign made a leg, + And said, "He was afraid he was too old. +He thanked however his most gracious king, +For offering to make him SUCH A THING." +But, ah! a different reason 'twas I fear! +It was not age that bade the man of beer + The proffered honor of the monarch shun: +The tale of Margaret's knife, and royal fright, +Had almost made him damn the NAME of knight, + A tale that farrowed such a world of fun. + +He mocked the prayer too by the king appointed, +Even by himself the Lord's Anointed:-- +A foe to FAST too, is he, let me tell ye; + And though a Presbyterian, can not think + Heaven (quarrelling with meat and drink) +Joys in the grumble of a hungry belly! + +Now from the table with Caesarean air + Up rose the monarch with his laureled brow, +When Mr. Whitbread, waiting on his chair, +Expressed much thanks, much joy, and made a bow. +Miss Whitbread now so quick her curtsies drops, +Thick as her honored father's Kentish hops; +Which hop-like curtsies were returned by dips +That never hurt the royal knees and hips; + For hips and knees of queens are sacred things, +That only bend on gala days + Before the best of kings, +When odes of triumph sound his praise.-- + +Now through a thundering peal of kind huzzas, +Proceeding some from hired* and unhired jaws, + The raree-show thought proper to retire; +Whilst Whitbread and his daughter fair +Surveyed all Chiswell-street with lofty air, + For, lo! they felt themselves some six feet higher +*[Footnote: When his majesty goes to a play-house, or brew-house, or +parliament, the Lord Chamberlain provides some pounds' worth of mob to +huzza their beloved monarch. At the play-house about forty wide- +mouthed fellows are hired on the night of their majesties' appearance, +at two shillings and sixpence per head, with the liberty of seeing the +play GRATIS. These STENTORS are placed in different parts of the +theater, who, immediately on the royal entry into the stage-box, set +up [illeg.] of loyalty; to whom their majesties, with sweetest smiles, +acknowledge the obligation by a genteel bow, and an elegant curtesy. +This congratulatory noise of the Stentors is looked on by many, +particularly country ladies and gentlemen, as an infallible +thermometer, that ascertains the warmth of the national regard--P. P.] + +Such, Thomas, is the way to write! +Thus shouldst thou birth-day songs indite; +Then stick to earth, and leave the lofty sky: +No more of ti tum tum, and ti tum ti. + +Thus should an honest laureate write of kings-- +Not praise them for IMAGINARY THINGS; +I own I can not make my stubborn rhyme +Call every king a character sublime; +For conscience will not suffer me to wander +So very widely from the paths of candor. +I know full well SOME kings are to be seen, +To whom my verse so bold would give the spleen, + Should that bold verse declare they wanted BRAINS +I won't say that they NEVER brains possessed-- +They MAY have been with such a present blessed, + And therefore fancy that some STILL remains; + +For every well-experienced surgeon knows, + That men who with their legs have parted, +Swear that they've felt a pain in all their TOES, + And often at the twinges started; +They stared upon their oaken stumps in vain! +Fancying the toes were all come back again. + +If men, then, who their absent toes have mourned, +Can fancy those same toes at times returned; +So kings, in matters of intelligences, +May fancy they have stumbled on their senses. +Yes, Tom--mine is the way of writing ode-- +Why liftest thou thy pious eyes to God! + +Strange disappointment in thy looks I read; + And now I hear thee in proud triumph cry, +"Is this an action, Peter, this a deed + To raise a monarch to the sky? +Tubs, porter, pumps, vats, all the Whitbread throng, +Rare things to figure in the Muse's song!" + +Thomas, I here protest, I want no quarrels +On kings and brewers, porter, pumps, and barrels-- + Far from the dove-like Peter be such strife, +But this I tell thee, Thomas, for a fact-- + Thy Caesar never did an act + More wise, more glorious in his life. + +Now God preserve all wonder-hunting kings, + Whether at Windsor, Buckingham, or Kew-house: +And may they never do more foolish things + Than visiting Sam Whitbread and his brewhouse. + + + +THE AUTHOR AND THE STATESMAN +[ADDRESSED BY FIELDING TO SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.] + + While at the helm of state you ride, +Our nation's envy, and its pride; +While foreign courts with wonder gaze, +And curse those councils which they praise; +Would you not wonder, sir, to view +Your bard a greater man than you? +Which that he is you can not doubt, +When you have read the sequel out. + You know, great sir, that ancient fellows, +Philosophers, and such folks, tell us, +No great analogy between +Greatness and happiness is seen. +If then, as it might follow straight, +WRETCHED to be, is to be GREAT; +Forbid it, gods, that you should try +What'tis to be so great as I! + + The family that dines the latest, +Is in our street esteem'd the greatest; +But latest hours must surely fall +'Fore him who never dines at all. + + Your taste in architect, you know, +Hath been admired by friend and foe: +But can your earthly domes compare +With all my castles--in the air? + + We're often taught it doth behoove as +To think those greater who're above us; +Another instance of my glory, +Who live above you, twice two story; +And from my garret can look down +On the whole street of ARLINGTON. + + Greatness by poets still is painted +With many followers acquainted: +This too doth in my favor speak; +YOUR levee is but twice a week; +From mine I can exclude but one day, +My door is quiet on a Sunday. + + Nor in the manner of attendance, +Doth your great bard claim less ascendance +Familiar you to admiration +May be approached by all the nation; +While I, like the Mogul in INDO, +Am never seen but at my window. +If with my greatness you're offended, +The fault is easily amended; +For I'll come down, with wondrous ease, +Into whatever PLACE you please. +I'm not ambitious; little matters +Will serve us great, but humble creatures. + + Suppose a secretary o' this isle, +Just to be doing with a while; +Admiral, gen'ral, judge, or bishop: +Or I can foreign treaties dish up. +If the good genius of the nation +Should call me to negotiation, +Tuscan and French are in my head, +LATIN I write, and GREEK--I read. + + If you should ask, what pleases best? +To get the most, and do the least. +What fittest for?--You know, I'm sure; +I'm fittest for--a SINE-CURE. + + + +THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE GRINDER. +[Footnote: Some stanzas of the original poem, by Southey, are here +subjoined:] + + ANTI-JACOBIN. +FRIEND OF HUMANITY. +[Footnote: The "Friend of Humanity" was intended for Mr. Tierney, M.P. +for Southwark, who in early times was among the more forward of the +Reformers. "He was," says Lord Brougham, "an assiduous member of the +Society of Friends of the People, and drew up the much and justly +celebrated Petition in which that useful body laid before the House of +Commons all the more striking particulars of its defective title to +the office of representing the people, which that House then, as now, +but with far less reason, assumed.] + +"Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going? +Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order-- +Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in't, + So have your breeches!" + +THE WIDOW. + +SAPPHIOS + +Cold was the night wind; drifting fast the snows fell: +Wide were the downs, and shelterless and naked; +When a poor wand'rer struggled on her journey, + Weary and way-sore. + +Drear were the downs, more dreary her reflections; +Cold was the night wind, colder was her bosom: +She had no home, the world was all before her. + She had no shelter. + +Fast o'er the heath a chariot rattled by her: +"Pity me!" feebly cried the poor night wanderer, +"Pity me, strangers! lest with cold and hunger + Here I should perish." + +"Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones, +Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike- +road, what hard work 'tis crying all day 'Knives and + "'Scissors to grind O!' + +Tell me, Knife-grinder, how came you to grind knives? +Did some rich man +tyrannically use you? +Was it the squire? or parson of the parish? + Or the attorney? + +"Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or +Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining? +Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little + All in a lawsuit? + +"(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?)Drops of +compassion tremble on my eyelids, +Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your + Pitiful story." + + KNIFE-GRINDER. + +"Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir, +Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers, +This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were + Torn in a scuffle. + +"Constables came up, for to take me into +Custody; they took me before the justice; +Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-- + Stocks for a vagrant. + +"I should be glad to drink your Honor's health in +A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence; +But for my part, I never love to meddle + With politics, sir." + + FRIEND OF HUMANITY. + +"I give thee sixpence! I will see thee damned first-- +Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance-- +Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, + Spiritless outcast!" + +[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport +of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.] + + + + +INSCRIPTION + +FOR THE DOOR OF THE CELL IN NEWGATE, WHERE MRS. BROWNRIGG, THE +'PRENTICE-CIDE WAS CONFINED PREVIOUS TO HER EXECUTION.* + FROM THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 1797 + +For one long term, or e'er her trial came, +Here BROWNRIGG linger'd. Often have these cells +Echoed her blasphemies, as with shrill voice +She screamed for fresh Geneva. Not to her +Did the blithe fields of Tothill, or thy street, +St. Giles, its fair varieties expand; +Till at the last, in slow-drawn cart she went +To execution. Dost thou ask her crime? +SHE WHIPP'D TWO FEMALE 'PRENTICES TO DEATH, +AND HID THEM IN THE COAL-HOLE. For her mind +Shaped strictest plans of discipline. Sage schemes! +Such as Lycurgus taught, when at the shrine +Of the Orthyan goddess he bade flog +The little Spartans; such as erst chastised +Our Milton, when at college. For this act +Did Brownrigg swing. Harsh laws! But time shall come +When France shall reign, and laws be all repeal'd! + +*INSCRIPTION BY SOUTHEY + +FOR THE APARTMENT IN CHEPSTOW CASTLE, WHERE HENRY MARTEN, THE REGICIDE +WAS IMPRISONED THIRTY YEARS. + +For thirty years, secluded from mankind, +Here MARTEN lingered. Often have these walls +Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread +He paced around his prison: not to him +Did Nature's fair varieties exist; +He never saw the sun's delightful beams, +Save when through yon high bars he pour'd a sad +And broken splendor. Dost thou ask his crime? +He had REBELL'D AGAINST THE KING, AND SAT +In JUDGMENT ON HIM; for his ardent mind +Shaped goodliest plans of happiness on earth, +And peace and liberty. Wild dreams! but such +As Plato loved; such as with holy zeal +Our Milton worship'd. Bless'd hopes! awhile +From man withheld, even to the latter days +When Christ shall come, and all things be fulfill'd. + + + + +SONG +[Footnote: There is a curious circumstance connected with the +composition of this song, the first five stanzas of which were written +by Mr. Canning. Having been accidentally seen, previous to its +publication, by Mr. Pitt, who was cognizant of the proceedings of the +"Anti-Jacobin" writers, he was so amused with it that he took up a pen +and composed the last stanza on the spot.] + +SUNG BY ROGERO IN THE BURLESQUE PLAY OF "THE ROVER." +FROM THE ANTI-JACOBIN, 1798. + CANNING. +I. + +Whene'er with haggard eyes I view + This dungeon that I'm rotting in, +I think of those companions true + Who studied with me at the U + --niversity of Gottingen-- + --niversity of Gottingen. +[Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with which he wipes his +eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds--] + +II. +Sweet kerchief, check'd with heavenly blue, + Which once my love sat knotting in!-- +Alas! Matilda THEN was true! + At least I thought so at the U-- + --niversity of Gottingen-- + --niversity of Gottingen. +[At the repetition of this line ROGERO clanks his chains in cadence.] + +III. +Barbs! Barbs! alas! how swift you flew + Her neat post-wagon trotting in! +Ye bore Matilda from my view; + Forlorn I languish'd at the U-- + --niversity of Gottingen-- + --niversity of Gottingen. + +IV. +This faded form! this pallid hue! + This blood my veins is clotting in, +My years are many--they were few + When first I entered at the U-- + --niversity of Gottingen-- + --niversity of Gottingen. + +V. +There first for thee my psssion grew, + Sweet! sweet Matilda Pottingen! +Thou wast the daughter of my tu-- + --tor, law professor at the U-- + --niversity at Gottingen-- + --niversity of Gottingen. + +VI. +Sun, moon and thou, vain world, adieu, + That kings and priests are plotting in; +Here doom'd to starve on water gru-- + --el, never shall I see the U-- + --niversity of Gottingen-- + --niversity of Gottingen. + +[During the last stanza ROGERO dashes his head repeatedly against the +walls of his prison; and, finally, so hard as to produce a visible +contusion; he then throws himself on the floor in an agony. The +curtain drops; the music still continuing to play till it is wholly +fallen.] + + + +THE AMATORY SONNETS OF ABEL SHUFFLEBOTTOM. + ROBERT SOUTHEY. + +I. + +DELIA AT PLAY. + +She held a CUP AND BALL of ivory white, +LESS WHITE the ivory than her snowy hand! +Enrapt, I watched her from my secret stand, +As now, intent, in INNOCENT delight, +Her taper fingers twirled the giddy ball, +Now tost it, following still with EAGLE SIGHT, +Now on the pointed end INFIXED its fall. +Marking her sport I mused, and musing sighed. +Methought the BALL she played with was my HEART; +(Alas! that sport like THAT should be her pride!) +And the KEEN POINT which steadfast still she eyed +Wherewith to pierce it, that was Cupid's DART; +Shall I not then the cruel Fair condemn +Who ON THAT DART IMPALES my BOSOM'S GEM? + +II. + +THE POET PROVES THE EXISTENCE OF A SOUL FROM HIS LOVE FOR DELIA. + +Some have denied a soul! THEY NEVER LOVED. +Far from my Delia now by fate removed, +At home, abroad, I view her everywhere: +HER ONLY in the FLOOD OF NOON I see, +My GODDESS-MAID, my OMNIPRESENT FAIR. +FOR LOVE ANNIHILATES THE WORLD TO ME! +And when the weary SOL AROUND HIS BED +CLOSES THE SABLE CURTAINS OF THE NIGHT, +SUN OF MY SLUMBERS, on my dazzled sight +She shines confest. When EVERY SOUND IS DEAD, +The SPIRIT OF HER VOICE comes then to ROLL +The surge of music o'er my wavy brain. +Far, far from her my BODY drags its chain, +But sure with Delia I EXIST A SOUL! + +III. + +THE POET EXPRESSES HIS FEELINGS RESPECTING A PORTRAIT IN DELIA'S +PARLOR. + +I would I were that portly gentleman +With gold-laced hat and golden-headed cane, +Who hangs in Delia's parlor! For whene'er +From book or needlework her looks arise, +On him CONVERGE THE SUN-BEAMS OF HER EYES, +And he UNBLAMED may gaze upon MY FAIR, +And oft MY FAIR his FAVORED form surveys. +O HAPPY PICTURE! still on HER to gaze; +I envy him! and jealous fear alarms, +Lest the STRONG GLANCE of those DIVINEST charms +WARM HIM TO LIFE, as in the ancient days, +When MARBLE MELTED in Pygmalion's arms. +I would I were that portly gentleman, +With gold-laced hat and golden-headed cane! + + + + +THE LOVE ELEGIES OF ABEL SHUFFLEBOTTOM. + ROBERT SOUTHEY. + +I. + +THE POET RELATES HOW HE OBTAINED DELIA'S POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF. + +'Tis mine I what accents can my joy declare? + Blest be the pressure of the thronging rout! +Blest be the hand so hasty of my fair, + That left the TEMPTING CORNER hanging out! + +I envy not the joy the pilgrim feels, + After long travel to some distant shrine. +When at the relic of his saint he kneels, + For Delia's POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF IS MINE. + +When first with FILCHING FINGERS I drew near, + Keen hopes shot tremulous through every vein; +And when the FINISHED DEED removed my fear, + Scarce could my bounding heart its joy contain. + +What though the EIGHTH COMMANDMENT rose to mind, + It only served a moment's qualm to move; +For thefts like this it could not be designed-- + THE EIGTH COMMANDMENT WAS NOT MADE FOR LOVE! + +Here, when she took the maccaroons from me, + She wiped her mouth to clear the crumbs so sweet! +Dear napkin! yes, she wiped her lips on thee! + Lips SWEETER than the MACCAROONS she eat. + +And when she took that pinch of Moccabaw, + That made my love so DELICATELY sneeze, +Thee to her Roman nose applied I saw, + And thou art doubly dear for things like these. + +No washerwoman's filthy hand shall e'er, + SWEET POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF! thy worth profane +For thou hast touched the RUBIES of my fair, + And I will kiss thee o'er and o'er again. + +II. + +THE POET EXPATIATES ON THE BEAUTY OF DELIA'S HAIR + +The comb between whose ivory teeth she strains + The straightning curls of gold so BEAMY BRIGHT, +Not spotless merely from the touch remains, + But issues forth MORE PURE, more MILKY WHITE. + +The rose pomatum that the FRISEUR spreads + Sometimes with honored fingers for my fair, +No added perfume on her tresses sheds, + BUT BORROWS SWEETNESS FROM HER SWEETER HAIR. + +Happy the FRISEUR who in Delia's hair + With licensed fingers uncontrolled may rove! +And happy in his death the DANCING BEAR, + Who died to make pomatum for my love. + +Oh could I hope that e'er my favored lays + Might CURL THOSE LOVELY LOCKS with conscious pride, +Nor Hammond, nor the Mantuan shepherd's praise, + I'd envy them, nor wish reward beside. + +Cupid has strung from you, O tresses fine, + The bow that in my breast impell'd his dart; +From you, sweet locks! he wove the subtile line + Wherewith the urchin ANGLED for MY HEART. + +Fine are my Delia's tresses as the threads + That from the silk-worm, SELF-INTERR'D, proceed; +Fine as the GLEAMY GOSSAMER that spreads + His filmy net-work o'er the tangled mead. + +Yet with these tresses Cupid's power, elate, + My captive HEART has HANDCUFF'D in a chain, +Strong as the cables of some huge first-rate, + THAT BEARS BRITANNIA'S THUNDERS O'ER THE MAIN. + +The SYLPHS that round her radiant locks repair, + In FLOWING LUSTER bathe their bright'ning wings; +And ELFIN MINSTRELS with assiduous care, + The ringlets rob for FAIRY FIDDLESTRINGS. + +III. + +THE POET RELATES HOW HE STOLE A LOCK OF DELIA S HAIR, AND HER ANGER. + +Oh! be the day accurst that gave me birth! + Ye Seas! to swallow me, in kindness rise! +Fall on me, mountains! and thou merciful earth, + Open, and hide me from my Delia's eyes. + +Let universal Chaos now return, + Now let the central fires their prison burst, +And EARTH, and HEAVEN, and AIR, and OCEAN burn, + For Delia FROWNS. She FROWNS, and I am curst. + +Oh! I could dare the fury of the fight, + Where hostile MILLIONS sought my single life; +Would storm VOLCANOES, BATTERIES, with delight, + And grapple with Grim Death in glorious strife. + +Oh! I could brave the bolts of angry Jove, + When ceaseless lightnings fire the midnight skies; +What is HIS WRATH to that of HER I love? + What is his LIGHTNING to my Delia's eyes? + +Go, fatal lock! I cast thee to the wind; + Ye SERPENT CURLS, ye POISON TENDRILS, go! +Would I could tear thy memory from my mind, + ACCURSED LOCK; thou cause of all my woe! + +Seize the CURST CURLS, ye Furies, as they fly! + Demons of darkness, guard the infernal roll, +That thence your cruel vengeance, when I die, + May KNIT THE KNOTS OF TORTURE FOR MY SOUL. + +Last night--Oh hear me, heaven, and grant my prayer! + The BOOK OF FATE before thy suppliant lay, +And let me from its ample records tear + ONLY THE SINGLE PAGE OF YESTERDAY! + +Or let me meet OLD TIME upon his flight, + And I will STOP HIM on his restless way; +Omnipotent in love's resistless might, + I'LL FORCE HIM BACK THE ROAD OF YESTERDAY. + +Last night, as o'er the page of love's despair, + My Delia bent DELICIOUSLY to grieve, +I stood a TREACHEROUS LOITERER by her chair, + And drew the FATAL SCISSORS from my sleeve: + +And would at that instant o'er my thread + The SHEARS OF ATROPOS had opened then; +And when I reft the lock from Delia's head, + Had cut me sudden from the sons of men! + +She heard the scissors that fair lock divide, + And while my heart with transport parted big, +She cast a FURY frown on me, and cried, + "You stupid puppy--you have spoiled my wig!" + + +[Illustration: WILLIS] + + +THE BABY'S DEBUT. +[Footnote: "The author does not, in this instance, attempt to copy any +of the higher attributes of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry; but has succeeded +perfectly in the imitation of his mawkish affectations of childish +simplicity and nursery stammering. We hope it will make him ashamed of +his ALICE FELL, and the greater part of his last volumes--of which it +is by no means a parody, but a very fair, and indeed we think a +flattering, imitation."--Edinburg Review.] + +A BURLESQUE IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH.--REJECTED ADDRESSES + JAMES SMITH. + +Spoken in the character of Nancy Lake, a girl eight years of age, who +is drawn upon the stage in a child's chaise by Samuel Hughes, her +uncle's porter. + +My brother Jack was nine in May, +And I was eight on New-year's-day; + So in Kate Wilson's shop +Papa (he's my papa and Jack's) +Bought me, last week, a doll of wax, + And brother Jack a top. +Jack's in the pouts, and this it is-- +He thinks mine came to more than his; + So to my drawer he goes, +Takes out the doll, and, O, my stars! +He pokes her head between the bars, + And melts off half her nose! + +Quite cross, a bit of string I beg, +And tie it to his peg-top's peg, + And bang, with might and main, +Its head against the parlor-door: +Off flies the head, and hits the floor, + And breaks a window-pane. + +This made him cry with rage and spite: +Well, let him cry, it serves him right + A pretty thing, forsooth! +If he's to melt, all scalding hot, +Half my doll's nose, and I am not + To draw his peg-top's tooth! + +Aunt Hannah heard the window break, +And cried, "O naughty Nancy Lake, + Thus to distress your aunt: +No Drury Lane for you to-day!" +And while papa said, "Pooh, she may!" + Mamma said, "No, she sha'n't!" + +Well, after many a sad reproach, +They got into a hackney-coach, + And trotted down the street. +I saw them go: one horse was blind, +The tails of both hung down behind, + Their shoes were on their feet. + +The chaise in which poor brother Bill +Used to be drawn to Pentonville, + Stood in the lumber-room: +I wiped the dust from off the top, +While Molly mopped it with a mop, + And brushed it with a broom. + +My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes, +Came in at six to black the shoes, + (I always talk to Sam:) +So what does he, but takes, and drags +Me in the chaise along the flags, + And leaves me where I am. + +My father's walls are made of brick, +But not so tall and not so thick + As these; and, goodness me! +My father's beams are made of wood, +But never, never half so good + As those that now I see. + +What a large floor! 'tis like a town! +The carpet, when they lay it down, + Won't hide it, I'll be bound; +And there's a row of lamps!--my eye! +How they do blaze! I wonder why + They keep them on the ground. + +At first I caught hold of the wing, +And kept away; but Mr. Thing- + umbob, the prompter man, +Gave with his hand my chaise a shove, +And said, "Go on, my pretty love; + Speak to 'em little Nan. + +"You've only got to curtsy, whisper, +hold your chin up, laugh and lisp, + And then you're sure to take: +I've known the day when brats, not quite +Thirteen, got fifty pounds a night; + Then why not Nancy Lake?" + +But while I'm speaking, where's papa? +And where's my aunt? and where's mamma? + Where's Jack? O there they sit! +They smile, they nod; I'll go my ways, +And order round poor Billy's chaise, + To join them in the pit. + +And now, good gentlefolks, I go +To join mamma, and see the show; + So, bidding you adieu, +I curtsy like a pretty miss, +And if you'll blow to me a kiss, + I'll blow a kiss to you. + + [Blow a kiss, and exit.] + + + + +PLAY-HOUSE MUSINGS. +A BURLESQUE IMITATION OF COLERIDGE.--REJECTED ADDRESSES. + JAMES SMITH + +My pensive Public, wherefore look you sad? +I had a grandmother, she kept a donkey +To carry to the mart her crockery-ware, +And when that donkey looked me in the face, +His face was sad I and you are sad, my Public. + + Joy should be yours: this tenth day of October +Again assembles us in Drury Lane. +Long wept my eye to see the timber planks +That hid our ruins; many a day I cried, +Ah me! I fear they never will rebuild it! +Till on one eve, one joyful Monday eve, +As along Charles-street I prepared to walk. +Just at the corner, by the pastrycook's, +I heard a trowel tick against a brick. +I looked me up, and straight a parapet +Uprose at least seven inches o'er the planks. +Joy to thee, Drury! to myself I said: +He of the Blackfriars' Road, who hymned thy downfall +In loud Hosannahs, and who prophesied +That flames, like those from prostrate Solyma, +Would scorch the hand that ventured to rebuild thee, +Has proved a lying prophet. From that hour, +As leisure offered, close to Mr. Spring's +Box-office door, I've stood and eyed the builders. +They had a plan to render less their labors; +Workmen in olden times would mount a ladder +With hodded heads, but these stretched forth a pole +From the wall's pinnacle, they placed a pulley +Athwart the pole, a rope athwart the pulley; +To this a basket dangled; mortar and bricks +Thus freighted, swung securely to the top, +And in the empty basket workmen twain +Precipitate, unhurt, accosted earth. + + Oh! 't was a goodly sound, to hear the people +Who watched the work, express their various thoughts! +While some believed it never would be finished, +Some, on the contrary, believed it would. + + I've heard our front that faces Drury Lane +Much criticised; they say 'tis vulgar brick-work, +A mimic manufactory of floor-cloth. +One of the morning papers wished that front +Cemented like the front in Brydges-street; +As now it looks, they call it Wyatt's Mermaid, +A handsome woman with a fish's tail. + + White is the steeple of St. Bride's in Fleet-street, +The Albion (as its name denotes) is white; +Morgan and Saunders' shop for chairs and tables +Gleams like a snow-ball in the setting sun; +White is Whitehall. But not St. Bride's in Fleet-street, +The spotless Albion, Morgan, no, nor Saunders, +Nor white Whitehall, is white as Drury's face. + + Oh, Mr. Whitbread! fie upon you, sir! +I think you should have built a colonnade; +When tender Beauty, looking for her coach, +Protrudes her gloveless hand, perceives the shower, +And draws the tippet closer round her throat, +Perchance her coach stands half a dozen off, +And, ere she mounts the step, the oozing mud +Soaks through her pale kid slipper. On the morrow, +She coughs at breakfast, and her gruff papa +Cries, "There you go! this comes of playhouses!" +To build no portico is penny wise: +Heaven grant it prove not in the end pound foolish! + +Hail to thee, Drury! Queen of Theaters! +What is the Regency in Tottenham-street, +The Royal Amphitheater of Arts, +Astley's, Olympic, or the Sans Pareil, +Compared with thee? Yet when I view thee pushed +Back from the narrow street that christened thee, +I know not why they call thee Drury Lane. + Amid the freaks that modern fashion sanctions, +It grieves me much to see live animals +Brought on the stage. Grimaldi has his rabbit, +Laurent his cat, and Bradbury his pig; +Fie on such tricks! Johnson, the machinist +Of former Drury, imitated life +Quite to the life. The elephant in Blue Beard, +Stuffed by his hand, wound round his lithe proboscis +As spruce as he who roared in Padmanaba. +[Footnote: "Padmanaba," viz., in a pantomime called Harlequin in +Padmanaba. This elephant, some years afterward, was exhibited over +Exeter 'Change, where it was found necessary to destroy the poor +animal by discharges of musketry. When he made his entrance in the +pantomime above-mentioned, Johnson, the machinist of the rival house, +exclaimed, "I should be very sorry if I could not make a better +elephant than that!"] + +Naught born on earth should die. On hackney stands +I reverence the coachman who cries "Gee," +And spares the lash. When I behold a spider +Prey on a fly, a magpie on a worm, +Or view a butcher with horn-handled knife +Slaughter a tender lamb as dead as mutton, +Indeed, indeed, I'm very, very sick! + [EXIT HASTILY.] + + + +THE THEATER. +[Footnote: "'The Theater,' by the Rev. G. Crabbe, we rather think, +is the best piece in the collection. It is an exquisite and most +masterly imitation, not only of the peculiar style, but of the taste, +temper, and manner of description of that most original author. * * * +It does not aim, of course, at any shadow of his pathos or moral +sublimity, but seems to us to be a singularly faithful copy of his +passages of mere description."--Edinburg Review.] + +[A BURLESQUE IMITATION OF CEABBE.--REJECTED ADDRESSES.] + JAMES SMITH. + +Interior of a Theater described.--Pit gradually fills.-The +Check-taker.--Pit full.--The Orchestra tuned.--One Fiddle rather +dilatory.--Is reproved--and repents.--Evolutions of a Play-bill.--Its +final Settlement on the Spikes.--The Gods taken to task--and why.-- +Motley Group of Play-goers.--Holywell-street, St. Pancras.--Emanuel +Jennings binds his Son apprentice--not in London--and why.--Episode of +the Hat. + +'Tis sweet to view, from half-past five to six, +Our long wax-candles, with short cotton wicks, +Touched by the lamplighter's Promethean art, +Start into light, and make the lighter start; +To see red Phoebus through the gallery-pane +Tinge with his beams the beams of Drury Lane; +While gradual parties fill our widened pit, +And gape, and gaze, and wonder, ere they sit. + + At first, while vacant seats give choice and ease, +Distant or near, they settle where they please; +But when the multitude contracts the span, +And seats are rare, they settle where they can. + + Now the full benches to late comers doom +No room for standing, miscalled STANDING-ROOM. + + Hark! the check-taker moody silence breaks, +And bawling "Pit full!" gives the checks he takes; +Yet onward still the gathering numbers cram, +Contending crowders shout the frequent damn, +And all is bustle, squeeze, row, jabbering, and jam. + + See to their desks Apollo's sons repair-- +Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair! +In unison their various tones to tune, +Murmurs the hautboy, growls the coarse bassoon; +In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute, +Tang goes the harpsichord, too-too the flute, +Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp, +Winds the French horn, and twangs the tingling harp +Till, like great Jove, the leader, fingering in, +Attunes to order the chaotic din. +Now all seems hushed--but, no, one fiddle will +Give half-ashamed, a tiny flourish still. +Foiled in his clash, the leader of the clan +Reproves with frowns the dilatory man: +Then on his candlestick thrice taps his bow, +Nods a new signal, and away they go. + + Perchance, while pit and gallery cry "Hats off!" +And awed Consumption checks his chided cough, +Some giggling daughter of the Queen of Love +Drops, 'reft of pin, her play-bill from above: +Like Icarus, while laughing galleries clap, +Soars, ducks, and dives in air the printed scrap; +But, wiser far than he, combustion fears, +And, as it flies, eludes the chandeliers; +Till, sinking gradual, with repeated twirl, +It settles, curling, on a fiddler's curl; +Who from his powdered pate the intruder strikes, +And, for mere malice, sticks it on the spikes. + + Say, why these Babel strains from Babel tongues? +Who's that calls "Silence!" with such leathern lungs? +He who, in quest of quiet, "Silence!" hoots, +Is apt to make the hubbub he imputes. + + What various swains our motley walls contain! +Fashion from Moorfields, honor from Chick Lane; +Bankers from Paper Buildings here resort, +Bankrupts from Golden Square and Riches Court; +From the Haymarket canting rogues in grain, +Gulls from the Poultry, sots from Water Lane; +The lottery cormorant, the auction shark, +The full-price master, and the half-price clerk; +Boys who long linger at the gallery-door, +With pence twice five--they want but twopence more; +Till some Samaritan the two-pence spares, +And sends them jumping up the gallery-stairs. + + Critics we boast who ne'er their malice balk, +But talk their minds--we wish they'd mind their talk +Big-worded bullies, who by quarrels live-- +Who give the lie, and tell the lie they give; +Jews from St. Mary's Ax, for jobs so wary, +That for old clothes they'd even ax St. Mary; +And bucks with pockets empty as their pate, +Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait; +Who oft, when we our house lock up, carouse +With tippling tipstaves in a lock-up house. + + Yet here, as elsewhere, Chance can joy bestow, +Where scowling fortune seemed to threaten woe. + + John Richard William Alexander Dwyer +Was footman to Justinian Stubbs, Esquire; +But when John Dwyer listed in the Blues, +Emanuel Jennings polished Stubb's shoes. +Emanuel Jennings brought his youngest boy +Up as a corn-cutter--a safe employ; +In Holywell Street, St. Pancras, he was bred +(At number twenty-seven, it is said), +Facing the pump, and near the Granby's Head: +He would have bound him to some shop in town, +But with a premium he could not come down. +Pat was the urchin's name-a red haired youth, +Ponder of purl and skittle-grounds than truth. + + Silence, ye gods! to keep your tongue in awe, +The Muse shall tell an accident she saw. + Pat Jennings in the upper gallery sat, +But, leaning forward, Jennings lost his hat: +Down from the gallery the beaver flew, +And spurned the one to settle in the two. +How shall he act? Pay at the gallery-door +Two shillings for what cost, when new, but four? +Or till half-price, to save his shilling, wait, +And gain his hat again at half-past eight? +Now, while his fears anticipate a thief, +John Mullins whispers, "Take my handkerchief." +"Thank you," cries Pat; "but one won't make a line." +"Take mine," cries Wilson; and cries Stokes, "Take mine." +A motley cable soon Pat Jennings ties, +Where Spitalfields with real India vies. +Like Iris' bow, down darts the painted clew, +Starred, striped, and spotted, yellow, red, and blue, +Old calico, torn silk, and muslin new. +George Green below, with palpitating hand +Loops the last 'kerchief to the beaver's band-- +Up soars the prize! The youth, with joy unfeigned, +Regained the felt, and felt the prize regained; +While to the applauding galleries grateful Pat +Made a low bow, and touched the ransomed hat. + + + + +A TALE OF DRURY LANE +[Footnote: "From the parody of Sir Walter Scott we know not what to +select--It Is all good. The effect of the fire on the town, and the +description of a fireman in his official apparel, may be quoted as +amusing specimens of the MISAPPLICATION of the style and meter of Mr. +Scott's admirable romances."--Quarterly Review. +"'A Tale of Drury.' by Walter Scott, is, upon the whole, admirably +execuated; though the introduction is rather tame. The burning is +described with the mighty minstrel's characteristic love of +localitics. The catastrophe is described with a spirit not unworthy of +the name so ventureously assumed by the describer"--Edinburg Review.] + +[A BURLESQUE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT'S METRICAL ROMANCES. +REJECTED ADDRESSES.] + HORACE SMITH. + +[To be spoken by Mr. Kemble, In a suit of the Black Prince's Armor, +borrowed from the Tower.] + +Survey this shield, all bossy bright-- +These cuisses twin behold! +Look on my form in armor dight +Of steel inlaid with gold; +My knees are stiff in iron buckles, +Stiff spikes of steel protect my knuckles. +These once belonged to sable prince, +Who never did in battle wince; +With valor tart as pungent quince, + He slew the vaunting Gaul. +Rest there awhile, my bearded lance, +While from green curtain I advance +To yon foot-lights, no trivial dance, +And tell the town what sad mischance + Did Drury Lane befall. + + +THE NIGHT. + +On fair Augusta's towers and trees +Flittered the silent midnight breeze, +Curling the foliage as it past, +Which from the moon-tipped plumage cast +A spangled light, like dancing spray, +Then reassumed its still array; +When as night's lamp unclouded hung, +And down its full effulgence flung, +It shed such soft and balmy power +That cot and castle, hall and bower, +And spire and dome, and turret height, +Appear'd to slumber in the light. +From Henry's chapel, Rufus' Hall, +To Savoy, Temple, and St. Paul, +From Knightsbridge, Pancras, Camden Town, +To Redriff Shadwell, Horsleydown, +No voice was heard, no eye unclosed, +But all in deepest sleep reposed. +They might have thought, who gazed around +Amid a silence so profound, + It made the senses thrill, +That't was no place inhabited, +But some vast city of the dead + All was so hushed and still. + + +THE BURNING. + +As chaos, which, by heavenly doom, +Had slept in everlasting gloom, +Started with terror and surprise +When light first flashed upon her eyes +So London's sons in night-cap woke, + In bed-gown woke her dames; +For shouts were heard 'mid fire and smoke, +And twice ten hundred voices spoke +"The playhouse is in flames!" +And, lo! where Catharine street extends, +A fiery tail its luster lends + To every window-pane; + Blushes each spout in Martlet Court +And Barbican, moth-eaten fort, +And Covent Garden kennels sport, + A bright ensanguined drain; +Meux's new brewhouse shows the light, +Rowland Hill's chapel, and the height + Where patent shot they sell; +The Tennis-Court, so fair and tall, +Partakes the ray, with Surgeons' Hall, +The ticket-porters' house of call. +Old Bedlam, close by London Wall, +Wright's shrimp and oyster shop withal, + And Richardson's Hotel. +Nor these alone, but far and wide, +Across red Thames's gleaming tide, +To distant fields the blaze was borne, +And daisy white and hoary thorn +In borrowed luster seemed to sham +The rose of red sweet Wil-li-am. +To those who on the hills around +Beheld the flames from Drury's mound, + As from a lofty altar rise, +It seemed that nations did conspire +To offer to the god of fire + Some vast stupendous sacrifice! +The summoned firemen woke at call, +And hied them to their stations all: +Starting from short and broken snooze, +Each sought his pond'rous hobnailed shoes, +But first his worsted hosen plied, +Plush breeches next, in crimson dyed, + His nether bulk embraced; +Then jacket thick, of red or blue, +Whose massy shoulder gave to view +The badge of each respective crew, + In tin or copper traced. +The engines thundered through the street, +Fire-hook, pipe, bucket, all complete, +And torches glared, and clattering feet + Along the pavement paced. +And one, the leader of the band, +From Charing Cross along the Strand, +Like stag by beagles hunted hard, +Ran till he stopped at Vin'gar Yard. +The burning badge his shoulder bore, +The belt and oil-skin hat he wore, +The cane he had, his men to bang, +Showed foreman of the British gang-- +His name was Higginbottom. Now +'Tis meet that I should tell you how + The others came in view: +The Hand-in-Hand the race begun. +Then came the Phoenix and the Sun, +The Exchange, where old insurers run, + The Eagle, where the new; +With these came Rumford, Bumford, Cole, +Robins from Hockley in the Hole, +Lawson and Dawson, cheek by jowl, + Crump from St. Giles's Pound: +Whitford and Mitford joined the train, +Huggins and Muggins from Chick Lane, +And Clutterbuck, who got a sprain + Before the plug was found. +Hobson and Jobson did not sleep, +But ah! no trophy could they reap +For both were in the Donjon Keep + Of Bridewell's gloomy mound! +E'en Higginbottom now was posed, +For sadder scene was ne'er disclosed, +Without, within, in hideous show, +Devouring flames resistless glow, +And blazing rafters downward go, +And never halloo "Heads below!" + Nor notice give at all. +The firemen terrified are slow +To bid the pumping torrent flow, + For fear the roof would fall. +Back, Robins, back; Crump, stand aloof! +Whitford, keep near the walls! +Huggins, regard your own behoof, +For lo! the blazing rocking roof +Down, down, in thunder falls! +An awful pause succeeds the stroke, +And o'er the ruins volumed smoke, +Rolling around its pitchy shroud, +Concealed them from th' astonished crowd. +At length the mist awhile was cleared, +When, lo! amid the wreck upreared, +Gradually a moving head appeared, + And Eagle firemen knew +'T was Joseph Muggins, name revered, + The foreman of their crew. +Loud shouted all in signs of woe, +"A Muggins! to the rescue, ho!" + And poured the hissing tide: +Meanwhile the Muggins fought amain, +And strove and struggled all in vain, +For, rallying but to fall again, + He tottered, sunk, and died! + +Did none attempt, before he fell, +To succor one they loved so well? +Yes, Higginbottom did aspire +(His fireman's soul was all on fire), + His brother chief to save; +But ah! his reckless generous ire + Served but to share his grave! +'Mid blazing beams and scalding streams, +Through fire and smoke he dauntless broke, Where Muggins broke +before. +But sulphury stench and boiling drench +Destroying sight o'erwhelmed him quite, + He sunk to rise no more. +Still o'er his head, while Fate he braved, +His whizzing water-pipe he waved; +"Whitford and Mitford, ply your pumps, +You, Clutterbuck, come, stir your stumps, +Why are you in such doleful dumps? +A fireman, and afraid of bumps!-- +What are they fear'd on? fools: 'od rot 'em!" +Were the last words of Higginbottom. + +THE REVIVAL + +Peace to his soul! new prospects bloom, +And toil rebuilds what fires consume! +Eat we and drink we, be our ditty, +"Joy to the managing committee!" +Eat we and drink we, join to rum +Roast beef and pudding of the plum; +Forth from thy nook, John Horner, come, +With bread of ginger brown thy thumb, + For this is Drury's gay day: +Roll, roll thy hoop, and twirl thy tops, +And buy, to glad thy smiling chops, +Crisp parliament with lollypops, + And fingers of the Lady. +Didst mark, how toiled the busy train, +From morn to eve, till Drury Lane +Leaped like a roebuck from the plain? +Ropes rose and sunk, and rose again, + And nimble workmen trod; +To realize bold Wyatt's plan +Rushed may a howling Irishman; +Loud clattered many a porter-can, +And many a ragamuffin clan, + With trowel and with hod. +Drury revives! her rounded pate +Is blue, is heavenly blue with slate; +She "wings the midway air," elate, + As magpie, crow, or chough; +White paint her modish visage smears, +Yellow and pointed are her ears. +No pendant portico appears +Dangling beneath, for Whitbread's shears + Have cut the bauble off. +Yes, she exalts her stately head; +And, but that solid bulk outspread, +Opposed you on your onward tread, +And posts and pillars warranted +That all was true that Wyatt said, +You might have deemed her walls so thick, +Were not composed of stone or brick, +But all a phantom, all a trick, +Of brain disturbed and fancy-sick, +So high she soars, so vast, so quick! + + + + +DRURY'S DIRGE. +[BY LAUBA MATILDA.--REJECTED ADDRESSES.] + HORACE SMITH. + +"You praise our sires: but though they wrote with force, +Their rhymes were vicious, and their diction coarse: +We want their STRENGTH, agreed; but we atone +For that and more, by SWEETNESS all our own"--GIFFORD. + +Balmy zephyrs, lightly flitting, + Shade me with your azure wing; +On Parnassus' summit sitting, + Aid me, Clio, while I sing. + +Softly slept the dome of Drury + O'er the empyreal crest, +When Alecto's sister-fury + Softly slumbering sunk to rest. + +Lo! from Lemnos, limping lamely, + Lags the lowly Lord of Fire, +Oytherea yielding tamely + To the Cyclops dark and dire. + +Clouds of amber, dreams of gladness, + Dulcet joys and sports of youth, +Soon must yield to haughty sadness, + Mercy holds the vail to Truth. + +See Erostratus the second + Fires again Diana's fane; +By the Fates from Orcus beckoned, + Clouds envelop Drury Lane. + +Lurid smoke and frank suspicion + Hand in hand reluctant dance: +While the god fulfills his mission, + Chivarly, resign thy lance. + +Hark! the engines blandly thunder, + Fleecy clouds disheveled lie, +And the firemen, mute with wonder, + On the son of Saturn cry. + +See the bird of Ammon sailing, + Perches on the engine's peak, +And, the Eagle firemen hailing, + Soothes them with its bickering beak. + +Juno saw, and mad with malice, + Lost the prize that Paris gave; +Jealousy's ensanguined chalice, + Mantling pours the orient wave. + +Pan beheld Patrocles dying, + Nox to Niobe was turned; +From Busiris Bacchus flying, + Saw his Semele inurned. + +Thus fell Drury's lofty glory, + Leveled with the shuddering stones +Mars, with tresses black and gory, + Drinks the dew of pearly groans. + +Hark! what soft Aeolian numbers + Gem the blushes of the morn! +Break, Amphion, break your slumbers, + Nature's ringlets deck the thorn. + +Ha! I hear the strain erratic + Dimly glance from pole to pole; +Raptures sweet, and dreams ecstatic + Fire my everlasting soul. + +Where is Cupid's crimson motion? + Billowy ecstasy of woe, +Bear me straight, meandering ocean, + Where the stagnant torrents flow. + +Blood in every vein is gushing, + Vixen vengeance lulls my heart, +See, the Gorgon gang is rushing! + Never, never, let us part! + + + + +WHAT IS LIFE +BY "ONE OF THE FANCY." + BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE + +And do you ask me, "What is LIFE?" + And do you ask me, "What is pleasure?" +My muse and I are not at strife, + So listen, lady, to my measure:-- +Listen amid thy graceful leisure, +To what is LIFE, and what IS pleasure. +'Tis LIFE to see the first dawn stain +With sallow light the window-pane: +To dress--to wear a rough drab coat, +With large pearl buttons all afloat +Upon the waves of plush: to tie +A kerchief of the King-cup dye +(White spotted with a small bird's-eye) +Around the neck, and from the nape +Let fall an easy fan-like cape: +To quit the house at morning's prime, +At six or so--about the time +When watchmen, conscious of the day +Puff out their lantern's rush-light ray; +Just when the silent streets are strewn +With level shadows, and the moon +Takes the day's wink and walks aside +To nurse a nap till eventide. +'Tis LIFE to reach the livery stable, +Secure the RIBBONS and the DAY-BILL, +And mount a gig that had a spring +Some summer's back: and then take wing +Behind (in Mr. Hamlet's tongue) +A jade whose "withers are unwrung;" +Who stands erect, and yet forlorn, +And from a HALF-PAY life of corn, +Showing as many POINTS each way +As Martial's Epigrammata, +Yet who, when set a-going, goes +Like one undestined to repose. +'Tis LIFE to revel down the road, +And QUEER each o'erfraught chaise's load, +To rave and rattle at the GATE, +And shower upon the gatherer's pate +Damns by the dozens, and such speeches +As well betokens one's SLANG riches: +To take of Deady's bright STARK NAKED +A glass or so--'tis LIFE to take it! +To see the Hurst with tents encampt on; +Lurk around Lawrence's at Hampton; +Join the FLASH crowd (the horse being led +Into the yard, and clean'd and fed); +Talk to Dav' Hudson, and Cy' Davis +(The last a fighting rara avis), +And, half in secret, scheme a plan +For trying the hardy GAS-LIGHT-MAN. + 'Tis LIFE to cross the laden ferry, +With boon companions, wild and merry, +And see the ring upon the Hurst +With carts encircled--hear the burst +At distance of the eager crowd. + Oh, it is LIFE! to see a proud +And dauntless man step, full of hopes, +Up to the P. C. stakes and ropes, +Throw in his hat, and with a spring, +Get gallantly within the ring; +Eye the wide crowd, and walk awhile, +Taking all cheerings with a smile: +To see him skip--his well-trained form, +White, glowing, muscular, and warm, +All beautiful in conscious power, +Relaxed and quiet, till the hour; +His glossy and transparent frame, +In radiant plight to strive for fame! +To look upon the clean shap'd limb +In silk and flannel clothed trim; +While round the waist the 'kerchief tied, +Makes the flesh glow in richer pride. +'Tis more than LIFE, to watch him hold +His hand forth, tremulous yet bold, +Over his second's, and to clasp +His rival's in a quiet grasp; +To watch the noble attitude +He takes--the crowd in breathless mood: +And then to see, with adamant start, +The muscles set, and the great heart +Hurl a courageous splendid light +Into the eye-and then-the FIGHT! + + + + +FRAGMENTS. +[BY A FREE-LOVER.] + BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE, 1823 + +They were not married by a muttering priest, +With superstitious rites, and senseless words, +Out-snuffled from an old worm-eaten book, +In a dark corner (railed off like a sheep-pen) +Of an old house, that fools do call a CHURCH! +THEIR altar was the flowery lap of earth-- +The starry empyrean their vast temple-- +Their book each other's eyes--and Love himself +Parson, and Clerk, and Father to the bride!-- +Holy espousals! whereat wept with joy +The spirit of the universe.--In sooth +There was a sort of drizzling rain that day, +For I remember (having left at home +My parapluie, a name than UMBRELLA, +Far more expressive) that I stood for shelter +Under an entry not twelve paces off +(It might be ten) from Sheriff Waithman's shop +For half an hour or more, and there I mused +(Mine eyes upon the running kennel fixed, +That hurried as a het'rogenous mass +To the common sewer, it's dark reservoir), +I mused upon the running stream of LIFE! +But that's not much to the purpose--I was telling +Of these most pure espousals.--Innocent pair! +Ye were not shackled by the vulgar chains +About the yielding mind of credulous youth, +Wound by the nurse and priest--YOUR energies, +Your unsophisticated impulses, +Taught ye to soar above their "settled rules +Of Vice and Virtue." Fairest creature! He +Whom the world called thy husband, was in truth +Unworthy of thee.-A dull plodding wretch! +With whose ignoble nature thy free spirit +Held no communion.--'T was well done, fair creature! +T' assert the independence of a mind +Created-generated I would say-- +Free as "that chartered libertine, the air." +Joy to thy chosen partner! blest exchange! +Work of mysterious sympathy I that drew +Your kindred souls by * * * * + * * * * * * +There fled the noblest spirit--The most pure, +Most sublimated essence that ere dwelt +In earthly tabernacle. Gone thou art, +Exhaled, dissolved, diffused, commingled now +Into and with the all-absorbing frame +Of Nature, the great mother. Ev'n in life, +While still, pent-up in flesh, and skin, and bones, +My thoughts and feelings like electric flame +Shot through the solid mass, toward the source, +And blended with the general elements, +When thy young star o'er life's horizon hung +Far from it's zenith yet low lagging clouds +(Vapors of earth) obscured its heaven-born rays-- +Dull joys of prejudice and superstition +And vulgar decencies begirt thee round; +And thou didst wear awhile th' unholy bonds +Of "holy matrimony!" and didst vail +Awhile thy lofty spirit to the cheat.-- +But reason came-and firm philosophy, +And mild philanthropy, and pointed out +The shame it was-the crying, crushing shame, +To curb within a little paltry pale +The love that over all created things +Should be diffusive as the atmosphere. +Then did thy boundless tenderness expand +Over all space--all animated things +And things inanimate. Thou hadst a heart, +A ready tear for all.--The dying whale, +Stranded and gasping--ripped up for his blubber +By Man the Tyrant.--The small sucking pig +Slain for his riot.--The down-trampled flower +Crushed by his cruel foot.--ALL, EACH, and ALL +Shared in thy boundless sympathies, and then-- +(SUBLIME perfection of perfected LOVE) +Then didst thou spurn the whimp'ring wailing thing +That dared to call THEE "husband," and to claim, +As her just right, support and love from THEE-- +Then didst thou * * * * + * * * * * * * + + + +THE CONFESSION. + BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE + +There's somewhat on my breast father, + There's somewhat on my breast! +The live-long day I sigh, father, + At night I can not rest; +I can not take my rest, father, + Though I would fain do so, +A weary weight oppresseth me-- + The weary weight of woe! + +'Tis not the lack of gold, father + Nor lack of worldly gear; +My lands are broad and fair to see, + My friends are kind and dear; +My kin are leal and true, father, + They mourn to see my grief, +But oh! 'tis not a kinsman's hand + Can give my heart relief! + +'Tis not that Janet's false, father, + 'Tis not that she's unkind; +Though busy flatterers swarm around, + I know her constant mind. +'Tis not her coldness, father, + That chills my laboring breast-- +Its that confounded cucumber + I've ate, and can't digest. + + + + +THE MILLING-MATCH BETWEEN ENTELLUS AND DARES. +TRANSLATED FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF THE AENEID, BY ONE OF THE FANCY. + THOMAS MOORE. + +With daddles [Footnote: Hands.] high upraised, and NOB held back, +In awful prescience of the impending THWACK, +Both KIDDIES [Footnote: Fellows, usually YOUNG fellows.] stood--and +with prelusive SPAR, +And light manoeuv'ring, kindled up the war! +The One, in bloom of youth--a LIGHT-WEIGHT BLADE-- +The Other, vast, gigantic, as if made, +Express, by Nature for the hammering trade; +But aged, slow, with stiff limbs, tottering much, +And lungs, that lack'd the BELLOWS-MENDER'S touch. + +Yet, sprightly TO THE SCRATCH both BUFFERS came, +While RIBBERS rung from each resounding frame, +And divers DIGS, and many a ponderous PELT, +Were on their broad BREAD-BASKETS heard and felt +With roving aim, but aim that rarely miss'd, +Round LUGS and OGLES [Footnote: Ears and Eyes.] flew the frequent fist; +While showers of FACERS told so deadly well, +That the crush'd jaw-bones crackled as they fell! +But firmly stood ENTELLUS--and still bright, +Though bent by age, with all THE FANCY'S light, +STOPP'D with a skill, and RALLIED with a fire +The Immortal FANCY could alone inspire! + +While DARES, SHIFTING round, with looks of thought, +An opening to the COVE'S huge carcase sought +(Like General PRESTON, in that awful hour, +When on ONE leg he hopp'd to--take the Tower!) +And here, and there, explored with active FIN [Footnote: Arm.] +And skillful FEINT, some guardless pass to win, +And prove a BORING guest when once LET IN. +And now ENTELLUS, with an eye that plann'd +PUNISHING deeds, high raised his heavy hand, +But, ere the SLEDGE came down, young DARES spied +His shadow o'er his brow, and slipp'd aside-- +So nimbly slipp'd, that the vain NOBBER pass'd +Through empty air; and He, so high, so vast, +Who dealt the stroke, came thundering to the ground +Not B--CK--GH--M himself, with bulkier sound, +Uprooted from the field of Whiggish glories, +Fell SOUSE, of late, among the astonish'd Tories! +Instant the RING was broke, and shouts and yells +From Trojan FLASHMEN and Sicilian SWELLS +Fill'd the wide heaven--while, touch'd with grief to see +His PAL, [Footnote: Friend] well-known through many a LARK and SPREE, +[Footnote: Party of pleasure and frolic] +Thus RUMLY FLOOR'D, the kind ACESTES ran, +And pitying raised from earth the GAME old man, +Uncow'd, undamaged to the SPORT he came, +His limbs all muscle, and his soul all flame. +The memory of his MILLING glories past, +The shame that aught but death should see him GRASS'D, +All fired the veteran's PLUCK--with fury flush'd, +Full on his light-limb'd CUSTOMER he rush'd-- +And HAMMERING right and left, with ponderous swing, +RUFFIAN'D the reeling youngster round the RING-- +Nor rest, nor pause, nor breathing-time was given, +But, rapid as the rattling hail from heaven +Beats on the house-top, showers of RANDALL'S SHOT +[Footnote: A favorite blow of THE NONPARIEL'S, so called.] +Around the Trojan's LUGS flew peppering hot! +Till now AENEAS, fill'd with anxious dread, +Rush'd in between them, and, with words well-bred +Preserved alike the peace and DARES' head, +BOTH which the veteran much inclined to BREAK-- +Then kindly thus the PUNISH'D youth bespake: + Poor JOHNNY RAW! what madness could impel +So RUM a FLAT to face so PRIME a SWELL? +Sees't thou not, boy, THE FANCY, heavenly Maid, +Herself descends to this great HAMMERER'S aid, +And, singling HIM from all her FLASH adorers, +Shines in his HITS, and thunders in his FLOORERS? +Then, yield thee, youth--nor such a SPOONEY be, +To think mere man can MILL a Deity!" + +Thus spoke the Chief--and now, the SCRIMAGE o'er, +His faithful PALS the DONE-UP DARES bore +Back to his home, with tottering GAMS, sunk heart, +And MUNS and NODDLE PINK'D in every part. +While from his GOB the guggling CLARET gush'd, +And lots of GRINDERS, from their sockets crush'd, +Forth with the crimson tide in rattling fragments rush'd! + + + +NOT A SOUS HAD HE GOT. +[PARODY ON WOLFE'S "BUKIAL or SIB JOHN MOORE."] + R. HARRIS BARHAM + +Not a SOUS had he got--not a guinea or note, + And he looked confoundedly flurried, +As he bolted away without paying his shot, + And the Landlady after him hurried. + +We saw him again at dead of night, + When home from the Club returning; +We twigg'd the Doctor beneath the light + Of the gas-lamp brilliantly burning. +All bare, and exposed to the midnight dews, + Reclined in the gutter we found him; +And he look'd like a gentleman taking a snooze, + With his MARSHALL cloak around him. + +"The Doctor's as drunk as the d----," we said, + And we managed a shutter to borrow; +We raised him, and sigh'd at the thought that his head + Whould "consumedly ache" on the morrow. + +We bore him home, and we put him to bed, + And we told his wife and his daughter +To give him, next morning, a couple of red + Herrings, with soda-water.-- + +Loudly they talk'd of his money that's gone, + And his Lady began to upbraid him; +But little he reck'd, so they let him snore on + 'Neath the counterpane just as we laid him. + +We tuck'd him in, and had hardly done + When, beneath the window calling, +We heard the rough voice of a son of a gun + Of a watchman "One o'clock!" bawling. + +Slowly and sadly we all walk'd down + From his room in the uppermost story; +A rushlight was placed on the cold hearth-stone, + And we left him alone in his glory!! + + + + +RAISING THE DEVIL. +A LEGEND OF CORNELIUS AGRIPPA. + R. HARRIS BARHAM. + +"And hast thou nerve enough?" he said, +That gray Old Man, above whose head + Unnumbered years have roll'd-- +"And hast thou nerve to view," he cried, +"The incarnate Fiend that Heaven defied!-- + -- Art thou indeed so bold? + +"Say, canst Thou, with unshrinking gaze, +Sustain, rash youth, the withering blaze + Of that unearthly eye, +That blasts where'er it lights--the breath +That, like the Simoom, scatters death + On all that yet CAN die! + +--"Darest thou confront that fearful form, +That rides the whirlwind, and the storm, + In wild unholy revel!-- +The terrors of that blasted brow, +Archangel's once--though ruin'd now-- + --Ay--dar'st thou face THE DEVIL?"-- + +"I dare!" the desperate Youth replied, +And placed him by that Old Man's side, + In fierce and frantic glee, +Unblenched his cheek, and firm his limb +--"No paltry juggling Fiend, but HIM! + --THE DEVIL I-I fain would see!-- + +"In all his Gorgon terrors clad, +His worst, his fellest shape!" the Lad + Rejoined in reckless tone.-- +--"Have then thy wish!" Agrippa said, +And sigh'd and shook his hoary head, + With many a bitter groan. + +He drew the mystic circle's bound, +With skull and cross-bones fenc'd around; +He traced full many a sigil there; +He mutter'd many a backward pray'r, + That sounded like a curse-- + +"He comes !"--he cried with wild grimace, +"The fellest of Apollyon's race!" +--Then in his startled pupil's face + He dash'd-an EMPTY PURSE!! + + + +THE LONDON UNIVERSITY; +[Footnote: see footnote to SONG by Canning.] +OR, STINKOMALEE TRIUMPHANS. + +AN ODE TO BE PERFORMED ON THE OPENING OF THE NEW COLLEGE. + R. HARRIS BARHAM. + +Whene'er with pitying eye I view + Each operative sot in town, +I smile to think how wondrous few +Get drunk who study at the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +What precious fools "The People" grew, + Their alma mater not in town; +The "useful classes" hardly knew +Four was composed of two and two, +Until they learned it at the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +But now they're taught by JOSEPH HU- + ME, by far the cleverest Scot in town, +Their ITEMS and their TOTTLES too; +Each may dissect his sister Sue, +From his instructions at the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +Then L----E comes, like him how few + Can caper and can trot in town, +In PIROUETTE or PAS DE DEUX-- +He beats the famed MONSIEUR GIROUX, +And teaches dancing at the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +And GILCHRIST, see, that great Geentoo- + Professor, has a lot in town +Of Cockney boys who fag Hindoo, +And LARN JEM-NASTICS at the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +SAM R--- corpse of vampire hue, + Comes from its grave to rot in town; +For Bays the dead bard's crowned with Yew, +And chants, the Pleasures of the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +FRANK JEFFREY, of the Scotch Review,-- + Whom MOORE had nearly shot in town,-- +Now, with his pamphlet stitched in blue +And yellow, d--ns the other two, +But lauds the ever-glorious U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +Great BIRBECK, king of chips and glue, + Who paper oft does blot in town, +From the Mechanics' Institu- +tion, comes to prate of wedge and screw, +Lever and axle at the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +LORD WAITHAM, who long since withdrew + From Mansion House to cot in town; +Adorn'd with chair of ormolu, +All darkly grand, like Prince Lee Boo, +Lectures on FREE TRADE at the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +Fat F----, with his coat of blue, + Who speeches makes so hot in town, +In rhetoric, spells his lectures through, +And sounds the V for W, +The VAY THEY SPEAKS it at the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +Then H----E comes, who late at New- + gate Market, sweetest spot in town! +Instead of one clerk popp'd in two, +To make a place for his ne-phew, +Seeking another at the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +There's Captain ROSS, a traveler true, + Has just presented, what in town- +'s an article of great VIRTU +(The telescope he once peep'd through, +And 'spied an Esquimaux canoe +On Croker Mountains), to the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +Since MICHAEL gives no roast nor stew, + Where Whigs might eat and plot in town, +And swill his port, and mischief brew-- +Poor CREEVY sips his water gru- +el as the beadle of the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town, + +There's JERRY BENTHAM and his crew, + Names ne'er to be forgot in town, +In swarms like Banquo's long is-sue-- +Turk, Papist, Infidel and Jew, +Come trooping on to join the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + +To crown the whole with triple queue-- + Another such there's not in town, +Twitching his restless nose askew, +Behold tremendous HARRY BROUGH- +AM! Law Professor at the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + + GRAND CHORUS: + +Huzza! huzza! for HARRY BROUGH- +AM! Law Professor at the U- + niversity we've Got in town-- + niversity we've Got in town. + + + + +DOMESTIC POEMS. + THOMAS HOOD. +I. + +GOOD-NIGHT. + +The sun was slumbering in the west, my daily labors past; +On Anna's soft and gentle breast my head reclined at last; +The darkness closed around, so dear to fond congenial souls, +And thus she murmured in my ear, "My love, we're out of coals. + +"That Mister Bond has called again, insisting on his rent; +And all the Todds are coming up to see us, out of Kent; +I quite forgot to tell you John has had a tipsy fall;-- +I'm sure there's something going on with that vile Mary Hall! + +"Miss Bell has bought the sweetest milk, and I have bought the rest-- +Of course, if we go out of town, Southend will be the best. +I really think the Jones's house would be the thing for us; +I think I told you Mrs. Pope had parted with her NUS-- + +"Cook, by the way, came up to-day, to bid me suit myself-- +And, what'd ye think? the rats have gnawed the victuals on the shelf. +And, Lord! there's such a letter come, inviting you to fight! +Of course you, don't intend to go--God bless you, dear, goodnight!" + +II. + +A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS. + + Thou happy, happy elf! + (But stop--first let me kiss away that tear)-- + Thou tiny image of myself! + (My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) + Thou merry, laughing sprite! + With spirits feather-light, +Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin-- +(Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin!) + Thou little tricksy Puck! +With antic toys so funnily bestuck, +Light as the singing bird that wings the air-- +(The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) + Thou darling of thy sire! +(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) + Thou imp of mirth and joy! +In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, +Thou idol of thy parents--(Drat the boy! + There goes my ink!) + + Thou cherub--but of earth; +Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale, + In harmless sport and mirth, +(That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!) + Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey +From every blossom in the world that blows, + Singing in youth's elysium ever sunny, +(Another tumb!--that's his precious nose!) + + Thy father's pride and hope! +(He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) +With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint-- +(Where did he learn that squint?) + Thou young domestic dove! +(He'll have that jug off, with another shove!) + Dear nursling of the Hymeneal nest! + (Are those torn clothes his best?) + Little epitome of man! +(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!) +Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life-- + (He's got a knife!) + + Thou enviable being! +No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, + Play on, play on, + My elfin John! +Toss the light ball--bestride the stick-- +(I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) +With fancies, buoyant as the thistle-down, +Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, + With many a lamb-like frisk, +(He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) + + Thou pretty opening rose! +(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) +Balmy and breathing music like the South, +(He really brings my heart into my mouth!)Fresh as the morn, and +brilliant as its star-- +(I wish that window had an iron bar!) +Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove-- + (I'll tell you what, my love, +I can not write, unless he's sent above!) + + +III. + +A SERENADE. + + "LULLABY, O, lullaby!" + Thus I heard a father cry, + "Lullaby, O, lullaby! + The brat will never shut an eye; +Hither come, some power divine! +Close his lids, or open mine!" + + "Lullaby, O, lullaby! + What the devil makes him cry? + Lullaby, O, lullaby! + Still he stares--I wonder why, +Why are not the sons of earth +Blind, like puppies, from their birth?" + + "Lullaby, O, lullaby!" + Thus I heard the father cry; + "Lullaby, O, lullaby! + Mary, you must come and try!-- +Hush, O, hush, for mercy's sake-- +The more I sing, the more you wake!" + + "Lullaby, O, lullaby! + Fie, you little creature, fie! + Lullaby, O, lullaby! + Is no poppy-syrup nigh? +Give him some, or give him all, +I am nodding to his fall!" + + "Lullaby, O, lullaby! + Two such nights and I shall die! + Lullaby, O, lullaby! + He'll be bruised, and so shall I-- +How can I from bed-posts keep, +When I'm walking in my sleep!" + + + "Lullaby, O, lullaby! + Sleep his very looks deny-- + Lullaby, O, lullaby! + Nature soon will stupefy-- +My nerves relax--my eyes grow dim-- +Who's that fallen--me or him?" + + + +ODE TO PERRY, +THE INVENTOR OF THE STEEL PEN. + THOMAS HOOD + +"In this good work, Penn appears the greatest, usefullest of God's +instruments. Firm and unbending when the exigency requires it--soft +and yielding when rigid inflexibility is not a desideratum--fluent and +flowing, at need, for eloquent rapidity--slow and retentive in cases +of deliberation--never spluttering or by amplification going wide of +the mark--never splitting, if it can be helped, with any one, but +ready to wear itself out rather in their service--all things as it +were with all men--ready to embrace the hand of Jew, Christian, or +Mohammedan--heavy with the German, light with the Italian, oblique +with the English, upright with the Roman, backward in coming forward +with the Hebrew--in short, for flexibility, amiability, constitutional +durability, general ability, and universal utility, It would be hard +to find a parallel to the great Penn." --Perry's CHARACTERISATION OF A +SETTLER. + +O! Patent Pen-inventing Perrian Perry! + Friend of the goose and gander, +That now unplucked of their quill-feathers wander, +Cackling, and gabbling, dabbling, making merry, + About the happy fen, +Untroubled for one penny-worth of pen, +For which they chant thy praise all Britain through, + From Goose-Green unto Gander-Cleugh!-- + + Friend to all Author-kind-- +Whether of Poet or of Proser-- +Thou art composer unto the composer +Of pens--yea, patent vehicles for Mind +To carry it on jaunts, or more extensive + PERRYgrinations through the realms of thought; +Each plying from the Comic to the Pensive, + An Omnibus of intellectual sort; + +Modern improvements in their course we feel, +And while to iron railroads heavy wares, +Dry goods and human bodies, pay their fares, + Mind flies on steel + To Penrith, Penrhyn, even to Penzance; + Nay, penetrates, perchance, + To Pennsylvania, or, without rash vaunts, + To where the Penguin haunts! + + In times bygone, when each man cut his quill, + With little Perryan skill, + What horrid, awkward, bungling tools of trade + Appeared the writing implements home-made! +What Pens were sliced, hewed, hacked, and haggled out, +Slit or unslit, with many a various snout, +Aquiline, Roman, crooked, square, and snubby. + Stumpy and stubby; +Some capable of ladye-billets neat, +Some only fit for ledger-keeping clerk, +And some to grub down Peter Stubbs his mark, +Or smudge through some illegible receipt; +Others in florid caligraphic plans, +Equal to ships, and wiggy heads, and swans! + + To try in any common inkstands, then, + With all their miscellaneous stocks, + To find a decent pen, + Was like a dip into a lucky box: + You drew--and got one very curly, + And split like endive in some hurly-burly; +The next unslit, and square at end, a spade, +The third, incipient pop-gun, not yet made; +The fourth a broom; the fifth of no avail, + Turned upward, like a rabbit's tail; +And last, not least, by way of a relief, +A stump that Master Richard, James or John, +Had tried his candle-cookery upon, + Making "roast-beef!" + + Not so thy Perryan Pens! + True to their M's and N's, + They do not with a whizzing zig-zag split, + Straddle, turn up their noses, sulk, and spit, + Or drop large dots, + Hugh full-stop blots, + Where even semicolons were unfit. + + They will not frizzle up, or, broom-like, drudge + In sable sludge-- + Nay, bought at proper "Patent Perryan" shops, + They write good grammar, sense, and mind their stops +Compose both prose and verse, the sad and merry-- +For when the editor, whose pains compile + The grown-up Annual, or the Juvenile, + Vaunteth his articles, not women's, men's, + But lays "by the most celebrated Pens," + What means he but thy Patent Pens, my Perry? + + Pleasant they are to feel! + So firm! so flexible! composed of steel + So finely tempered--fit for tenderest Miss + To give her passion breath, + Or kings to sign the warrant stern of death-- + But their supremest merit still is this, + Write with them all your days, + Tragedy, Comedy, all kinds of plays-- + (No dramatist should ever be without 'em)-- + And, just conceive the bliss-- + There is so little of the goose about 'em, + One's safe from any hiss! + Ah! who can paint that first great awful night, + Big with a blessing or a blight, + When the poor dramatist, all fume and fret, + Fuss, fidget, fancy, fever, funking, fright, + Ferment, fault-fearing, faintness--more f's yet: + Flushed, frigid, flurried, flinching, fitful, flat, + Add famished, fuddled, and fatigued, to that, + Funeral, fate-foreboding--sits in doubt, + Or rather doubt with hope, a wretched marriage + To see his play upon the stage come out; + No stage to him! it is Thalia's carriage, + And he is sitting on the spikes behind it, + Striving to look as if he didn't mind it! + + Witness how Beazley vents upon his hat + His nervousness, meanwhile his fate is dealt + He kneads, molds, pummels it, and sits it flat, + Squeezes and twists it up, until the felt, + That went a beaver in, comes out a rat! + +Miss Mitford had mis-givings, and in fright, + Upon Rienzi's night, +Gnawed up one long kid glove, and all her bag, + Quite to a rag. +Knowles has confessed he trembled as for life, + Afraid of his own "Wife;" +Poole told me that he felt a monstrous pail +Of water backing him, all down his spine-- +"The ice-brook's temper"--pleasant to the chine! +For fear that Simpson and his Co. should fail. +Did Lord Glengall not frame a mental prayer, +Wishing devoutly he was Lord knows where? +Nay, did not Jerrold, in enormous drouth, +While doubtful of Nell Gwynne's eventful luck, + Squeeze out and suck +More oranges with his one fevered mouth +Than Nelly had to hawk from north to south? +Yea, Buckstone, changing color like a mullet, +Refused, on an occasion, once, twice, thrice, +From his best friend, an ice, +Lest it should hiss in his own red-hot gullet. +Doth punning Peake not sit upon the points +Of his own jokes, and shake in all his joints, + During their trial? + 'Tis past denial. +And does not Pocock, feeling, like a peacock, +All eyes upon him, turn to very meacock? +And does not Planche, tremulous and blank, +Meanwhile his personages tread the boards, + Seem goaded by sharp swords, +And called upon himself to "walk the plank?" +As for the Dances, Charles and George to boot, + What have they more +Of ease and rest, for sole of either foot, +Than bear that capers on a hotted floor! + +Thus pending--does not Matthews, at sad shift +For voice, croak like a frog in waters fenny?-- +Serle seem upon the surly seas adrift?-- +And Kenny think he's going to Kilkenny?-- +Haynes Bayly feel Old ditto, with the note +Of Cotton in his ear, a mortal grapple + About his arms, and Adam's apple +Big as a fine Dutch codling in his throat? +Did Rodwell, on his chimney-piece, desire +Or not to take a jump into the fire? +Did Wade feel as composed as music can? +And was not Bernard his own Nervous Man? +Lastly, don't Farley, a bewildered elf, +Quake at the Pantomime he loves to cater, +And ere its changes ring transform himself? + A frightful mug of human delf? +A spirit-bottle--empty of "the cratur"? + A leaden-platter ready for the shelf? + A thunderstruck dumb-waiter? + + To clench the fact, + Myself, once guilty of one small rash act, + Committed at the Surrey, + Quite in a hurry, + Felt all this flurry, + Corporal worry, + And spiritual scurry, + Dram-devil--attic curry! + All going well, + From prompter's bell, + Until befell +A hissing at some dull imperfect dunce-- + There's no denying +I felt in all four elements at once! +My head was swimming, while my arms were flying! +My legs for running--all the rest was frying! + +Thrice welcome, then, for this peculiar use, + Thy pens so innocent of goose! +For this shall dramatists, when they make merry, + Discarding port and sherry, + Drink--"Perry!" + Perry, whose fame, pennated, is let loose + To distant lands, + Perry, admitted on all hands, + Text, running, German, Roman, +For Patent Perryans approached by no man! +And when, ah me! far distant be the hour! +Pluto shall call thee to his gloomy bower, +Many shall be thy pensive mourners, many! +And Penury itself shall club its penny +To raise thy monument in lofty place, +Higher than York's or any son of War; +While time all meaner effigies shall bury, + On due pentagonal base +Shall stand the Parian, Perryan, periwigged Perry, +Perched on the proudest peak of Penman Mawr! + + + + +A THEATRICAL CURIOSITY. + CRUIKSHANK'S OMNIBUS. + +Once in a barn theatric, deep in Kent, + A famed tragedian--one of tuneful tongue-- + Appeared for that night only--'t was Charles Young. +As Rolla he. And as that Innocent, +The Child of hapless Cora, on there went + A smiling, fair-hair'd girl. She scarcely flung + A shadow, as she walk'd the lamps among-- +So light she seem'd, and so intelligent! +That child would Rolla bear to Cora's lap: + Snatching the creature by her tiny gown, +He plants her on his shoulder,--All, all clap! + While all with praise the Infant Wonder crown, +She lisps in Rolla's ear,--"LOOK OUT, OLD CHAP, + OR ELSE I'M BLOW'D IF YOU DON'T HAVE ME DOWN!" + + + +SIDDONS AND HER MAID. + W. S. LANDOR + + SIDDONS. I leave, and unreluctant, the repast; +The herb of China is its crown at last. +Maiden! hast thou a thimble in thy gear? + MAID. Yes, missus, yes. + SIDDONS. Then, maiden, place it here, +With penetrated, penetrating eyes. + MAID. Mine? missus! are they? + SIDDONS. Child! thou art unwise, +Of needles', not of woman's eyes, I spake. + MAID. O dear me! missus, what a sad mistake! + SIDDONS. Now canst thou tell me what was that which led +Athenian Theseus into labyrinth dread? + MAID. He never told me: I can't say, not I, +Unless, mayhap, 't was curiosity. + SIDDENS. Fond maiden! + MAID. No, upon my conscience, madam! +If I was fond of 'em I might have had 'em. + SIDDENS. Avoid! avaunt! beshrew me! 'tis in vain +That Shakspeare's language germinates again. + + + + +THE SECRET SORROW. + PUNCH + +Oh! let me from the festive board + To thee, my mother, flee; +And be my secret sorrow shared + By thee--by only thee! + +In vain they spread the glitt'ring store, + The rich repast, in vain; +Let others seek enjoyment there, + To me 'tis only pain. + +There WAS a word of kind advice-- + A whisper soft and low, +But oh! that ONE resistless smile! + Alas! why was it so? + +No blame, no blame, my mother dear. + Do I impute to YOU, +But since I ate that currant tart + I don't know what to do! + + + + +SONG FOR PUNCH DRINKERS. +AFTER SCHILLER. + PUNCH. + +Four be the elements, + Here we assemble 'em, +Each of man's world + And existence an emblem. + +Press from the lemon + The slow flowing juices-- +Bitter is life + In its lessons and uses. + +Bruise the fair sugar lumps-- + Nature intended +Her sweet and severe + To be everywhere blended. + +Pour the still water-- + Unwarning by sound, +Eternity's ocean + Is hemming us round. + +Mingle the spirit, + The life of the bowl-- +Man is an earth-clod + Unwarmed by a soul! + +Drink of the stream + Ere its potency goes!-- +No bath is refreshing + Except while it glows! + + + + +THE SONG OF THE HUMBUGGED HUSBAND. + PUNCH. + +She's not what fancy painted her-- + I'm sadly taken in: +If some one else had won her, I + Should not have cared a pin. + +I thought that she was mild and good + As maiden e'er could be; +I wonder how she ever could + Have so much humbugg'd me. + +They cluster round and shake my hand-- + They tell me I am blest: +My case they do not understand-- + I think that I know best. + +They say she's fairest of the fair-- + They drive me mad and madder. +What do they mean by it? I swear + I only wish they had her. + +'Tis true that she has lovely locks, + That on her shoulders fall; +What would they say to see the box + In which she keeps them all? +Her taper fingers, it is true, + 'Twere difficult to match: +What would they say if they but knew + How terribly they scratch? + + + + +TEMPERANCE SONG. + PUNCH. +AIR--FRIEND OF MY SOUL. + +Friend of my soul, this water sip, + Its strength you need not fear; +Tis not so luscious as egg-flip, + Nor half so strong as beer. +Like Jenkins when he writes, + It can not touch the mind; +Unlike what he indites, + No nausea leaves behind. + + + + + +LINES + +ADDRESSED TO ** **** ***** ON THE 29TH Of SEPTEMBER + WHEN WE PARTED FOR THE LAST TIME. + PUNCH. + +I have watch'd thee with rapture, and dwelt on thy charms, + As link'd in Love's fetters we wander'd each day; +And each night I have sought a new life in thy arms, + And sigh'd that our union could last not for aye. + +But thy life now depends on a frail silken thread, + Which I even by kindness may cruelly sever, +And I look to the moment of parting with dread, + For I feel that in parting I lose thee forever. + +Sole being that cherish'd my poor troubled heart! + Thou know'st all its secrets--each joy and each grief; +And in sharing them all thou did'st ever impart + To its sorrows a gentle and soothing relief. + +The last of a long and affectionate race, + As thy days are declining I love thee the more, +For I feel that thy loss I can never replace-- + That thy death will but leave me to weep and deplore. + +Unchanged, thou shalt live in the mem'ry of years, + I can not--I will not--forget what thou wert! +While the thoughts of thy love as they call forth my tears, + In fancy will wash thee once more--MY LAST SHIRT. +GRUB-STREET. + + + + +MADNESS. + PUNCH. + +There is a madness of the heart, not head-- + That in some bosoms wages endless war; +There is a throe when other pangs are dead, + That shakes the system to its utmost core. + +There is a tear more scalding than the brine + That streams from out the fountain of the eye, +And like the lava leaves a scorched line, + As in its fiery course it rusheth by. + +What is that madness? Is it envy, hate, + Or jealousy more cruel than the grave, +With all the attendants that upon it wait + And make the victim now despair, now rave? + +It is when hunger, clam'ring for relief, + Hears a shrill voice exclaim, "That graceless sinner, +The cook, has been, and gone, and burnt the beef, + And spilt the tart--in short, she's dish'd the dinner!" + + + +THE BANDIT'S FATE. + PUNCH. + +He wore a brace of pistols the night when first we met, +His deep-lined brow was frowning beneath his wig of jet, +His footsteps had the moodiness, his voice the hollow tone, +Of a bandit-chief, who feels remorse, and tears his hair alone-- + I saw him but at half-price, yet methinks I see him now, + In the tableau of the last act, with the blood upon his brow. + +A private bandit's belt and boots, when next we met, he wore +His salary, he told me, was lower than before; +And standing at the O. P. wing he strove, and not in vain, +To borrow half a sovereign, which he never paid. + I saw it but a moment--and I wish I saw it now-- + As he buttoned up his pocket with a condescending bow. + +And once again we met; but no bandit chief was there; +His rouge was off, and gone that head of once luxuriant hair +He lodges in a two-pair back, and at the public near, +He can not liquidate his "chalk," or wipe away his beer. + I saw him sad and seedy, yet methinks I see him now, + In the tableau of the last act, with the blood upon his brow. + + + + +LINES WRITTEN AFTER A BATTLE. +BY AN ASSISTANT SURGEON OF THE NINETEENTH NANKEENS. + PUNCH. + +Stiff are the warrior's muscles, + Congeal'd, alas! his chyle; +No more in hostile tussles + Will he excite his bile. +Dry is the epidermis, + A vein no longer bleeds-- +And the communis vermis + Upon the warrior feeds. + +Compress'd, alas! the thorax, + That throbbed with joy or pain; +Not e'en a dose of borax + Could make it throb again. +Dried up the warrior's throat is, + All shatter'd too, his head: +Still is the epiglottis-- + The warrior is dead. + + + +THE PHRENOLOGIST TO HIS MISTRESS. + PUNCH. + +Though largely developed's my organ of order, + And though I possess my destructiveness small, +On suicide, dearest, you'll force me to border, + If thus you are deaf to my vehement call + +For thee veneration is daily extending, + On a head that for want of it once was quite flat; +If thus with my passion I find you contending, + My organs will swell till they've knocked off my hat + +I know, of perceptions, I've none of the clearest; + For while I believe that by thee I'm beloved, +I'm told at my passion thou secretly sneerest; + But oh! may the truth unto me never be proved! + +I'll fly to Deville, and a cast of my forehead + I'll send unto thee;--then upon thee I'll call. +Rejection--alas! to the lover how horrid-- + When 'tis passion that SPURS-HIM, 'tis bitter as GALL. + + + + +THE CHEMIST TO HIS LOVE. + PUNCH. + +I love thee, Mary, and thou lovest me-- +Our mutual flame is like th' affinity +That doth exist between two simple bodies: +I am Potassium to thine Oxygen. +'Tis little that the holy marriage vow +Shall shortly make us one. That unity +Is, after all, but metaphysical +O, would that I, my Mary, were an acid, +A living acid; thou an alkali +Endow'd with human sense, that, brought together, +We both might coalesce into one salt, +One homogeneous crystal. Oh! that thou +Wert Carbon, and myself were Hydrogen; +We would unite to form olefiant gas, +Or common coal, or naphtha--would to heaven +That I were Phosphorus, and thou wert Lime! +And we of Lime composed a Phosphuret. +I'd be content to be Sulphuric Acid, +So that thou might be Soda. In that case +We should be Glauber's Salt. Wert thou Magnesia +Instead we'd form that's named from Epsom. +Couldst thou Potassa be, I Aqua-fortis, +Our happy union should that compound form, +Nitrate of Potash--otherwise Saltpeter. +And thus our several natures sweetly blent, +We'd live and love together, until death +Should decompose the fleshly TERTIUM QUID, +Leaving our souls to all eternity +Amalgamated. Sweet, thy name is Briggs +And mine is Johnson. Wherefore should not we +Agree to form a Johnsonate of Briggs? +We will. The day, the happy day, is nigh, +When Johnson shall with beauteous Briggs combine. + + + + +A BALLAD OF BEDLAM. + PUNCH. + +O, lady wake!--the azure moon + Is rippling in the verdant skies, +The owl is warbling his soft tune, + Awaiting but thy snowy eyes. +The joys of future years are past, + To-morrow's hopes have fled away; +Still let us love, and e'en at last, + We shall be happy yesterday. + +The early beam of rosy night + Drives off the ebon morn afar, +While through the murmur of the light + The huntsman winds his mad guitar. +Then, lady, wake! my brigantine + Pants, neighs, and prances to be free; +Till the creation I am thine, + To some rich desert fly with me. + + + + +STANZAS TO AN EGG. +[BY A SPOON.] + PUNCH. + +Pledge of a feather'd pair's affection, + Kidnapped in thy downy nest, +Soon for my breakfast--sad reflection!-- + Must thou in yon pot be drest. + +What are the feelings of thy mother? + Poor bereaved, unhappy hen! +Though she may lay, perchance, another, + Thee she ne'er will see again. + +Yet do not mourn. Although above thee + Never more shall parent brood. +Know, dainty darling! that I love thee + Dearly as thy mother could. + + + + +A FRAGMENT. + PUNCH. + +His eye was stern and wild,--his cheek was pale and cold as clay; +Upon his tightened lip a smile of fearful meaning lay; +He mused awhile--but not in doubt--no trace of doubt was there; +It was the steady solemn pause of resolute despair. +Once more he look'd upon the scroll--once more its words he read-- +Then calmly, with unflinching hand, its folds before him spread. +I saw him bare his throat, and seize the blue cold-gleaming steel, +And grimly try the tempered edge he was so soon to feel! +A sickness crept upon my heart, and dizzy swam my head,-- +I could not stir--I could not cry--I felt benumb'd and dead; +Black icy horrors struck me dumb, and froze my senses o'er; +I closed my eyes in utter fear, and strove to think no more. + + * * * * * * * + +Again I looked,--a fearful change across his face had pass'd-- +He seem'd to rave,--on cheek and lip a flaky foam was cast; +He raised on high the glittering blade--then first I found a tongue-- +"Hold, madman! stay thy frantic deed!" I cried, and forth I sprung; +He heard me, but he heeded not; one glance around he gave; +And ere I could arrest his hand, he had begun to SHAVE! + + + + +EATING SONG. + PUNCH. + +Oh! carve me yet another slice, + O help me to more gravy still, +There's naught so sure as something nice + To conquer care, or grief to kill. + +I always loved a bit of beef, + When Youth and Bliss and Hope were mine; +And now it gives my heart relief + In sorrow's darksome hour--to dine! + + + + +THE SICK CHILD. +[BY THE HONOBABLE WILHELMINA SKEGGS.] + PUNCH. + +A weakness seizes on my mind--I would more pudding take; +But all in vain--I feel--I feel--my little head will ache. +Oh! that I might alone be left, to rest where now I am, +And finish with a piece of bread that pot of currant jam. + +I gaze upon the cake with tears, and wildly I deplore +That I must take a powder if I touch a morsel more, +Or oil of castor, smoothly bland, will offer'd be to me, +In wave pellucid, floating on a cup of milkless tea. + +It may be so--I can not tell--I yet may do without; +They need not know, when left alone, what I have been about. +I long to eat that potted beef--to taste that apple-pie; +I long--I long to eat some more, but have not strength to try. + +I gasp for breath, and now I know I've eaten far too much; +Not one more crumb of all the feast before me can I touch. +Susan, oh! Susan, ring the bell, and call for mother, dear, +My brain swims round--I feel it all--mother, your child is queer! + + + +THE IMAGINATIVE CRISIS. + PUNCH. + +Oh, solitude! thou wonder-working fay, +Come nurse my feeble fancy in your arms, +Though I, and thee, and fancy town-pent lay, +Come, call around, a world of country charms. +Let all this room, these walls dissolve away, +And bring me Surrey's fields to take their place: +This floor be grass, and draughts as breezes play; +Yon curtains trees, to wave in summer's face; +My ceiling, sky; my water-jug a stream; +My bed, a bank, on which to muse and dream. +The spell is wrought: imagination swells +My sleeping-room to hills, and woods, and dells! +I walk abroad, for naught my footsteps hinder, +And fling my arms. Oh! mi! I've broke the WINDER! + + + +LINES TO BESSY. +[BY A STUDENT AT LAW.] + PUNCH. + +My head is like a title-deed, + Or abstract of the same: +Wherein, my Bessy, thou may'st read + Thine own long-cherish'd name. + +Against thee I my suit have brought, + I am thy plaintiff lover, +And for the heart that thou hast caught, + An action lies--of trover. + +Alas, upon me every day + The heaviest costs you levy: +Oh, give me back my heart--but nay! + I feel I can't replevy. + +I'll love thee with my latest breath, + Alas, I can not YOU shun, +Till the hard hand of SHERIFF death + Takes me in execution. + +Say, BESSY dearest, if you will + Accept me as a lover? +Must true affection file a bill + The secret to discover? + +Is it my income's small amount + That leads to hesitation? +Refer the question of account + To CUPID'S arbitration. + + + + +MONODY ON THE DEATH OF AN ONLY CLIENT. + PUNCH. + +Oh! take away my wig and gown, + Their sight is mockery now to me. +I pace my chambers up and down, + Reiterating "Where is HE?" + +Alas! wild echo, with a moan, + Murmurs above my feeble head: +In the wide world I am alone; + Ha! ha! my only client's--dead! + +In vain the robing-room I seek; + The very waiters scarcely bow, +Their looks contemptuously speak, + "He's lost his only client now." + +E'en the mild usher, who, of yore, + Would hasten when his name I said, +To hand in motions, comes no more, + HE knows my only client's dead. + +Ne'er shall I, rising up in court, + Open the pleadings of a suit: +Ne'er shall the judges cut me short + While moving them for a compute. + +No more with a consenting brief + Shall I politely bow my head; +Where shall I run to hide my grief? + Alas! my only client's dead. + +Imagination's magic power + Brings back, as clear, as clear as can be, +The spot, the day, the very hour, + When first I sign'd my maiden plea. + +In the Exchequer's hindmost row + I sat, and some one touched my head, +He tendered ten-and-six, but oh! + That only client now is dead. + +In vain I try to sing--I'm hoarse: + In vain I try to play the flute, +A phantom seems to flit across-- + It is the ghost of a compute. + +I try to read,--but all in vain; + My chamber listlessly I tread; +Be still, my heart; throb less, my brain; + Ho! ho! my only client's dead. + +I think I hear a double knock: + I did--alas! it is a dun. +Tailor--avaunt! my sense you shock; + He's dead! you know I had but one. + +What's this they thrust into my hand? + A bill returned!--ten pounds for bread! +My butcher's got a large demand; + I'm mad! my only client's dead. + + + +LOVE ON THE OCEAN. + PUNCH. + +They met, 't was in a storm + On the deck of a steamer; +She spoke in language warm, + Like a sentimental dreamer. +He spoke--at least he tried; + His position he altered; +Then turned his face aside, + And his deep-ton'd voice falter'd. + +She gazed upon the wave, + Sublime she declared it; +But no reply he gave-- + He could not have dared it. +A breeze came from the south, + Across the billows sweeping; +His heart was in his mouth, + And out he thought 't was leaping. + +"O, then, Steward!" he cried + With the deepest emotion; +Then totter'd to the side, + And leant o'er the ocean. +The world may think him cold, + But they'll pardon him with quickness, +When the fact they shall be told, + That he suffer'd from sea-sickness. + + + +"OH! WILT THOU SEW MY BUTTONS ON?" +[Footnote: "Wilt thou love me then as now" and "I will love thee then +as now" were two popular songs in 1849] +AND +"YES, I WILL SEW THY BUTTONS ON!" + PUNCH. + +[Just at present no lyrics have so eclatant a succes de societe as the +charming companion ballads which, under the above pathetic titles, +have made a fureur in the fashionable circles to which the fair +composer, to whom they are attributed in the causeries of May Fair and +Belgravia (The HON. MRS. N--T--N), belongs. The touching event to +which they refer, is the romantic union of the HON. MISS BL--CHE DE +F--TZ--FL--M to C--PT--N DE B--RS, of the C-DS--M G--DS, which took the +beau monde by surprise last season. Previous to the eclaircissement, +the gifted and lovely composer, at a ball given by the distinguished +D--CH--SS of S--TH--D, accidentally overheard the searching question +of the gallant but penniless Captain, and the passionate and self- +devoted answer of his lovely and universally admired fiancee. She +instantly rushed home and produced these pathetic and powerful +ballads.] + +"Oh! wilt thou sew my buttons on, + When gayer scenes recall +That fairy face, that stately grace, + To reign amid the ball? +When Fulham's bowers their sweetest flowers + For fete-champetres shall don, +Oh! say, wilt thou, of queenly brow, + Still sew my buttons on? + +"The noble, sweet, are at thy feet, + To meet a freezing eye; +The gay, the great, in camp and state, + In vain around thee sigh. +Thou turn'st away, in scorn of sway, + To bless a younger son-- +But when we live in lodgings, say, + Wilt sew his buttons on?" + +"Yes I will sew thy buttons on, + Though all look dark and drear; +And scant, they say, lieutenant's pay, + Two hundred pounds a year. +Let HOW'LL and JAMES tempt wealthier dames, + Of gauds and gems I'll none; +Nor ask to roam, but sit at home, + And sew thy buttons on! + +"When ladies blush 'neath lusters' flush, + And fast the waltzers fly, +Though tame at tea I bide with thee, + No tear shall dim my eye. +When summer's close brings Chiswick shows-- + When all from town have gone, +I'll sit me down, nor pout nor frown, + But sew thy buttons on!" + + + +THE PAID BILL +A BALLAD OF DOMESTIC ECONOMY. + PUNCH +O fling not this receipt away, + Given by one who trusted thee; +Mistakes will happen every day + However honest folks may be. +And sad it is, love, twice to pay; + So cast not that receipt away! + +Ah, yes; if e'er, in future hours, + When we this bill have all forgot, +They send it in again--ye powers! + And swear that we have paid it not-- +How sweet to know, on such a day + We've never cast receipts away! + + + + +PARODY FOR A REFORMED PARLIAMENT. + PUNCH. + +The quality of bribery is deep stained; +It droppeth from a hand behind the door +Into the voter's palm. It is +twice dirty: +It dirts both him that gives, and him that takes. +'Tis basest in the basest, and becomes +Low blacklegs more than servants of the Crown. +Those swindlers show the force of venal power, +The attribute to trick and roguery, +Whereby 'tis managed that a bad horse wins: +But bribery is below their knavish "lay." +It is the vilest of dishonest things; +It was the attribute to Gatton's self; +And other boroughs most like Gatton show +When bribery smothers conscience. Therefore, you, +Whose conscience takes the fee, consider this-- +That in the cause of just reform, you all +Should lose your franchise: we do dislike bribery; +And that dislike doth cause us to object to +The deeds of W. B. + + + +THE WAITER. + PUNCH. + +I met the waiter in his prime + At a magnificent hotel; +His hair, untinged by care or time, + Was oiled and brushed exceeding well. +When "waiter," was the impatient cry, + In accents growing stronger, +He seem'd to murmur "By and by, + Wait a little longer." + +Within a year we met once more, + 'Twas in another part of town-- +An humbler air the waiter wore, + I fancied he was going down. +Still, when I shouted "Waiter, bread!" + He came out rather stronger, +As if he'd say with toss of head, + "Wait a little longer." + +Time takes us on through many a grace; + Of "ups and downs" I've had my run, +Passing full often through the shade + And sometimes loitering in the sun. +I and the waiter met again + At a small inn at Ongar; +Still, when I call'd, 't was almost vain-- + He bade me wait the longer. + +Another time--years since the last-- + At eating-house I sought relief +From present care and troubles past, + In a small plate of round of beef. +"One beef, and taturs," was the cry, + In tones than mine much stronger; +'T was the old waiter standing by, + "Waiting a little longer." + +I've marked him now for many a year; + I've seen his coat more rusty grow; +His linen is less bright and clear, + His polished pumps are on the go. +Torn are, alas! his Berlin gloves-- + They used to be much stronger, +The waiter's whole appearance proves + He can not wait much longer. + +I sometimes see the waiter still; + 'Gainst want he wages feeble strife; +He's at the bottom of the hill, + Downward has been his path through life. +Of "waiter, waiter," there are cries, + Which louder grow and stronger; +'Tis to old Time he now replies, + "Wait a little longer." + + +[Illustration: Oliver Wendell Holmes] + + +THE LAST APPENDIX TO "YANKEE DOODLE." + PUNCH, 1851. + +YANKEE DOODLE sent to Town + His goods for exhibition; +Every body ran him down, + And laugh'd at his position. +They thought him all the world behind; + A goney, muff, or noodle; +Laugh on, good people--never mind-- + Says quiet YANKEE DOODLE. + +Chorus.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc. + +YANKEE DOODLE had a craft, + A rather tidy clipper, +And he challenged, while they laughed, + The Britishers to whip her. +Their whole yacht-squadron she outsped, + And that on their own water; +Of all the lot she went a-head, + And they came nowhere arter. + +Chorus.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc. + +O'er Panama there was a scheme + Long talk'd of, to pursue a +Short route--which many thought a dream-- + By Lake Nicaragua. +JOHN BULL discussed the plan on foot, + With slow irresolution, +While YANKEE DOODLE went and put + It into execution. + +Chorus.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc. + +A steamer of the COLLINS line, + A YANKEE DOODLE'S notion, +Has also quickest cut the brine + Across the Atlantic Ocean. +And British agents, no ways slow + Her merits to discover, +Have been and bought her--just to tow + The CUNARD packets over. + + CHORUS.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc. + +Your gunsmiths of their skill may crack, + But that again don't mention: +I guess that COLTS' revolvers whack + Their very first invention. +By YANKEE DOODLE, too, you're beat + Downright in Agriculture, +With his machine for reaping wheat, + Chaw'd up as by a vulture. + + CHORUS.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc. + +You also fancied, in your pride, + Which truly is tarnation, +Them British locks of yourn defied + The rogues of all creation; +But CHUBBS' and BRAMAH'S HOBBS has pick'd, + And you must now be view'd all +As having been completely licked + By glorious YANKEE DOODLE. + + CHORUS.--YANKEE DOODLE, etc. + + + +LINES FOR MUSIC. + PUNCH. + +Come strike me the harp with its soul-stirring twang, +The drum shall reply with its hollowest bang; +Up, up in the air with the light tamborine, +And let the dull ophecleide's groan intervene; +For such is our life, lads, a chaos of sounds, +Through which the gay traveler actively bounds. +With the voice of the public the statesman must chime, +And change the key-note, boys, exactly in time; +The lawyer will coolly his client survey, +As an instrument merely whereon he can play. +Then harp, drum, and cymbals together shall clang, +With a loud-tooral lira, right tooral, bang, bang! + + + + +DRAMA FOR EVERY-DAY LIFE. +LUDGATE HILL.--A MYSTERY. + PUNCH. + +MR. MEADOWS . . . . A Country Gentleman. +PRIGWELL . . . . . With a heavy heart and light fingers. +BROWN . . . . . . . Friends of each other. +JONES . . . . . . . Friends of each other. +BLIND VOCALIST . . Who will attempt the song of "Hey + the Bonny Breast Knot." + +The Scene represents Ludgate Hill in the middle of the day; +Passengers, Omnibuses, etc., etc., passing to and fro. + +MEADOWS enters, musing. + +MEADOWS. I stand at last on Ludgate's famous hill; +I've traversed Farringdon's frequented vale, +I've quitted Holborn's heights--the slopes of Snow, +Where Skinner's sinuous street, with tortuous track, +Trepans the traveler toward the field of Smith; +That field, whose scents burst on the offended nose +With foulest flavor, while the thrice shocked ear, +Thrice shocked with bellowing blasphemy and blows, +Making one compound of Satanic sound, +Is stunned, in physical and moral sense. +But this is Ludgate Hill--here commerce thrives; +Here, merchants carry trade to such a height +That competition, bursting builders' bonds, +Starts from the shop, and rushing through the roof, +Unites the basement with the floors above; +Till, like a giant, that outgrows his strength, +The whole concern, struck with abrupt collapse, +In one "tremendous failure" totters down!-- +'Tis food on which philosophy may fatten. + [Turns round, musing, and looks into a shop window + +Enter PRIGWELL, talking to himself. + +PRIGWELL. I've made a sorry day of it thus far; +I've fathomed fifty pockets, all in vain; +I've spent in omnibuses half-a-crown; +I've ransacked forty female reticules-- +And nothing found--some business must be done. +By Jove--I'd rather turn Lascar at once: +Allow the walnut's devastating juice +To track its inky course along my cheek, +And stain my British brow with Indian brown. +Or, failing that, I'd rather drape myself +In cheap white cotton, or gay colored chintz-- +Hang roung my ear the massive curtain-ring-- +With strings of bold, effective glassy beads +Circle my neck--and play the Brahmin Priest, +To win the sympathy of passing crowds, +And melt the silver in the stranger's purse. +But ah! (SEEING MEADOWS) the land of promise looms before me +The bulging skirts of that provincial coat +Tell tales of well-filled pocket-books within. + [Goes behind Meadows and empties his pockets + +This is indeed a prize! + [Meadows turns suddenly round, + + Your pardon, sir; +Is this, the way to Newgate? + +MEADOWS. Why, indeed +I scarce can say; I'm but a stranger here, +I should not like to misdirect you. + +PRIGWELL. Thank you, +I'll find the way to Newgate by myself. + [Exit. + +MEADOWS (STILL MUSING). This is indeed a great Metropolis. + +ENTER BLIND VOCALIST. + +BLIND VOCALIST (SINGING). Hey, the bonny! (KNOCKS UP AGAINST MEADOWS, +WHO EXIT). Ho! the bonny--(A PASSENGER KNOCKS UP AGAINST THE BLIND +VOCALIST ON THE OTHER SIDE). Hey, the bonny--(A BUTCHER'S TRAY STRIKES +THE BLIND VOCALIST IN THE CHEST)--breast knot. AS HE CONTINUES SINGING +"HEY, THE BONNY! HO, THE BONNY," THE BLIND VOCALIST ENCOUNTERS VARIOUS +COLLISIONS, AND HIS BREATH BEING TAKEN AWAY BY A POKE OR A PUSH +BETWEEN EACH BAR, HE IS CARRIED AWAY BY THE STREAM OF PASSENGERS. + +ENTER BROWN AND JONES. MEETING, THEY STOP AND SHAKE HANDS MOST +CORDIALLY FOR SEVERAL MINUTES. + +BROWN. How are you, JONES? + +JONES. Why, BROWN, I do declare +'Tis quite an age since you and I have met. + +BROWN. I'm quite delighted. + +JONES. I'm extremely glad. + [An awkward pause + +BROWN. Well! and how are you? + +JONES. Thank you, very well; +And you, I hope are well? + +BROWN. Quite well, I thank you. + [Another awkward pause. + +JONES. Oh!--by the way--have you seen THOMSON lately? + +BROWN. Not very lately. (After a pause, and as if struck + with a happy idea). But I met with SMITH-- +A week ago. + +JONES. Oh! did you though, indeed? +And how was SMITH? + +Brown. Why, he seemed pretty well + [Another long pause; at the end of which both appear as +if they were going to speak to each other. + +JONES. I beg your pardon. + +SMITH. You were going to speak? + +JONES. Oh! nothing. I was only going to say-- +Good morning. + +SMITH. Oh! and so was I. Good-day. + [Both shake hands, and are going off in opposite directions, + when Smith turns round. Jones turning round at the same + time they both return and look at each other. + +JONES. I thought you wished to speak, by looking back. + +BROWN. Oh no. I thought the same. + +BOTH TOGETHER. Good-by! Good-by! + [Exeunt finally; and the conversation and the curtain drop +together. + + + +PROCLIVIOR. +(A slight Variation on LONGFELLOW'S "EXCELSIOR.") + PUNCH. + +The shades of night were falling fast, +As tow'rd the Haymarket there pass'd +A youth, whose look told in a trice +That his taste chose the queer device-- + PROCLIVIOR! + +His hat, a wide-awake; beneath +He tapp'd a cane against his teeth; +His eye was bloodshot, and there rung, +Midst scraps of slang, in unknown tongue, + PROCLIVIOR! + +In calm first-floors he saw the light +Of circles cosy for the night; +But far ahead the gas-lamps glow; +He turn'd his head, and murmur'd "Slow," + PROCLIVIOR! + +"Come early home," his Uncle said, +"We all are early off to bed; +The family blame you far and wide;" +But loud that noisy youth replied-- + PROCLIVIOR! + +"Stay," said his Aunt, "come home to sup, +Early retire--get early up." +A wink half quivered in his eye; +He answered to the old dame's sigh-- + PROCLIVIOR! + +"Mind how you meddle with that lamp! +And mind the pavement, for it's damp!" +Such was the Peeler's last good-night +A faint voice stutter'd out "All right." + PROCLIVIOR! + +At break of day, as far West-ward +A cab roll'd o'er the highways hard, +The early mover stopp'd to stare +At the wild shouting of the fare-- + PROCLIVIOR! + +And by the bailiff's faithful hound, +At breakfast-time, a youth was found, +Upon three chairs, with aspect nice, +True to his young life's queer device, + PROCLIVIOR! + +Thence, on a dull and muggy day, +They bore him to the Bench away, +And there for several months he lay, +While friends speak gravely as they say-- + PROCLIVIOR! + + + + +JONES AT THE BARBER'S SHOP. + PUNCH. + +SCENE.--A Barber's Shop. Barber's men engaged in cutting hair, +making wigs, and other barberesque operations. + +Enter JONES, meeting OILY the barber. + + JONES. I wish my hair cut. + + OILY. Pray, sir, take a seat. + +OILY puts a chair for JONES, who sits. During the following dialogue +OILY continues cutting JONES'S hair. + + OILY. We've had much wet, sir. + + JONES. Very much, indeed. + + OILY. And yet November's early days were fine. + + JONES. They were. + + OILY. I hoped fair weather might have lasted us +Until the end. + + JONES. At one time--so did I. + + OILY. But we have had it very wet. + + JONES. We have. + + [A pause of some minutes. + + OILY. I know not, sir, who cut your hair last time; +But this I say, sir, it was badly cut: +No doubt 't was in the country. + + JONES. No! in town! + + OILY. Indeed! I should have fancied otherwise. + + JONES. 'Twas cut in town--and in this very room. + + OILY. Amazement!--but I now remember well. +We had an awkward, new provincial hand, +A fellow from the country. Sir, he did +More damage to my business in a week +Than all my skill can in a year repair. +He must have cut your hair. + + JONES (looking at him). No--'twas yourself. + + OILY. Myself! Impossible! You must mistake. + + JONES. I don't mistake--'twas you that cut my hair. + + [A long pause, interrupted only by the clipping of the scissors. + + OILY. Your hair is very dry, sir. + + JONES. Oh! indeed. + + OILY. Our Vegetable Extract moistens it. + + JONES. I like it dry. + + OILY. But, sir, the hair when dry. + +Turns quickly gray. + + JONES. That color I prefer, + + OILY. But hair, when gray, will rapidly fall off, +And baldness will ensue. + + JONES. I would be bald. + + OILY. Perhaps you mean to say you'd like a wig.-- +We've wigs so natural they can't be told +From real hair. + + JONES. Deception I detest. + +[Another pause ensues, during which OILY blows down JONES'S neck, and +relieves him from the linen wrapper in which he has been enveloped +during the process of hair-cutting. + + OILY. We've brushes, soaps, and scent, of every kind. + + JONES. I see you have. (Pays 6d.) I think you'll find that + right. + OILY. If there is nothing I can show you, sir, + + JONES. No: nothing. Yet--there may be something, too, +That you may show me. + + OILY. Name it, sir. + + JONES. The door. + + [EXIT JONES. +OILY (to his man). That's a rum customer at any rate. +Had I cut him as short as he cut me, +How little hair upon his head would be! +But if kind friends will all our pains requite, +We'll hope for better luck another night. + + [Shop-bell rings and curtain falls. + + + + +THE SATED ONE. +[IMPROMPTU AFTER CHRISTMAS DINNER.] + PUNCH. + +It may not be--go maidens, go, +Nor tempt me to the mistletoe; +I once could dance beneath its bough, +But must not, will not, can not, now! + +A weight--a load within I bear; +It is not madness nor despair; +But I require to be at rest, +So that my burden may-digest! + + + + +SAPPHICS OF THE CABSTAND +[Footnote: See The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder] + PUNCH. + +FRIEND OF SELF-GOVERNMENT. + +Seedy Cab-driver, whither art thou going? +Sad is thy fate--reduced to law and order, +Local self-government yielding to the gripe of + Centralization. + +Victim of FITZROY! little think the M.P.s, +Lording it o'er cab, 'bus, lodging-house, and grave-yard, +Of the good times when every Anglo Saxon's + House was his castle. + +Say, hapless sufferer, was it Mr. CHADWICK-- +Underground foe to the British Constitution-- +Or my LORD SHAFTESBURY, put up MR. FITZROY + Thus to assail you? + +Was it the growth of Continental notions, +Or was it the Metropolitan police-force +Prompted this blow at Laissez-faire, that free and + Easiest of doctrines? + +Have you not read Mr. TOULMIN SMITH'S great work on +Centralization? If you haven't, buy it; +Meanwhile I should be glad at once to hear your + View on the subject. + +CAB-DRIVER. + +View on the subject? jiggered if I've got one; +Only I wants no centrylisin', I don't-- +Which I suppose it's a crusher standin' sentry + Hover a cabstand. + +Whereby if we gives e'er a word o' cheek to +Parties as rides, they pulls us up like winkin'-- +And them there blessed beaks is down upon us + Dead as an 'ammer! +As for Mr. TOULMIN SMITH, can't say I knows him-- +But as you talks so werry like a gem'man, +Perhaps you're goin in 'ansome style to stand a + Shillin' a mile, sir? + +FRIEND OF SELF--GOVERNMENT. + +I give a shilling? I will see thee hanged first-- +Sixpence a mile--or drive me straight to Bow-street-- +Idle, ill-mannered, dissipated, dirty, + Insolent rascal! + + + +JUSTICE TO SCOTLAND. +[Footnote: In this poem the Scottish words and phrases are all +ludicrously misapplied] +[AN UNPUBLISHED POEM BY BURNS.] +COMMUNICATED BY THE EDINBURG SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CIVILIZATION IN +ENGLAND + PUNCH. + +O mickle yeuks the keckle doup, + An' a' unsicker girns the graith, +For wae and wae the crowdies loup + O'er jouk an' hallan, braw an' baith. +Where ance the coggie hirpled fair, + And blithesome poortith toomed the loof +There's nae a burnie giglet rare + But blaws in ilka jinking coof. + +The routhie bield that gars the gear + Is gone where glint the pawky een. +And aye the stound is birkin lear + Where sconnered yowies wheepen yestreen. +The creeshie rax wi' skelpin' kaes + Nae mair the howdie bicker whangs, +Nor weanies in their wee bit claes + Glour light as lammies wi' their sangs. + +Yet leeze me on my bonnie byke! + My drappie aiblins blinks the noo, +An' leesome luve has lapt the dyke + Forgatherin' just a wee bit fou. +And SCOTIA! while thy rantin' lunt + Is mirk and moop with gowans fine, +I'll stowlins pit my unco brunt, + An' cleek my duds for auld lang syne. + + + +THE POETICAL COOKERY-BOOK. + PUNCH +THE STEAK. +Air.--"The Sea." + +Of Steak--of Steak--of prime Rump Steak-- +A slice of half-inch thickness take, +Without a blemish, soft and sound; +In weight a little more than a pound. +Who'd cook a Stake--who'd cook a Steak-- +Must a fire clear proceed to make: +With the red above and the red below, +In one delicious genial glow. +If a coal should come, a blaze to make, +Have patience! You mustn't put on your Steak. + +First rub--yes, rub--with suet fat, +The gridiron's bars, then on it flat +Impose the meat; and the fire soon +Will make it sing a delicious tune. +And when 'tis brown'd by the genial glow, +Just turn the upper side below. +Both sides with brown being cover'd o'er, +For a moment you broil your Steak no more, +But on a hot dish let it rest, +And add of butter a slice of the best; +In a minute or two the pepper-box take, +And with it gently dredge your Steak. + +When seasoned quite, upon the fire +Some further time it will require; +And over and over be sure to turn +Your Steak till done--nor let it burn; +For nothing drives me half so wild +As a nice Rump Steak in the cooking spiled. +I've lived in pleasure mixed with grief, +On fish and fowl, and mutton and beef, +With plenty of cash, and power to range, +But my Steak I never wished to change: +For a Steak was always a treat to me, +At breakfast, luncheon, dinner, or tea. + + +ROASTED SUCKING-PIG. +AIR--"Scots wha has." + +Cooks who'd roast a Sucking-pig, +Purchase one not over big; +Coarse ones are not worth a fig; + So a young one buy. +See that he is scalded well +(That is done by those who sell), +Therefore on that point to dwell, + Were absurdity. + +Sage and bread, mix just enough, +Salt and pepper quantum suff., +And the Pig's interior stuff, + With the whole combined. +To a fire that's rather high, +Lay it till completely dry; +Then to every part apply + Cloth, with butter lined. + +Dredge with flour o'er and o'er, +Till the Pig will hold no more; +Then do nothing else before + 'Tis for serving fit. +Then scrape off the flour with care; +Then a butter'd cloth prepare; +Rub it well; then cut--not tear-- + Off the head of it. + +Then take out and mix the brains +With the gravy it contains; +While it on the spit remains, + Cut the Pig in two. +Chop the sage, and chop the bread +Fine as very finest shred; +O'er it melted butter spread-- + Stinginess won't do. + +When it in the dish appears, +Garnish with the jaws and ears; +And when dinner-hour nears, + Ready let it be. +Who can offer such a dish +May dispense with fowl and fish; +And if he a guest should wish, + Let him send for me! + +BEIGNET DE POMME. +AIR--"Home, Sweet Home." + +'Mid fritters and lollipops though we may roam, +On the whole, there is nothing like Beignet de Pomme. +Of flour a pound, with a glass of milk share, +And a half pound of butter the mixture will bear. + Pomme! Pomme! Beignet de Pomme! + Of Beignets there's none like the Beignet de Pomme! + +A Beignet de Pomme, you will work at in vain, +If you stir not the mixture again and again; +Some beer, just to thin it, may into it fall; +Stir up that, with three whites of eggs, added to all. + Pomme! Pomme! Beignet de Pomme! + Of Beignets there's none like the Beignet de Pomme! + +Six apples, when peeled, you must carefully slice, +And cut out the cores--if you 'll take my advice; +Then dip them in batter, and fry till they foam, +And you'll have in six minutes your Beignet de Pomme. + Pomme! Pomme! Beignet de Pomme! + Of Beignets there's none like the Beignet de Pomme! + + +CHERRY PIE. +AIR--"Cherry Ripe." + +Cherry Pie! Cherry Pie! Pie! I cry, +Kentish cherries you may buy. +If so be you ask me where +To put the fruit, I'll answer "There!" +In the dish your fruit must lie, +When you make your Cherry Pie. + Cherry Pie! Cherry Pie! etc. + +Cherry Pie! Cherry Pie! Pie! I cry, +Full and fair ones mind you buy +Whereabouts the crust should go, +Any fool, of course will know; +In the midst a cup may lie, +When you make your Cherry Pie. + Cherry Pie! Cherry Pie! etc. + + +DEVILED BISCUIT. +AIR--"A Temple of Friendship." + +"A nice Devil'd Biscuit," said JENKINS enchanted, + "I'll have after dinner--the thought is divine!" +The biscuit was bought, and he now only wanted-- + To fully enjoy it--a glass of good wine. +He flew to the pepper, and sat down before it, + And at peppering the well-butter'd biscuit he went; +Then, some cheese in a paste mix'd with mustard spread o'er it + And down to be grill'd to the kitchen 'twas sent. + +"Oh! how," said the Cook, "can I this think of grilling, + When common the pepper? the whole will be flat. +But here's the Cayenne; if my master is willing, + I'll make, if he pleases, a devil with that." +So the Footman ran up with the Cook's observation + To JENKINS, who gave him a terrible look: +"Oh, go to the devil!" forgetting his station, + Was the answer that JENKINS sent down to the Cook. + + +RED HERRINGS. +AIR--"Meet Me By Moonlight." + +Meet me at breakfast alone, + And then I will give you a dish +Which really deserves to be known, + Though it's not the genteelest of fish. +You must promise to come, for I said + A splendid Red Herring I'd buy-- +Nay, turn not away your proud head; + You'll like it, I know, when you try. + +If moisture the Herring betray, + Drain, till from moisture 'tis free; +Warm it through in the usual way, + Then serve it for you and for me. +A piece of cold butter prepare, + To rub it when ready it lies; +Egg-sauce and potatoes don't spare, + And the flavor will cause you surprise + + +IRISH STEW. +AIR--"Happy Land." + +Irish stew, Irish stew! + Whatever else my dinner be, +Once again, once again, + I'd have a dish of thee. + +Mutton chops, and onion slice, + Let the water cover, +With potatoes, fresh and nice; + Boil, but not quite over, + Irish stew, Irish stew! +Ne'er from thee, my taste will stray. + I could eat + Such a treat + Nearly every day. + La, la, la, la! + + +BARLEY BROTH. +Air--"The King, God bless him!" + +A basin of Barley Broth make, make for me; + Give those who prefer it, the plain: +No matter the broth, so of barley it be, + If we ne'er taste a basin again. +For, oh I when three pounds of good mutton you buy, + And of most of its fat dispossess it, +In a stewpan uncover'd, at first, let it lie; + Then in water proceed to dress it. + Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! + In a stewpan uncover'd, at first, let it lie; + Then in water proceed to dress it. + +What a teacup will hold--you should first have been told-- + Of barley you gently should boil; +The pearl-barley choose--'tis the nicest that's sold-- + All others the mixture might spoil. +Of carrots and turnips, small onions, green peas + (If the price of the last don't distress one), +Mix plenty; and boil altogether with these + Your basin of Broth when you dress one. + Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! + Two hours together the articles boil; + There's your basin of Broth, if you'd dress one. + + +CALF'S HEART. +Air--"Maid of Athens, ere we part." + +Maid of all work, as a part +Of my dinner, cook a heart; +Or, since such a dish is best, +Give me that, and leave the rest. +Take my orders, ere I go; +Heart of calf we'll cook thee so. + +Buy--to price you're not confined-- +Such a heart as suits your mind: +Buy some suet--and enough +Of the herbs required to stuff; +Buy some le non-peel--and, oh! +Heart of calf, we'll fill thee so. + +Buy some onions--just a taste-- +Buy enough, but not to waste; +Buy two eggs of slender shell +Mix, and stir the mixture well; +Crumbs of bread among it throw; +Heart of calf we'll roast thee so. +Maid of all work, when 'tis done, +Serve it up to me alone: +Rich brown gravy round it roll, +Marred by no intruding coal; +Currant jelly add--and lo! +Heart of calf, I'll eat thee so. + + +THE CHRISTMAS PUDDING. +AIR--"Jeannette and Jeannott." + +If you wish to make a pudding in which every one delights, +Of a dozen new-laid eggs you must take the yolks and whites; +Beat them well up in a basin till they thoroughly combine, +And shred and chop some suet particularly fine; + +Take a pound of well-stoned raisins, and a pound of currants dried, +A pound of pounded sugar, and a pound of peel beside; +Stir them all well up together with a pound of wheaten flour, +And let them stand and settle for a quarter of an hour; + +Then tie the pudding in a cloth, and put it in the pot,-- +Some people like the water cold, and some prefer it hot; +But though I don't know which of these two methods I should praise, +I know it ought to boil an hour for every pound it weighs. + +Oh! if I were Queen of France, or, still better, Pope of Rome, +I'd have a Christmas pudding every day I dined at home; +And as for other puddings whatever they might be, +Why those who like the nasty things should eat them all for me. + + +APPLE PIE. +AIR-"All that's bright must fade." + +All new dishes fade-- + The newest oft the fleetest; +Of all the pies now made, + The Apple's still the sweetest; +Cut and come again, + The syrup upward springing! +While my life and taste remain, + To thee my heart is clinging. +Other dainties fade-- + The newest oft the fleetest; +But of all the pies now made, + The Apple's still the sweetest. + +Who absurdly buys + Fruit not worth the baking? +Who wastes crust on pies + That do not pay for making? +Better far to be + An Apple Tartlet buying, +Than to make one at home, and see + On it there's no relying: +That all must be weigh'd, + When thyself thou treatest-- +Still a pie home-made + Is, after all, the sweetest. + +Who a pie would make, + First his apple slices; +Then he ought to take + Some cloves--the best of spices: +Grate some lemon rind, + Butter add discreetly; +Then some sugar mix--but mind + The pie's not made too sweetly. +Every pie that's made + With sugar, is completest; +But moderation should pervade-- + Too sweet is not the sweetest. + +Who would tone impart, + Must--if my word is trusted-- +Add to his pie or tart + A glass of port--old crusted +If a man of taste, + He, complete to make it, +In the very finest paste + Will inclose and bake it. +Pies have each their grade; + But, when this thou eatest, +Of all that e'er were made, + You'll say 'tis best and sweetest. + + +LOBSTER SALAD. +AIR-"Blue Bonnets Over The Border." + +Take, take, lobsters and lettuces; + Mind that they send you the fish that you order: +Take, take, a decent-sized salad bowl, + One that's sufficiently deep in the border. + Cut into many a slice + All of the fish that's nice, + Place in the bowl with due neatness and order: + Then hard-boil'd eggs you may + Add in a neat array + All round the bowl, just by way of a border. + +Take from the cellar of salt a proportion: + Take from the castors both pepper and oil, +With vinegar, too--but a moderate portion-- + Too much of acid your salad will spoil. + Mix them together, + You need not mind whether + You blend them exactly in apple-pie order; + But when you've stirr'd away, + Mix up the whole you may-- + All but the eggs, which are used as a border. + +Take, take, plenty of seasoning; + A teaspoon of parsley that's chopp'd in small pieces: +Though, though, the point will bear reasoning, + A small taste of onion the flavor increases. + As the sauce curdle may, + Should it: the process stay, +Patiently do it again in due order; + For, if you chance to spoil + Vinegar, eggs, and oil, +Still to proceed would on lunacy border. + +STEWED STEAK +AIR--"Had I a Heart for Falsehood Framed." + +Had I pound of tender Steak, + I'd use it for a stew; +And if the dish you would partake, + I'll tell you what to do. +Into a stew-pan, clean and neat, + Some butter should be flung: +And with it stew your pound of meat, + A tender piece--but young. + +And when you find the juice express'd + By culinary art, +To draw the gravy off, were best, + And let it stand apart. +Then, lady, if you'd have a treat, + Be sure you can't be wrong +To put more butter to your meat, + Nor let it stew too long. + +And when the steak is nicely done, + To take it off were best; +And gently let it fry alone, + Without the sauce or zest; +Then add the gravy--with of wine + A spoonful in it flung; +And a shalot cut very fine-- + Let the shalot be young. + +And when the whole has been combined, + More stewing 't will require; +Ten minutes will suffice--but mind + Don't have too quick a fire. +Then serve it up--'t will form a treat! + Nor fear you've cook'd it wrong; +GOURMETS in all the old 't will meet, + And GOURMANDS in the young. + +GREEN PEA SOUP. +AIR--"The Ivy Green." +Oh! a splendid Soup is the true Pea Green + I for it often call; +And up it comes in a smart tureen, + When I dine in my banquet hall. +When a leg of mutton at home is boil'd, + The liquor I always keep, +And in that liquor (before 'tis spoil'd) + A peck of peas I steep. +When boil'd till tender they have been, + I rub through a sieve the peas so green. + +Though the trouble the indolent may shock, + I rub with all my power; +And having return'd them to the stock, + I stew them for more than an hour; +Then of younger peas I take some more, + The mixture to improve, +Thrown in a little time before + The soup from the fire I move. +Then seldom a better soup is seen, +Than the old familiar soup Pea Green. + +Since first I began my household career, How many my dishes have been! +But the one that digestion never need fear, + Is the simple old soup Pea Green. +The giblet may tire, the gravy pall, + And the turtle lose its charm; +But the Green Pea triumphs over them all, + And does not the slightest harm. +Smoking hot in a smart tureen, +A rare soup is the true Pea Green! + + +TRIFLE. +AIR--"The Meeting of the Waters." + +There's not in the wide world so tempting a sweet +As that Trifle where custard and macaroons meet; +Oh! the latest sweet tooth from my head must depart +Ere the taste of that Trifle shall not win my heart. + +Yet it is not the sugar that's thrown in between, +Nor the peel of the lemon so candied and green; +'Tis not the rich cream that's whipp'd up by a mill: +Oh, no! it is something more exquisite still. + +'Tis that nice macaroons in the dish I have laid, +Of which a delicious foundation is made; +And you'll find how the last will in flavor improve, +When soak'd with the wine that you pour in above. + +Sweet PLATEAU of Trifle! how great is my zest +For thee, when spread o'er with the jam I love best, +When the cream white of eggs--to be over thee thrown, +With a whisk kept on purpose--is mingled in one! + +MUTTON CHOPS. +AIR--"Come dwell with me." + +Come dine with me, come dine with me, +And our dish shall be, our dish shall be, +A Mutton Chop from the butcher's shop-- +And how I cook it you shall see. +The Chop I choose is not too lean; +For to cut off the fat I mean. +Then to the fire I put it down, +And let it fry until 'tis brown. + Come dine with me; yes, dine with me, etc. + +I'll fry some bread cut rather fine, +To place betwixt each chop of mine; +Some spinach, or some cauliflowers, +May ornament this dish of ours. +I will not let thee once repine +At having come with me to dine: +'T will be my pride to hear thee say, +"I have enjoy'd my Chop, to-day." + Come, dine with me; yes, dine with me; + Dine, dine, dine, with me, etc. + +BARLEY WATER. +AIR--"On the Banks of Allan Water." + +For a jug of Barley Water + Take a saucepan not too small; +Give it to your wife or daughter, + If within your call. +If her duty you have taught her, + Very willing each will be +To prepare some Barley Water + Cheerfully for thee. + +For a jug of Barley Water, + Half a gallon, less or more, +From the filter that you bought her, + Ask your wife to pour. +When a saucepan you have brought her + Polish'd bright as bright can be, +In it empty all the water, + Either you or she. + +For your jug of Barley Water + ('Tis a drink by no means bad), +Some two ounces and a quarter + Of pearl barley add. +When 'tis boiling, let your daughter + Skim from blacks to keep it free; +Added to your Barley Water + Lemon rind should be. + +For your jug of Barley Water + (I have made it very oft), +It must boil, so tell your daughter, + Till the barley's soft. +Juice of a small lemon's quarter + Add; then sweeten all like tea; +Strain through sieve your Barley Water-- + 'Twill delicious be. + +BOILED CHICKEN. +AIR--"Norah Creina." + +Lesbia hath a fowl to cook; + But, being anxious not to spoil it, +Searches anxiously our book, + For how to roast, and how to boil it. +Sweet it is to dine upon-- + Quite alone, when small its size is;-- +And, when cleverly 'tis done, + Its delicacy quite surprises. Oh! my tender pullet dear! + My boiled--not roasted--tender Chicken; + I can wish + No other dish, +With thee supplied, my tender Chicken! + +Lesbia, take some water cold, + And having on the fire placed it, +And some butter, and be bold-- + When 'tis hot enough--taste it. +Oh! the Chicken meant for me + Boil before the fire grows dimmer, +Twenty minutes let it be + In the saucepan left to simmer. + Oh, my tender Chicken dear! + My boil'd, delicious, tender Chicken! + Rub the breast + (To give a zest) +With lemon-juice, my tender Chicken. + +Lesbia hath with sauce combined + Broccoli white, without a tarnish; +'Tis hard to tell if 'tis design'd + For vegetable or for garnish. +Pillow'd on a butter'd dish, + My Chicken temptingly reposes, +Making gourmands for it wish, + Should the savor reach their noses. + Oh, my tender pullet dear! + My boiled--not roasted--tender Chicken + Day or night, + Thy meal is light, + For supper, e'en, my tender Chicken. + +STEWED DUCK AND PEAS. +AIR--"My Heart and Lute." + +I give thee all, I can no more, + Though poor the dinner be; +Stew'd Duck and Peas are all the store + That I can offer thee. +A Duck, whose tender breast reveals + Its early youth full well; +And better still, a Pea that peels + From fresh transparent shell. + +Though Duck and Peas may fail, alas! + One's hunger to allay; +At least for luncheon they may pass, + The appetite to stay, +If seasoned Duck an odor bring + From which one would abstain, +The Peas, like fragrant breath of Spring, + Set all to rights again. + +I give thee all my kitchen lore, + Though poor the offering be; +I'll tell thee how 'tis cook'd, before + You come to dine with me: +The Duck is truss'd from head to heels, + Then stew'd with butter well; +And streaky bacon, which reveals + A most delicious smell + +When Duck and Bacon in a mass + You in the stew-pan lay, +A spoon around the vessel pass, + And gently stir away: +A table-spoon of flour bring, A quart of water bring, +Then in it twenty onions fling, + And gently stir again. + +A bunch of parsley, and a leaf + Of ever-verdant bay, +Two cloves--I make my language brief-- + Then add your Peas you may! +And let it simmer till it sings + In a delicious strain, +Then take your Duck, nor let the strings + For trussing it remain. + +The parsley fail not to remove, + Also the leaf of bay; +Dish up your Duck--the sauce improve + In the accustom'd way, +With pepper, salt, and other things, + I need not here explain: +And, if the dish contentment brings, + You'll dine with me again. + +CURRY. + +Three pounds of veal my darling girl prepares, +And chops it nicely into little squares; +Five onions next prepares the little minx +(The biggest are the best her Samiwel thinks). +And Epping butter, nearly half a pound, +And stews them in a pan until they're brown'd. + +What's next my dexterous little girl will do? +She pops the meat into the savory stew, +With curry powder, table-spoonfulls three, +And milk a pint (the richest that may be); + +And, when the dish has stewed for half-an-hour, +A lemon's ready juice she'll o'er it pour: +Then, bless her! then she gives the luscious pot +A very gentle boil--and serves quite hot. + +P.S. Beef, mutton, rabbit, if you wish; +Lobsters, or prawns, or any kind of fish +Are fit to make A CURRY. 'Tis, when done, +A dish for emperors to feed upon. + + + +THE RAILWAY GILPIN. + PUNCH. + +JOHN GILPIN is a citizen; + For lineage of renown, +The famed JOHN GILPIN'S grandson, he + Abides in London town. + +To our JOHN GILPIN said his dear, + "Stewed up here as we've been +Since Whitsuntide, 'tis time that we + Should have a change of scene. + +"To-morrew is a leisure day, + And we'll by rail repair +Unto the Nell at Dedmanton, + And take a breath of air. + +"My sister takes our eldest child; + The youngest of our three +Will go in arms, and so the ride + Won't so expensive be." + +JOHN soon replied, "I don't admire + That railway, I, for one; +But you know best, my dearest dear + And so it must be done. + +"I, as a linen-draper bold, + Will bear myself, and though +'Tis Friday by the calendar, + Will risk my limbs, and go." + +Quoth MISTRESS GILPIN, "Nicely said: + And then, besides, look here, +We'll go by the Excursion Train, + Which makes it still less dear." + +JOHN GILPIN poked his clever wife, + And slightly smiled to find +That though on peril she was bent, + She had a careful mind. + +The morning came; a cab was sought: + The proper time allow'd +To reach the station door; but lo! + Before it stood a crowd. + +For half an hour they there were stay'd, + And when they did get in-- +"No train! a hoax!" cried clerks, agog + To swear through thick and thin. + +"Yea!" went the throats; stamp went the heels + Were never folks so mad, +The disappointment dire beneath; + All cried "it was too bad!" + +JOHN GILPIN home would fain have hied, + But he must needs remain, +Commanded by his willful bride, + And take the usual train. + +'T was long before our passengers + Another train could find, +When--stop! one ticket for the fares + Was lost or left behind! + +"Good lack!" quoth JOHN, "yet try it on." + "'T won't do," the Guard replies; +And bearing wife and babes on board, + The train without him flies. + +Now see him in a second train, + Behind the iron steed, +Borne on, slap dash-for life or bones + With small concern or heed. + +Away went GILPIN, neck or naught, + Exclaiming, "Dash my wig! +Oh, here's a game! oh, here's a go! + A running such a rig!" + +A signal, hark!--the whistle screamed-- + Smash! went the windows all: +"An accident!" cried out each one, + As loud as he could bawl. + +Away went GILPIN, never mind-- + His brain seemed spinning round; +Thought he, "This speed a killing pace + Will prove, I'll bet a pound !" + +And still, as stations they drew near, + The whistle shrilly blew, +And in a trice, past signal-men, + The train like lightning flew. +Thus, all through merry Killbury, + Without a stop shot they; +But paused, to 'scape a second smash, + At Dedmanton so gay. + +At Dedmanton his loving wife, + On platform waiting, spied +Her tender husband, striving much + To let himself outside. + +"Hallo! JOHN GILPIN, here we are-- + Come out!" they all did cry; +"To death with waiting we are tired!" + "Guard!" shouted GILPIN, "Hi!" + +But no--the train was not a bit + Arranged to tarry there, +For why?--because 't was an Express, + And did dispatches bear. + +So, in a second, off it flew + Again, and dashed along, +As if the deuce't were going to, + With motive impulse strong. + +Away went GILPIN, on the breath + Of puffing steam, until +They came unto their journey's end, + Where they at last stood still + +And then--best thing that he could do-- + He book'd himself for Town; +They stopped at every station up, + Till he again got down. + +Says GILPIN, "Sing, Long live the QUEEN, + And eke long life to me; +And ere I'll trust that Line again, + Myself I blest will see!" + + + +ELEGY. +WRITTEN IN A RAIL WAY STATION. + PUNCH. +The Station clock proclaims the close of day; + The hard-worked clerks drop gladly off to tea; +The last train starts upon its dangerous way, + And leaves the place to darkness and to me. + +Now fades the panting engine's red tail-light, + And all the platform solemn stillness holds, +Save where the watchmen, pacing for the night, + By smothered coughs announce their several colds. + +Behind that door of three-inch planking made, Those frosted panes +placed too high up to peep, +All in their iron safes securely laid, + The cooked account-books of the Railway sleep. + +The Debts to credit side so neatly borne, + What should be losses, profits proved instead; +The Dividends those pages that adorn + No more shall turn the fond Shareholder's head. + +Oft did the doubtful to their balance yield, + Their evidence arithmetic could choke: +How jocund were they that to them appealed! + How many votes of thanks did they provoke! + +Let not Derision mock KING HUDSON'S toil, + Who made things pleasant greenhorns to allure; +Nor prudery give hard names unto the spoil + 'Twas glad to share--while it could share secure. + +All know the way that he his fortune made, + How he bought votes and consciences did hire; +How hands that Gold and Silver-sticks have swayed + To grasp his dirty palm would oft aspire, + +Till these accounts at last their doctored page, + Thanks to mischance and panic, did unroll, +When virtue suddenly became the rage, + And wiped George Hudson out of fashion's scroll. + +Full many a noble Lord who once serene + The feasts at Albert Gate was glad to share, +For tricks he blushed not at, or blushed unseen, + Now cuts the Iron King with vacant stare. + +For those who, mindful of their money fled, + Rejoice in retribution, sure though late-- +Should they, by ruin to reflection led, + Ask PUNCH to point the moral of his fate, + +Haply that wooden-headed sage may say, + "Oft have I seen him, in his fortune's dawn, +When at his levees elbowing their way, + Peer's ermine might be seen and Bishop's lawn. + +"There the great man vouchsafed in turn to each + Advice, what scrip or shares 'twas best to buy, +There his own arts his favorites he would teach, + And put them up to good things on the sly. + +"Till to the House by his admirers borne, + Warmed with Champagne in flustered speech he strove, +And on through commerce, colonies, and corn, + Like engine, without break or driver, drove. + +"Till when he ceased to dip in fortune's till, +Out came one cooked account--of our M. P.; +Another came--yet men scarce ventured, still, +To think their idol such a rogue could be. + +"Until those figures set in sad array + Proved how his victims he had fleeced and shorn +Approach and read (if thou canst read) my lay, + Writ on him more in sadness than in scorn." + + +THE EPITAPH. + +Here lies, the gilt rubbed off his sordid earth, + A man whom Fortune made to Fashion known; +Though void alike of breeding, parts, or birth, + God Mammon early marked him for his own. + +Large was his fortune, but he bought it dear; + When he won foully he did freely spend. +He plundered no one knows how much a-year, + But Chancery o'ertook him in the end. + +No further seek his frailties to disclose: + For many of his sins should share the load: +While he kept rising, who asked how he rose? + While we could reap, what cared we how he sowed? + + + +THE BOA AND THE BLANKET. +[Footnote: A few days before this burlesque of Warren appeared, a +boa-constrictor in the London Zoological Gardens swallowed the blanket +that had served as its bed.] +AN APOLOGUE OF THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.--[AFTER WARREN.] + PUNCH. + +It is talked of Now! Was talked of Yesterday! +May be muttered to-morrow! What?-- +THE BOA THAT BOLTED THE BLANKET, +Speckled Enthusiast! + +It was full moon's full moonlight! The Shilling +I had paid down at the Gate +Seem'd hung in Heaven. To NEWTON'S EYE +(As Master of the Mint). +A Splendid, yea, Celestial Shilling! +I was alone, with Nothing to Speak of +But Creation! + +Yes! Gigantic NOAH'S Ark of twenty times her tonnage, +Lay crouch'd, and purring, and velvety, and fanged +About me! +Cane-colored tigers--rug-spotted Leopards-- +Snakes (ah, CUPID!) knit and interknit--to true love knots +Semblable! +Striped Zebra--Onager Calcitrant--Common Ass, +And I--and all were there! +The bushy Squirrel with his half-cracked Nut, +Slept. The Boar of Allemagne snored. +The Lion's Cage was hot with heat of blood: +And Peace in Curtain Ring linked two Ring Doves! + +In Gardens Zoological and Regent, +I, meditating, stood! +And still the moon looked wondrous like a Shilling, +Impartial Moon, that showed me all. + +My heart fluttered as tho' winged from Mercury! +I moved--approached the Snake-House! +Oh, the balm of Paradise that came and went! +The silver gleams of Eden shooting down the trembling strings +Of my melodious heart! +Down--down to its coral roots! +I dashed aside the human tear; and--yes--prepared myself +With will, drunk from the eyes of Hope, to gaze upon the Snake! +The Boa!! +The Python!!! +The Anaconda!!!! + +A Boa was there! A Boa, 'neath Crystal Roof! +And rabbits, taking the very moonlight in their paws, +Washed their meek faces. Washed, then hopped! +"And so (I couldn't help it) so," I groaned--"the ancient Snake-- +That milk-white thing--and innocent--trustful! +And then, Death--Death-- +And lo! there, typical, it is--it is-- +THE BLANKET!! +Death shred of living thing that cropped the flower; +And, thoughtless, bleated forth its little baa-a!" + +Away! I will not tarry! Let the Boa sleep, +And Rabbits, that have given bills to destiny, +Meet his demand at three and six months' date! +(We know such Boas and rabbits, +Know we not?) +Let me pass on! +And here 'tis cool; nay, even cold +Without the Snake-House! + +The Moon still glistens, and again I think +Of Multitudes who've paid and stared, and yawned and wandered here! +The city muckworm, who +Prom peacock orient, scarce could tell a cock +Of hay! +Though be ye sure, a guinea from a guinea-pig +He knows, and (as for money) +Ever has his squeak for't! +Here, too, paused the wise, sagacious man, +Master of probabilities! +He sees the tusk of elephant--the two tusks-- +And, with a thought, cuts 'em into cubes-- +And with another thought--another--and another- +Tells (to himself) how oft, in twenty years +Those spotted squares shall come up sixes! +And this in living elephant! + +And HER MAJESTY has trod these Walks, +Accompanied +By + PRINCE ALBERT, + THE PRINCE OF WALES, + THE PRINCESS ROYAL, + And + The Rest of the Royal Children!-- + +She saw the Tiger! +Did she think of TIPPOO SAIB'S Tiger's Head? +She saw the Lion! +Thought she of one of her own Arms? +She did NOT see the Unicorn; but + (With her gracious habits of condescension) +Did she think of him a bit the less? + Thoughts crowd upon me-cry move on! + +And now I am here; and whether I will or no, +I feel I'm jolly! +The Chameleons are asleep, and, like the Cabinet +(Of course i mean the Whigs), +Know not, when they rise to-morrow, +What color they will wake!-- +The baby elephant seems prematurely old: +Its infant hide all corrugate with thoughts +Of cakes and oranges given it by boys; +Alas! in Chancery now, and paralytic! +This is very sad. No more of it! + +Ha! ha! here sits the Ape--the many-colored wight! +Thou hast marked him, with nose of scarlet sealing-wax, +And so be-colored with prismatic hues, +As though he had come from sky to earth-- +Sliding and wiping a fresh-painted rainbow! + +Hush! I have made a perfect circle! +And at the Snake-House once again I stand! +Such is life! +Eh! Oh! Help! Murder! Dreadful Accident! +To be conceived--Oh, perhaps! +Described--Oh, never! +Keepers are up, and crowd about the box-- +The Boa's box--with unconcerned rabbits! +Not so the Boa! Look! Behold! +And where's the Blanket? +In the Boa's inside place! The Monster mark! +How he writhes and wrestles with the wool, as though +He had within him rolls and rolls +Of choking, suffocating influenza, +That lift his eyes from out their sockets!--Of fleecy phlegm +That will neither in or out, but mid-way +Seem to strangle! +Silence and wonder settle on the crowd; +From whom instinctively and breathlessly, +Ascend two pregnant questions! +"Will the Boa bolt the blanket? +Will the blanket choke the Boa?" +Such the problem! + +And then men mark and deduce +Differently + +"THE BLANKET IS ENGLAND: THE BOA THE POPE, +WILL THE POPE DISGORGE HIS BULL?" + +"THE BLANKET'S FREE TRADE: THE CORN-GORGED FOLK +IS THE BOA WITH PLENTY STIFLED!" + +"THE BLANKET'S REFORM TO GAG THE MOB, +AND NAUGHT TO SATISFY!" + +But I, a lofty and an abstract man, +A creature of a higher element +Than ever nourished the wood +Ordained for ballot-boxes--I +Say nothing; until a Keeper comes to me, and, +Hooking his fore-finger in his forehead's lock, +Says--"What's your opinion, Sir? +If Boas will bolt Blankets, Boas must: +If Snakes will rush upon their end, why not?" +"My friend," said I, "The Blanket and the Boa-- +You will conceive me--are a type, yes, just a type, +Of this our day. +The dumb and monstrous, tasteless appetite +Of stupid Boa, to gobble up for food +What needs must scour or suffocate, +Not nourish! +My friend, let the wool of that one blanket +Warm but the back of one live sheep, +And the Boa would bolt the animal entire, +And flourish on his meal, transmuting flesh and bones, +And turning them to healthful nutriment! +Believe this vital truth; +The stomach may take down and digest +And sweetly, too, a leg of mutton; +That would turn at and reject +One little ball of worsted!" + +On saying this I turned away, +Feeling adown the small-o'-the back +That gentle warmth that waits upon us, when WE KNOW +We have said a good thing; +Knowing it better than the vain world +Ever can or ever will +Reader, I have sung my song! +The BOA AND THE B----, like new-found star, +Is mine no longer; but the world's!-- +Tell me, how have I sung it? With what note? +With note akin that immortal bard +The snow-white Swan of Avon? +Or haply, to that +--RARA AVIS, +--That has +--"Tried WARREN'S?" + + + +THE DILLY AND THE D'S. +[Footnote: Burlesque of Warren's Poem of "The Lily and the Bee," +published at the home of the great Exhibition of 1851.] +[AN APOLOGUE OF THE OXFORD INSTALLATION.] +BY S--L W--RR--N, Q.S., LL.D., F.R.S + PUNCH. + +PART FIRST. + +Oh, Spirit! Spirit of Literature, +Alien to Law! +Oh, Muse! ungracious to thy sterner sister, THEMIS, +Whither away?--Away! +Far from my brief--Brief with a fee upon it, +Tremendous! +And probably--before my business is concluded-- +A REFRESHER--nay, several!! +Whither whirlest thou thy thrall? +Thy willing thrall? +"NOW AND THEN;" +But not just at this moment, +If you please, Spirit! +No, let me read and ponder on +THE PLEADINGS. +Declaration! + Plea!! + Replication!!! + Rejoinder!!!! + Surrejoinder!!!!! + Rebutter!!!!!! + Surrebutter!!!!!!! +ETC! ETC!! ETC!!! +It may not be. The Muse-- +As ladies often are-- +Though lovely, is obstinate, +And will have her own way! + * * * * +And am I not +As well as a Q.S., +An F.R.S. +And LL.D.? +Ask BLACKWOOD +The reason why, and he will tell you, +So will the Mayor-- +The MAYOR OF HULL! +I obey, Spirit. +Hang my brief--'tis gone!-- +To-morrow let my junior cram me in Court. +Whither away? Where am I? +What is it I behold? +In space, or out of space? I know not. +In fact +I've not the least idea if I'm crazy. +Or sprung--sprung? +I've only had a pint of Port at dinner +And can't be sprung-- +Oh, no!--Shame on the thought! +I see a coach!-- +Is it a coach? +Not exactly. +Yet it has wheels-- +Wheels within wheels--and on the box +A driver, and a cad behind, +And Horses--Horses?-- +Bethink thee--Worm!-- +Are they Horses? or that race +Lower than Horses, but with longer ears +And less intelligence-- +In fact--"EQUI ASINI," +Or in vernacular +JACKASSES? +'Tis not a coach exactly-- +Now I see on the panels-- +Pricked out and flourished-- +A word! A magic word-- +"THE DILLY!"--"THE DERBY DILLY!" +Oh Dilly! Dilly!--all thy passengers +Are outsiders-- +The road is rough and rutty-- +And thy driver, like NIMSHI'S son-- +Driveth +Furiously! +And the cad upon the monkey-board +The monkey-board behind, +Scorneth the drag--but goes +Downhill like mad. +He hath a Caucasian brow! +A son of SHEM, is he, +Not of HAM-- +Nor JAPHETH-- +In fact a Jew-- +But see, the pace +Grows faster--and more fast--in fact-- +I may say +A case of Furious driving! +Take care, you'll be upset-- +Look out! +Holloa! + * * * * +Horrible! Horrible!! Horrible!! +The Dilly-- +With all its precious freight +Of men and Manners-- +Is gone! +Gone to immortal +SMASH! +Pick up the pieces! Let me wipe my eyes! +Oh Muse--lend me my scroll +To do it with, for I have lost +My wipe! + +PART SECOND + + * * * Again upon the road + The road to where? + To nowhere in particular! + Ah, no--I thank thee, Muse-- + That hint--'tis a finger-post, + And "he that runs may read"-- + He that runs? + But I am not running-- + I am riding-- + How came I here?--what am I riding on? + Who are my fellow-passengers? + Ah, ha! + I recognize them now! + The Coach-- + The Box-- + The Driver-- + And the Cad-- + I'm on the Dilly, and the Dilly Is on the road again + And now I see + That finger-post! + It saith + "To Oxford + Fifty-two miles." + And, hark! a chorus! + From all the joyous load, + Driver and cad, and all! + "We go," they sing-- + To OXFORD TO BE DOCTORED." + To be Doctored? + Then, wherefore + Are ye so cheerful? + I was not cheerful in my early days-- + Days of my buoyant boyhood-- + When, after inglutition + Of too much + Christmas pudding, + Or Twelfth cake saccharine, + I went, as we go now, + To be Doctored! + Salts! + Senna and Rhubarb!! + Jalap and Ipecacuanha!!! + And Antimonial Wine!!!! + "WORM! + IDIOT!! + DONKEY!!!" + Said the free-spoken Muse + "With them thou goest to be doctored, too, + Not in medicine--but in Law-- + All these--and thou-- + Are going to be made + HONORARY + LL.D.s! + Behold! + And know thy company + Be thou familiar with them, + But by no means vulgar-- + For familiarity breeds contempt; + And no man is a hero + To his VALET-DE-CHAMBRE! + So ponder and perpend." +DERBY! + The wise, the meek, the chivalrous-- + Mirror of knightly graces + And daily dodges; + Who always says the right things + At the right time, + And never forgets himself as others-- + Nor changes his side + Nor his opinion-- + A STANLEY to the core, as ready + To fight + As erst on FLODDEN FIELD + His mail-clad ancestor.-- + See the poem + Of MARMION, + By SIR WALTER SOOTT! +DIZZY! + Dark--supple--subtle-- + With mind lithe as the limbs + Of ISHMAEL'S sons, his swart progenitors-- + With tongue sharp as the spear + That o'er Sahara + Flings the blue shadow + Of the crown of ostrich feathers-- + As described so graphically + By LAYARD, in his recent book + On Nineveh! + With tongue as sharp + As aspic's tooth of NILUS, + Or sugary + Upon the occasion + As is the date + Of TAFILAT. + DIZZY, the bounding Arab + Of the political arena-- + As swift to whirl + Right about face-- + As strong to leap + From premise to conclusion-- + As great in balancing + A budget-- + Or flinging headlong + His somersets + Over sharp swords of adverse facts, + As were his brethren of EL-ARISH, + Who + Some years ago exhibited-- + With rapturous applause-- + At Astley's Amphitheater-- + And subsequently + At Vauxhall Gardens! + * * * * * + Clustering, front and back + On box and knife-board, + See, petty man; + Behold! and thank thy stars + That led thee--Worm-- + THEE, that art merely a writer + And a barrister, + Although a man of elegant acquirements, + A gentleman and a scholar-- + Nay, F.R.S. to boot-- + Into such high society, + Among such SWELLS, + And REAL NOBS! + Behold! ten live LORDS! and lo *! no end + Of Ex-Cabinet Ministers! + Oh! happy, happy, happy, + Oh, happy SAM! + Say, isn't this worth, at the least + "TEN THOUSAND A YEAR!" + * * * * * + And these are all, to day at least--- + Thy fellows! + Going to be made + LL.D.s, even as thyself-- + And thou shalt walk in silk attire. + And hob and nob with all the mighty of the earth, + And lunch in Hall-- + In Hall! + Where lunched before thee, + But on inferior grub, + That first great SAM-- + SAM JOHNSON! + And LAUD, and ROGER BACON, + And CRANMER, LATIMER, + And RIDLEY, + And CYRIL JACKSON--and a host besides, + Whom at my leisure + I will look up + In WOOD'S + "ATHENAE OXONIENSES" + Only to think! + How BLACKWOOD + Is honored! + ALISON! AYTOUN! + BULWER!!! + And last, not least + The great SAM GANDERAM!!!! + Oh EBONY! + Oh MAGA! + And oh + Our noble selves! + + + + +"A BOOK IN A BUSTLE." +A TRUE TALE OF THE WARWICK ASSIZES. BY THE GHOST OF CRABBE. + PUNCH. + +The partial power that to the female race +Is charged to apportion gifts of form and grace, +With liberal hand molds beauty's curves in one, +And to another gives as good as none: +But woman still for nature proves a match, +And grace by her denied, from art will snatch. +Hence, great ELIZA, grew thy farthingales; +Hence, later ANNA, swelled thy hoops' wide pales; +To this we must refer the use of stays; +Nor less the bustle of more modern days. + +Artful device! whose imitative pad +Into good figures roundeth off the bad-- +Whether of simple sawdust thou art seen, +Or tak'st the guise of costlier crinoline-- +How oft to thee the female form doth owe +A grace rotund, a line of ampler flow, +Than flesh and blood thought fit to clothe it with below! + +There dwelt in Liverpool a worthy dame, +Who had a friend--JAMES TAYLOR was his name. +He dealt in glass, and drove a thriving trade +And still saved up the profits that he made, +Till when a daughter blessed his marriage bed, +The father in the savings-bank was led +In his child's name a small sum to invest, +From which he drew the legal interest. +Years went and came; JAMES TAYLOR came and went, +Paid in, and drew, his modest three per cent, +Till, by the time his child reach'd girlhood's bounds, +The sum had ris'n to two-and-twenty pounds. + +Our cautious legislature--well 'tis known-- +Round savings-banks a guardian fence has thrown: +'Tis easy to pay into them, no doubt, +Though any thing but easy to draw out. +And so JAMES TAYLOR found; for on a day +He wanted twenty pounds a bill to pay, +And, short of cash, unto the bank applied; +Failing some form of law, he was denied! + +JAMES TAYLOR humm'd and haw'd--look'd blank and blue;-- +In short, JAMES TAYLOR knew not what to do: +His creditor was stern--the bill was over due. +As to a friend he did his plight deplore-- +The worthy dame of whom I spoke before-- +(It might cause pain to give the name she owns, +So let me use the pseudonym of JONES); +"TAYLOR," said MRS. JONES, "as I'm a friend, +I do not care if I the money lend. +But even friends security should hold: +Give me security--I'll lend the gold." +"This savings-bank deposit-book!" he cries. +"See--in my daughter's name the sum that lies!" +She saw--and, satisfied, the money lent; +Wherewith JAMES TAYLOR went away content. +But now what cares seize MRS. JONES'S breast! +What terrors throng her once unbroken rest! +Cash she could keep, in many a secret nook-- +But where to stow away JAMES TAYLOR'S book? +Money is heavy: where 'tis put 't will stay; +Paper--as WILLIAM COBBETT used to say-- +Will make wings to itself, and fly away! +Long she devised: new plans the old ones chase, +Until at last she hit upon a place. +Was't VENUS that the strange concealment planned, +Or rather PLUTUS'S irreverent hand? +Good MRS. JONES was of a scraggy make; +But when did woman vanity forsake? +What nature sternly to her form denied, +A Bustle's ample aid had well supplied, +Within whose vasty depths the book might safely hide! + +'Twas thought--'twas done! by help of ready pin, +The sawdust was let out, the book put in. +Henceforth--at home--abroad--where'er she moved, +Behind her lurk'd the volume that she loved. +She laughed to scorn the cut-purse and his sleight: +No fear of burglars scared her through the night; + +But ah, what shrine is safe from greed of gold, +What fort against cupidity can hold? +Can stoutest buckram's triple fold keep in, +The ODOR LUCRI--the strong scent of TIN? +For which CHUBB's locks are weak, and MILNER's safes are thin. + +Some time elapsed--the time required by law, +Which past, JAMES TAYLOR might the money draw, +His kind but cautious creditor to pay, +So to the savings-bank they took their way. +There MRS. JONES with modesty withdrew-- +To do what no rude eye might see her do-- +And soon returning--with a blushing look, +Unmarked by TAYLOR, she produced the book. +Which he, presenting, did the sum demand +Of MR. TOMKINS, the cashier so bland. + +What can there be upon the red-lined page +That TOMKINS's quick eye should so engage? +What means his invitation to J.T., +To "Walk in for a moment"--"he would see"-- +"Only a moment"--"'twas all right, no doubt," +"It could not be"--"and yet"--here he slipped out, +Leaving JAMES TAYLOR grievously perplexed, +And MRS. JONES by his behavior vexed. +"What means the man by treating people so?" +Said TAYLOR, "I am a loss to know." +Too soon, alas, the secret cause they knew! +TOMKINS return'd, and, with him, one in blue-- +POLICEMAN X, a stern man and a strong, +Who told JAMES TAYLOR he must "come along"-- +And TOMKINS, seeing MRS. JONES aghast, +Revealed the book was forged--from first to last! + +Who can describe the wrath of MRS. JONES? +The chill of fear that crept through TAYLOR'S bones? +The van--the hand-cuffs--and the prison cell +Where pined JAMES TAYLOR--wherefore pause to tell? +Soon came the Assizes--and the legal train; +In form the clerk JAMES TAYLOR did arraign; +And though his council mustered tears at will, +And made black white with true Old Bailey skill, +TAYLOR, though MRS. JONES for mercy sued, +Was doomed to five years' penal servitude; +And in a yellow suit turned up with gray, +To Portland prison was conveyed away! + +Time passed: forgot JAMES TAYLOR and his shame-- +When lo--one day unto the bank there came +A new JAMES TAYLOR--a new MRS. JONES-- +And a new book, which TOMKINS genuine owns! +"Two TAYLORS and two JONESES and two books"-- +Thought wary TOMKINS, "this suspicious looks-- +"The former TAYLOR, former JONES I knew-- +These are imposters-yet the book is true!" +When like a flash upon his mind it burst-- +Who brought the second book had forged the first! + +Again was summon'd X, the stern, the strong-- +Again that pair were bid to "Come along!" +The truth before the justices appear'd, +And wrong'd JAMES TAYLOR'S character was clear'd. + +In evil hour--by what chance ne'er was known, +Whether the bustle's seam had come unsewn, +Or MRS. JONES by chance had laid aside +The artificial charms that decked her side-- +But so it was, how or whene'er assailed-- +The treacherous hiding-place was tried--and failed! + +The book was ta'en--a forged one fill'd its place;- +And MRS. JONES was robb'd--not to her face-- +And poor JAMES TAYLOE doom'd to trial and disgrace! + +Who shall describe her anguish--her remorse? +James Taylor was at once released, of course; +And Mrs. Jones, repentant, inly swore +Henceforth to carry, what she'd keep, before. + +My tale is told--and, what is more, 'tis true: +I read it in the papers--so may you. +And this its moral: Mrs. Joneses all-- +Though reticules may drop, and purses fall, +Though thieves may unprotected females hustle, +Never invest your money in a bustle. + + + +STANZAS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL. + PUNCH. + +I. + +ON A TEAR WHICH ANGELINA OBSERVED TRICKLING DOWN MY NOSE AT DINNER +TIME. + +Nay, fond one I will ne'er reveal + Whence flowed that sudden tear: +The truth 't were kindness to conceal + From thy too anxious ear. + +How often when some hidden spring + Of recollected grief +Is rudely touched, a tear will bring + The bursting breast relief! + +Yet 't was no anguish of the soul, + No memory of woes, +Bade that one lonely tearlet roll + Adown my chiseled nose: + +But, ah! interrogation's note + Still twinkles in thine eye; +Know then that I have burnt my throat + With this confounded pie! + +II. + +OM MY REFUSING ANGELINA A KISS UNDER THE MISTLETOE + +Nay, fond one, shun that misletoe, + Nor lure me 'neath its fatal bough: +Some other night 't were joy to go, + But ah! I must not, dare not now! +'Tis sad, I own, to see thy face + Thus tempt me with its giggling glee, +And feel I can not now embrace + The opportunity--and thee. + +'Tis sad to think that jealousy's + Sharp scissors may our true love sever; +And that my coldness now may freeze + Thy warm affection, love, forever. +But ah! to disappoint our bliss, + A fatal hind'rance now is stuck:'Tis not that I am loath to kiss, + But, dearest, list--I DINED OFF DUCK! + +III. + +ON MY FINDING ANGELINA STOP SUDDENLY IN A RAPID AFTER-SUPPER POLKA AT +MRS. TOMPKINS'S BALL. + +EDWIN. "Maiden, why that look of sadness? +Whence that dark o'erclouded brow? +What hath stilled thy bounding gladness, +Changed thy pace from fast to slow? +Is it that by impulse sudden +Childhood's hours thou paus'st to mourn? +Or hath thy cruel EDWIN trodden +Right upon thy favorite corn? + +"Is it that for evenings wasted +Some remorse thou 'gin'st to feel? +Or hath that sham champagne we tasted +Turned thy polka to a reel? +Still that gloom upon each feature? +Still that sad reproachful frown?" +ANGELINA. "Can't you see, you clumsy creature, +All my back hair's coming down!" + + + + +COLLOQUY ON A CAB-STAND. +ADAPTED FOR THE BOUDOIR. + PUNCH. + +"OH! WILLIAM," JAMES was heard to say-- +JAMES drove a hackney cabriolet: +WILLIAM, the horses of his friend, +With hay and water used to tend. +"Now, tell me, WILLIAM, can it be, +That MAYNE has issued a decree, +Severe and stern, against us, planned +Of comfort to deprive our Stand?" + +"I fear the tale is all too true," +Said WILLIAM, "on my word I do." +"Are we restricted to the Row +And from the footpath?" "Even so." + +"Must our companions be resigned, +We to the Rank alone confined?" +"Yes; or they apprehend the lads +Denominated Bucks and Cads." + +"Dear me!" cried JAMES, "how very hard +And are we, too, from beer debarred?" +Said WILLIAM, "While remaining here +We also are forbidden beer." + +"Nor may we breathe the fragrant weed?" +"That's interdicted too." "Indeed!" +"Nor in the purifying wave +Must we our steeds or chariots lave." + +"For private drivers, at request, +It is SIR RICHARD MAYNE'S behest +That we shall move, I understand?" +"Such, I believe, IS the command" + +"Of all remains of food and drink +Left by our animals I think, +We are required to clear the ground?" +"Yes: to remove them we are bound." + +"These mandates should we disobey--" +"They take our licenses away." +"That were unkind. How harsh our lot!" +"It is indeed." "Now is it not?" + +"Thus strictly why are we pursued?" +"It is alleged that we are rude; +The people opposite complain, +Our lips that coarse expressions stain." + +"Law, how absurd!" "And then, they say +We smoke and tipple all the day, +Are oft in an excited state, +Disturbance, noise, and dirt create." + +"What shocking stories people tell! +I never! Did you ever?--Well-- +Bless them!" the Cabman mildly sighed. +"May they be blest!" his Friend replied. + + + + +THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. +AN ENGLISH CRITICISM + PUNCH. + +You, who hold in grace and honor, +Hold, as one who did you kindness +When he publish'd former poems, +Sang Evangeline the noble, +Sang the golden Golden Legend, +Sang the songs the Voices utter +Crying in the night and darkness, +Sang how unto the Red Planet +Mars he gave the Night's First Watches, +Henry Wadsworth, whose adnomen +(Coming awkward, for the accents, +Into this his latest rhythm) +Write we as Protracted Fellow, +Or in Latin, LONGUS COMES-- +Buy the Song of Hiawatha. + +Should you ask me, Is the poem +Worthy of its predecessors, +Worthy of the sweet conception, +Of the manly nervous diction, +Of the phrase, concise or pliant, +Of the songs that sped the pulses, +Of the songs that gemm'd the eyelash, +Of the other works of Henry? +I should answer, I should tell you, +You may wish that you may get it-- +Don't you wish that you may get it? + +Should you ask me, Is it worthless, +Is it bosh and is it bunkum, +Merely facile flowing nonsense, +Easy to a practiced rhythmist, +Fit to charm a private circle, +But not worth the print and paper +David Bogue hath here expended? +I should answer, I should tell you, +You're a fool and most presumptuous. +Hath not Henry Wadsworth writ it? +Hath not PUNCH commanded "Buy it?" + +Should you ask me, What's its nature? +Ask me, What's the kind of poem? +Ask me in respectful language, +Touching your respectiful beaver, +Kicking back your manly hind-leg, +Like to one who sees his betters; +I should answer, I should tell you, +'Tis a poem in this meter, +And embalming the traditions, +Fables, rites, and suspepstitions, +Legends, charms, and ceremonials +Of the various tribes of Indians, +From the land of the Ojibways, +From the land of the Dacotahs, +From the mountains, moors, and fenlands, +Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, +Finds its sugar in the rushes: +From the fast-decaying nations, +Which our gentle Uncle Samuel +Is improving, very smartly, +From the face of all creation, +Off the face of all creation. + +Should you ask me, By what story, +By what action, plot, or fiction, +All these matters are connected? +I should answer, I should tell you, +Go to Bogue and buy the poem, +Publish'd neatly, at one shilling, +Publish'd sweetly, at five shillings. +Should you ask me, Is there music +In the structure of the verses, +In the names and in the phrases? +Pleading that, like weaver Bottom, +You prefer your ears well tickled; +I should answer, I should tell you, +Henry's verse is very charming; +And for names--there's Hiawatha, +Who's the hero of the poem; +Mudjeekeewis, that's the West Wind, +Hiawatha's graceless father; +There's Nokomis, there's Wenonah-- +Ladies both, of various merit; +Puggawangum, that's a war-club; +Pau-puk-keewis, he's a dandy, +"Barr'd with streaks of red and yellow; +And the women and the maidens +Love the handsome Pau-puk-keewis," +Tracing in him PUNCH'S likeness. +Then there's lovely Minnehaha-- +Pretty name with pretty meaning-- +It implies the Laughing-water; +And the darling Minnehaha +Married noble Hiawatha; +And her story's far too touching +To be sport for you, yon donkey, +With your ears like weaver Bottom's, +Ears like booby Bully Bottom. + +Once upon a time in London, +In the days of the Lyceum, +Ages ere keen Arnold let it +To the dreadful Northern Wizard, +Ages ere the buoyant Mathews +Tripp'd upon its boards in briskness-- +I remember, I remember +How a scribe, with pen chivalrous, +Tried to save these Indian stories +From the fate of chill oblivion. +Out came sundry comic Indians +Of the tribe of Kut-an-hack-um. +With their Chief, the clean Efmatthews, +With the growling Downy Beaver, +With the valiant Monkey's Uncle, +Came the gracious Mari-Kee-lee, +Firing off a pocket-pistol, +Singing, too, that Mudjee-keewis +(Shorten'd in the song to "Wild Wind,") +Was a spirit very kindly. +Came her Sire, the joyous Kee-lee, +By the waning tribe adopted, +Named the Buffalo, and wedded +To the fairest of the maidens, +But repented of his bargain, +And his brother Kut-an-hack-ums +Very nearly ohopp'd his toes off-- +Serve him right, the fickle Kee-lee. +If you ask me, What this memory +Hath to do with Hiawatha, +And the poem which I speak of? +I should answer, I should tell you, +You're a fool, and most presumptuous; +'Tis not for such humble cattle +To inquire what links and unions +Join the thoughts, and mystic meanings, +Of their betters, mighty poets, + Mighty writers--PUNCH the mightiest; +I should answer, I should tell you, +Shut your mouth, and go to David, +David, MR. PUNCH'S neighbor, +Buy the Song of Hiawatha, +Read, and learn, and then be thankful +Unto PUNCH and Henry Wadsworth, +PUNCH and noble Henry Wadsworth, +Truer poet, better fellow, +Than to be annoyed at jesting, +From his friend, great PUNCH, who loves him. + + + +COMFORT IN AFFLICTION. + WILLIAM AYTOUN. + +"Wherefore starts my bosom's lord? + Why this anguish in thine eye? +Oh, it seems as thy heart's chord + Had broken with that sigh! + +"Rest thee, my dear lord, I pray, + Rest thee on my bosom now! +And let me wipe the dews away, + Are gathering on thy brow. + +"There, again! that fevered start! + What, love! husband! is thy pain? +There is a sorrow in thy heart, + A weight upon thy brain! + +"Nay, nay, that sickly smile can ne'er + Deceive affection's searching eye; +'Tis a wife's duty, love, to share + Her husband's agony. + +"Since the dawn began to peep, + Have I lain with stifled breath; +Heard thee moaning in thy sleep, + As thou wert at grips with death. + +"Oh, what joy it was to see + My gentle lord once more awake! +Tell me, what is amiss with thee? + Speak, or my heart will break!" + +"Mary, thou angel of my life, + Thou ever good and kind; +'Tis not, believe me, my dear wife, + The anguish of the mind! + +"It is not in my bosom, dear, + No, nor my brain, in sooth; +But Mary, oh, I feel it here, + Here in my wisdom tooth! + +"Then give,--oh, first, best antidote,-- + Sweet partner of my bed! +Give me thy flannel petticoat + To wrap around my head!" + + + +[Illustration: Lowell] + + +THE HUSBAND'S PETITION. + WILLIAM AYTOUN. + +Come hither, my heart's darling, + Come, sit upon my knee, +And listen, while I whisper, + A boon I ask of thee. +You need not pull my whiskers + So amorously, my dove; +'Tis something quite apart from + The gentle cares of love. + +I feel a bitter craving-- + A dark and deep desire, +That glows beneath my bosom + Like coals of kindled fire. +The passion of the nightingale, + When singing to the rose, +Is feebler than the agony + That murders my repose! + +Nay, dearest! do not doubt me, + Though madly thus I speak-- +I feel thy arms about me, + Thy tresses on my cheek: +I know the sweet devotion + That links thy heart with mine-- +I know my soul's emotion + Is doubly felt by thine: + +And deem not that a shadow + Hath fallen across my love: +No, sweet, my love is shadowless, + As yonder heaven above. +These little taper fingers-- + Ah! Jane, how white they be!-- +Can well supply the cruel want + That almost maddens me. + +Thou wilt not sure deny me + My first and fond request; +I pray thee, by the memory + Of all we cherish best-- +By all the dear remembrance + Of those delicicious days, +When, hand in hand, we wandered + Along the summer braes: + +By all we felt, unspoken, + When 'neath the early moon, +We sat beside the rivulet, + In the leafy month of June; +And by the broken whisper, + That fell upon my ear, +More sweet than angel-music, + When first I woo'd thee, dear! + +By that great vow which bound thee + Forever to my side, +And by the ring that made thee + My darling and my bride! +Thou wilt not fail nor falter, + But bend thee to the task-- +A BOILED SHEEP'S HEAD ON SUNDAY + Is all the boon I ask. + + + + +THE BITER BIT. + WILLIAM AYTOUN. + +The sun is in the sky, mother, the flowers are springing fair, +And the melody of woodland birds is stirring in the air; +The river, smiling to the sky, glides onward to the sea, +And happiness is everywhere, oh, mother, but with me! + +They are going to the church, mother--I hear the marriage bell +It booms along the upland--oh! it haunts me like a knell; +He leads her on his arm, mother, he cheers her faltering step, +And closely to his side she clings--she does, the demirep! + +They are crossing by the stile, mother, where we so oft have stood, +The stile beside the shady thorn, at the corner of the wood; +And the boughs, that wont to murmur back the words that won my ear, +Wave their silver branches o'er him, as he leads his bridal fere. + +He will pass beside the stream, mother, where first my hand he +pressed, +By the meadow where, with quivering lip, his passion he confessed; +And down the hedgerows where we've strayed again and yet again; +But he will not think of me, mother, his broken-hearted Jane! + +He said that I was proud, mother, that I looked for rank and gold, +He said I did not love him--he said my words were cold; +He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher game-- +And it may be that I did, mother; but who hasn't done the same? + +I did not know my heart, mother--I know it now too late; +I thought that I without a pang could wed some nobler mate; +But no nobler suitor sought me--and he has taken wing, +And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted thing. + +You may lay me in my bed, mother--my head is throbbing sore; +And, mother, prithee, let the sheets be duly aired before; +And, if you'd please, my mother dear, your poor desponding child, +Draw me a pot of beer, mother, and, mother, draw it mild! + + + +A MIDNIGHT MEDITATION. +BY SIR E------- B------- L-------. + WILLIAM AYTOUN + +Fill me once more the foaming pewter up! + Another board of oysters, ladye mine! +To-night Lucullus with himself shall sup. + These mute inglorious Miltons are divine; + And as I here in slippered ease recline, +Quaffing of Perkins' Entire my fill, +I sigh not for the lymph of Aganippe's rill. +A nobler inspiration fires my brain, + Caught from Old England's fine time-hallowed drink, +I snatch the pot again and yet again, + And as the foaming fluids shrink and shrink, + Fill me once more, I say, up to the brink! +This makes strong hearts--strong heads attest its charm-- +This nerves the might that sleeps in Britain's brawny arm! + +But these remarks are neither here nor there. + Where was I? Oh, I see--old Southey's dead! +They'll want some bard to fill the vacant chair, + And drain the annual butt--and oh, what head + More fit with laurel to be garlanded +Than this, which, curled in many a fragrant coil, +Breathes of Castalia's streams, and best Macassar oil? + +I know a grace is seated on my brow, + Like young Apollo's with his golden beams; +There should Apollo's bays be budding now: + And in my flashing eyes the radiance beams + That marks the poet in his waking dreams. +When as his fancies cluster thick and thicker, +He feels the trance divine of poesy and liquor. + +They throng around me now, those things of air, + That from my fancy took their being's stamp: +There Pelham sits and twirls his glossy hair, + There Clifford leads his pals upon the tramp; + Their pale Zanoni, bending o'er his lamp, +Roams through the starry wilderness of thought, +Where all is every thing, and every thing is naught. + +Yes, I am he, who sung how Aram won + The gentle ear of pensive Madeline! +How love and murder hand in hand may run, + Cemented by philosophy serene, + And kisses bless the spot where gore has been! +Who breathed the melting sentiment of crime, + And for the assassin waked a sympathy sublime! + +Yes, I am he, who on the novel shed + Obscure philosophy's enchanting light! +Until the public, wildered as they read, + Believed they saw that which was not in sight-- + Of course 'twas not for me to set them right; +For in my nether heart convinced I am, +Philosophy's as good as any other bam. + +Novels three-volumed I shall write no more-- + Somehow or other now they will not sell; +And to invent new passions is a bore-- + I find the Magazines pay quite as well. + Translating's simple, too, as I can tell, +Who've hawked at Schiller on his lyric throne, +And given the astonished bard a meaning all my own. + +Moore, Campbell, Wordsworth, their best days are grassed, + Battered and broken are their early lyres. +Rogers, a pleasant memory of the past, + Warmed his young hands at Smithfield's martyr fires, + And, worth a plum, nor bays, nor butt desires. +But these are things would suit me to the letter, +For though this Stout is good, old Sherry's greatly better. + +A fice for your small poetic ravers, + Your Hunts, your Tennysons, your Milnes, and these! +Shall they compete with him who wrote "Maltravers," + Prologue to "Alice or the Mysteries?" + No! Even now, my glance prophetic sees +My own high brow girt with the bays about. +What ho, within there, ho! another pint of STOUT! + + + +THE DIRGE OF THE DRINKER. +BY W------ E------ A------, ESQ. + WILLIAM AYTOUN. + +Brothers, spare awhile your liquor, lay your final tumbler down; +He has dropp'd--that star of honor--on the field of his renown! +Raise the wail, but raise it softly, lowly bending on your knees, +If you find it more convenient, you may hiccup if you please. +Sons of Pantagruel, gently let your hip-hurraing sink, +Be your manly accents clouded, half with sorrow, half with drink! +Lightly to the sofa pillow lift his head from off the floor; +See how calm he sleeps, unconscious as the deadest nail in door! +Widely o'er the earth I've wander'd; where the drink most freely + flow'd, +I have ever reel'd the foremost, foremost to the beaker strode. +Deep in shady Cider Cellars I have dream'd o'er heavy wet, +By the fountains of Damascus I have quaff'd the rich Sherbet, +Regal Montepulciano drained beneath its native rock, +On Johannis' sunny mountain frequent hiccup'd o'er my hock; +I have bathed in butts of Xeres deeper than did e'er Monsoon, +Sangaree'd with bearded Tartars in the Mountains of the Moon; +In beer-swilling Copenhagen I have drunk your Danesman blind, +I have kept my feet in Jena, when each bursch to earth declined; +Glass for glass, in fierce Jamaica, I have shared the planter's rum, +Drank with Highland dhuinie-wassels till each gibbering Gael grew + dumb; +But a stouter, bolder drinker--one that loved his liquor more-- +Never yet did I encounter than our friend upon the floor! +Yet the best of us are mortal, we to weakness all are heir, +He has fallen, who rarely stagger'd--let the rest of us beware! +We shall leave him, as we found him--lying where his manhood fell, +'Mong the trophies of the revel, for he took his tipple well. +Better't were we loosed his neckcloth, laid his throat and bosom bare, +Pulled his Hobi's off, and turn'd his toes to taste the breezy air. +Throw the sofa cover o'er him, dim the flaring of the gas, +Calmly, calmly let him slumber, and, as by the bar we pass, +We shall bid that thoughtful waiter place beside him, near and handy, +Large supplies of soda water, tumblers bottomed well with brandy, +So when waking, he shall drain them, with that deathless thirst of + his, +Clinging to the hand that smote him, like a good 'un as he is! + + + +FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. +TO BON GAULTIER. + WILLIAM AYTOUN. + +ARGUMENT-An impassioned pupil of Leigh Hunt, having met Bon Gaultier +at a Fancy Ball, declares the destructive consequences thus: + +Didst thou not praise me, Gaultier, at the ball, +Ripe lips, trim boddice, and a waist so small, +With clipsome lightness, dwindling ever less, +Beneath the robe of pea-y greeniness! +Dost thou remember, when with stately prance, +Our heads went crosswise in the country dance; +How soft, warm fingers, tipp'd like buds of balm, +Trembled within the squeezing of thy palm; +And how a cheek grew flush'd and peachy-wise +At the frank lifting of thy cordial eyes? +Ah, me! that night there was one gentle thing, +Who like a dove, with its scarce-feather'd wing, +Flutter'd at the approach of thy quaint swaggering! +There's wont to be, at conscious times like these, +An affectation of a bright-eyed ease-- +A crispy-cheekiness, if so I dare +Describe the swaling of a jaunty air; +And thus, when swirling from the waltz's wheel, +You craved my hand to grace the next quadrille. +That smiling voice, although it made me start, +Boil'd in the meek o'erlifting of my heart; +And, picking at my flowers, I said with free +And usual tone, "Oh yes, sir, certainly!" + +Like one that swoons, 'twixt sweet amaze and fear, +I heard the music burning in my ear, +And felt I cared not, so thou wert with me, +If Gurth or Wamba were our vis-a-vis. +So, when a tall Knight Templar ringing came, +And took his place against us with his dame, +I neither turned away, nor bashful shrunk +From the stern survey of the soldier-monk, +Though rather more than full three-quarters drunk; +But threading through the figure, first in rule, +I paused to see thee plunge into La Poule. +Ah, what a sight was that? Not prurient Mars, +Pointing his toe through ten celestial bars-- +Not young Apollo, beamily array'd +In tripsome guise for Juno's masquerade-- +Not smartest Hermes, with his pinion girth, +Jerking with freaks and snatches down to earth, +Look'd half so bold, so beautiful and strong, +As thou when pranking thro' the glittering throng! +How the calm'd ladies looked with eyes of love +On thy trim velvet doublet laced above; +The hem of gold, that, like a wavy river, +Flowed down into thy back with glancing shiver! +So bare was thy fine throat, and curls of black +So lightsomely dropp'd on thy lordly back. +So crisply swaled the feather in thy bonnet, +So glanced thy thigh, and spanning palm upon it, +That my weak soul took instant flight to thee, +Lost in the fondest gush of that sweet witchery! + +But when the dance was o'er, and arm in arm +(The full heart beating 'gainst the elbow warm), +We pass'd to the great refreshment hall, +Where the heap'd cheese-cakes and the comfits small +Lay, like a hive of sunbeams, to burn +Around the margin of the negus urn; +When my poor quivering hand you finger'd twice, +And, with inquiring accents, whisper'd "Ice, +Water, or cream?" I could no more dissemble, +But dropp'd upon the couch all in a tremble. +A swimming faintness misted o'er my brain, +The corks seem'd starting from the brisk champagne, +The custards fell untouch'd upon the floor, +Thine eyes met mine. That night we danced no more! + + + +LOUIS NAPOLEON'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY + WILLIAM AYTOUN. + +Guards! who at Smolensko fled-- +No--I beg your pardon--bled! +For my Uncle blood you've shed, + Do the same for me. + +Now's the day and now's the hour, +Heads to split and streets to scour; +Strike for rank, promotion, power, + Sawg, and eau de vie. + +Who's afraid a child to kill? +Who respects a shopman's till? +Who would pay a tailor's bill? + Let him turn and flee. + +Who would burst a goldsmith's door, +Shoot a dun, or sack a store? +Let him arm, and go before-- + That is, follow me! + +See the mob, to madness riled, +Up the barricades have piled; +In among them, man and child, + Unrelentingly! + +Shoot the men! there's scarcely one +In a dozen's got a gun: +Stop them, if they try to run, + With artillery! + +Shoot the boys! each one may grow +Into--of the state--a foe +(Meaning by the state, you know, + My supremacy!) + +Shoot the girls and women old! +Those may bear us traitors bold-- +These may be inclined to scold + Our severity. + +Sweep the streets of all who may +Rashly venture in the way, +Warning for a future day + Satisfactory. + +Then, when still'd is ev'ry voice, +We, the nation's darling choice, +Calling on them to rejoice, + Tell them, FRANCE IS FREE. + + + + +THE BATTLE OF THE BOULEVARD + WILLIAM AYTOUN. + +On Paris, when the sun was low, +The gay "Comique" made goodly show, +Habitues crowding every row + To hear Limnandier's opera. + +But Paris showed another sight, +When, mustering in the dead of night, +Her masters stood, at morning light, + The crack shasseurs of Africa + +By servants in my pay betrayed, +Cavaignac, then, my prisoner made, +Wrote that a circumstance delayed + His marriage rite and revelry. + +Then shook small Thiers, with terror riven; +Then stormed Bedeau, while gaol-ward driven; +And, swearing (not alone by Heaven), + Was seized bold Lamoriciere. + +But louder rose the voice of woe +When soldiers sacked each cit's depot, +And tearing down a helpless foe, + Flashed Magnan's red artillery. + +More, more arrests! Changarnier brave +Is dragged to prison like a knave: +No time allowed the swell to shave, + Or use the least perfumery. + +'Tis morn, and now Hortense's son +(Perchance her spouse's too) has won +The imperial crown. The French are done, + Chawed up most incontestably. + +Few, few shall write, and none shall meet; +Suppressed shall be each journal-sheet; +And every serf beneath my feet + Shall hail the soldier's Emperor. + + + + +PUFFS POETICAL. + WILLIAM AYTOUM + +I. + +PARIS AND HELEN. + +As the youthful Paris presses + Helen to his ivory breast, +Sporting with her golden tresses, + Close and ever closer pressed. + +He said: "So let me quaff the nectar, + Which thy lips of ruby yield; +Glory I can leave to Hector, + Gathered in the tented field. + +"Let me ever gaze upon thee, + Look into thine eyes so deep; +With a daring hand I won thee, + With a faithful heart I'll keep. + +"Oh, my Helen, thou bright wonder, + Who was ever like to thee? +Jove would lay aside his thunder, + So he might be blest like me. + +"How mine eyes so fondly linger + On thy soft and pearly skin; +Scan each round and rosy finger, + Drinking draughts of beauty in! + +"Tell me, whence thy beauty, fairest! + Whence thy cheek's enchanting bloom! +Whence the rosy hue thou wearest, + Breathing round thee rich perfume?" + +Thus he spoke, with heart that panted, + Clasped her fondly to his side, +Gazed on her with look enchanted, + While his Helen thus replied: + +"Be no discord, love, between us, + If I not the secret tell! +'Twas a gift I had of Venus,-- + Venus who hath loved me well. + +"And she told me as she gave it, + 'Let not e'er the charm be known, +O'er thy person freely lave it, + Only when thou art alone.' + +"'Tis inclosed in yonder casket-- + Here behold its golden key; +But its name--love, do not ask it, + Tell't I may not, e'en to thee!" + +Long with vow and kiss he plied her, + Still the secret did she keep, +Till at length he sank beside her, + Seemed as he had dropped to sleep. + +Soon was Helen laid in slumber, + When her Paris, rising slow, +Did his fair neck disencumber + From her rounded arms of snow; + +Then her heedless fingers oping, + Takes the key and steals away, +To the ebon table groping, + Where the wondrous casket lay; + +Eagerly the lid uncloses, + Sees within it, laid aslope, +Pear's Liquid Bloom of Roses, + Cakes of his Transparent Soap! + +II. + +TARQUIN AND THE AUGUR. + +Gingerly is good King Tarquin shaving, + Gently glides the razor o'er his chin, +Near him stands a grim Haruspex raving, + And with nasal whine he pitches in, + Church Extension hints, + Till the monarch squints, +Snicks his chin, and swears--a deadly sin! + +"Jove confound thee, thou bare-legged impostor! + From my dressing table get thee gone! +Dost thou think my flesh is double Glo'ster? + There again! That cut was to the bone! + Get ye from my sight; + I'll believe you're right +When my razor cuts the sharping hone!" + +Thus spoke Tarquin with a deal of dryness; + But the Augur, eager for his fees, +Answered--"Try it, your Imperial Highness, + Press a little harder, if you please. + There! the deed is done!" + Through the solid stone +Went the steel as glibly as through cheese. + +So the Augur touched the tin of Tarquin, + Who suspected some celestial aid: +But he wronged the blameless Gods; for hearken! + Ere the monarch's bet was rashly laid, + With his searching eye + Did the priest espy +RODGER'S name engraved upon the blade. + + + + +REFLECTIONS OF A PROUD PEDESTRIAN. + OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES + +I saw the curl of his waving lash, + And the glance of his knowing eye, +And I knew that he thought he was cutting a dash, + As his steed went thundering by. + +And he may ride in the rattling gig, + Or flourish the Stanhope gay, +And dream that he looks exceeding big + To the people that walk in the way; + +But he shall think, when the night is still, + On the stable-boy's gathering numbers, +And the ghost of many a veteran bill + Shall hover around his slumbers; + +The ghastly dun shall worry his sleep, + And constables cluster around him, +And he shall creep from the wood-hole deep + Where their specter eyes have found him! + +Ay! gather your reins, and crack your thong, + And bid your steed go faster; +He does not know as he scrambles along, + That he has a fool for his master; + +And hurry away on your lonely ride, + Nor deign from the mire to save me; +I will paddle it stoutly at your side + With the tandem that nature gave me! + + + + +EVENING. +BY A TAILOR. + OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES + + Day hath put on his jacket, and around +His burning bosom buttoned it with stars. +Here will I lay me on the velvet grass, +That is like padding to earth's meager ribs, +And hold communion with the things about me. +Ah me! how lovely is the golden braid, +That binds the skirt of night's descending robe! +The thin leaves, quivering on their silken threads, +Do make a music like to rustling satin, +As the light breezes smooth their downy nap. + + Ha! what is this that rises to my touch, +So like a cushion? Can it be a cabbage? +It is, it is that deeply injured flower, +Which boys do flout us with;--but yet I love thee, +Thou giant rose, wrapped in a green surtout. +Doubtless in Eden thou didst blush as bright +As these, thy puny brethren; and thy breath +Sweetened the fragrance of her spicy air; +But now thou seemest like a bankrupt beau, +Stripped of his gaudy hues and essences, +And growing portly in his sober garments. + + Is that a swan that rides upon the water? +O no, it is that other gentle bird, +Which is the patron of our noble calling. +I well remember, in my early years, +When these young hands first closed upon a goose +I have a scar upon my thimble finger, +Which chronicles the hour of young ambition +My father was a tailor, and his father, +And my sire's grandsire, all of them were tailors; +They had an ancient goose,--it was an heir-loom +From some remoter tailor of our race. +It happened I did see it on a time +When none was near, and I did deal with it, +And it did burn me,--oh, most fearfully! + + It is a joy to straighten out one's limbs, +And leap elastic from the level counter, +Leaving the petty grievances of earth, +The breaking thread, the din of clashing shears, +And all the needles that do wound the spirit, +For such a pensive hour of soothing silence. +Kind Nature, shuffling in her loose undress, +Lays bare her shady bosom; I can feel +With all around me;--I can hail the flowers +That sprig earth's mantle,--and yon quiet bird, +That rides the stream, is to me as a brother. +The vulgar know not all the hidden pockets, +Where Nature stows away her loveliness. +But this unnatural posture of my legs +Cramps my extended calves, and I must go +Where I can coil them in their wonted fashion. + + + + +PHAETHON; +OR, THE AMATEUR COACHMAN. + JOHN G. SAXX + +DAN PHAETHON--so the histories run-- +Was a jolly young chap, and a son of the SUN; +Or rather of PHOEBUS--but as to his mother, +Genealogists make a deuce of a pother, +Some going for one, and some for another! +For myself, I must say, as a careful explorer, +This roaring young blade was the son of AURORA! + +Now old Father PHOEBUS, ere railways begun +To elevate funds and depreciate fun, +Drove a very fast coach by the name of "THE SUN;" + Running, they say, + Trips every day +(On Sundays and all, in a heathenish way). +And lighted up with a famous array +Of lanterns that shone with a brilliant display, +And dashing along like a gentleman's "shay." +With never a fare, and nothing to pay! + +Now PHAETHON begged of his doting old father, +To grant him a favor, and this the rather, +Since some one had hinted, the youth to annoy, +That he wasn't by any means PHOEBUS'S boy! +Intending, the rascally son of a gun, +To darken the brow of the son of the SUN! +"By the terrible Styx!" said the angry sire, +While his eyes flashed volumes of fury and fire, +"To prove your reviler an infamous liar, +I swear I will grant you whate'er you desire!" + "Then by my head," + The youngster said, +"I'll mount the coach when the horses are fed!-- +For there's nothing I'd choose, as I'm alive, +Like a seat on the box, and a dashing drive!" + "Nay, PHAETHON, don't-- + I beg you won't-- +Just stop a moment and think upon't! +You're quite too young," continued the sage, +"To tend a coach at your tender age! + Besides, you see, + 'T will really be +Your first appearance on any stage! + Desist, my child, + The cattle are wild, +And when their mettle is thoroughly 'riled,' +Depend upon't, the coach'll be 'spiled'-- +They're not the fellows to draw it mild! + Desist, I say, + You'll rue the day-- +So mind, and don't be foolish, PHA!" + But the youth was proud, + And swore aloud, +'T was just the thing to astonish the crowd-- +He'd have the horses and wouldn't be cowed! +In vain the boy was cautioned at large, +He called for the chargers, unheeding the charge, +And vowed that any young fellow of force, +Could manage a dozen coursers, of course! +Now PHOEBUS felt exceedingly sorry +He had given his word in such a hurry, +But having sworn by the Styx, no doubt +He was in for it now, and couldn't back out. + +So calling Phaethon up in a trice, +He gave the youth a bit of advice:-- + "'Parce stimulis, utere loris!' +(A "stage direction," of which the core is, +Don't use the whip--they're ticklish things-- +But, whatever you do, hold on to the strings!) +Remember the rule of the Jehu-tribe is, + 'Medio tutissimus ibis' +(As the Judge remarked to a rowdy Scotchman, +Who was going to quod between two watchmen!) +So mind your eye, and spare your goad, +Be shy of the stones, and keep in the road!" + +Now Phaethon, perched in the coachman's place, +Drove off the steeds at a furious pace, +Fast as coursers running a race, +Or bounding along in a steeple-chase! +Of whip and shout there was no lack, + "Crack--whack-- + Whack--crack" +Resounded along the horses' back!-- +Frightened beneath the stinging lash, +Cutting their flanks in many a gash, +On--on they sped as swift as a flash, +Through thick and thin away they dash, +(Such rapid driving is always rash!) +When all at once, with a dreadful crash, +The whole "establishment" went to smash! + And Phaethon, he, + As all agree, +Off the coach was suddenly hurled, +Into a puddle, and out of the world! + +MORAL. + +Don't rashly take to dangerous courses-- +Nor set it down in your table of forces, +That any one man equals any four horses! + Don't swear by the Styx!-- + It's one of Old Nick's + Diabolical tricks +To get people into a regular "fix," +And hold 'em there as fast as bricks! + + + +THE SCHOOL-HOUSE. +[AFTER GOLDSMITH.] + JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL + +Propt on the marsh, a dwelling now, I see +The humble school-house of my A, B, C, +Where well-drilled urchins, each behind his tire, +Waited in ranks the wished command to fire, +Then all together, when the signal came, +Discharged their A-B ABS against the dame, +Who, 'mid the volleyed learning, firm and calm, +Patted the furloughed ferule on her palm, +And, to our wonder, could detect at once +Who flashed the pan, and who was downright dunce. + +There young Devotion learned to climb with ease +The gnarly limbs of Scripture family-trees, +And he was most commended and admired +Who soonest to the topmost twig perspired; +Each name was called as many various ways +As pleased the reader's ear on different days, +So that the weather, or the ferule's stings, +Colds in the head, or fifty other things, +Transformed the helpless Hebrew thrice a week +To guttural Pequot or resounding Greek, +The vibrant accent skipping here and there +Just as it pleased invention or despair; +No controversial Hebraist was the Dame; +With or without the points pleased her the same. +If any tyro found a name too tough, +And looked at her, pride furnished skill enough; +She nerved her larynx for the desperate thing, +And cleared the five-barred syllables at a spring. + +Ah, dear old times! there once it was my hap, +Perched on a stool, to wear the long-eared cap; +From books degraded, there I sat at ease, +A drone, the envy of compulsory bees. + + + + + +EPIGRAMMATIC + + + + +EPIGRAMS OF BEN JONSON. + +TO FINE GRAND. + +What is't Fine Grand, makes thee my friendship fly, +Or take an Epigram so fearfully, +As't were a challenge, or a borrower's letter? +The world must know your greatness is my debtor. +IMPRIMIS, Grand, you owe me for a jest +I lent you, on mere acquaintance, at a feast. +ITEM, a tale or two some fortnight after, +That yet maintains you, and your house in laughter. +ITEM, the Babylonian song you sing; +ITEM, a fair Greek poesy for a ring, +With which a learned madam you bely. +ITEM, a charm surrounding fearfully +Your partie-per-pale picture, one half drawn +In solemn cyprus, th' other cobweb lawn. +ITEM, a gulling impress for you, at tilt. +ITEM, your mistress' anagram, in your hilt. +ITEM, your own, sew'd in your mistress' smock. +ITEM, an epitaph on my lord's cock, +In most vile verses, and cost me more pain, +Than had I made 'em good, to fit your vein. +Forty things more, dear Grand, which you know true, +For which, or pay me quickly, or I'll pay you. + + +TO BRAINHARDY. + +Hardy, thy brain is valiant, 'tis confest, +Thou more; that with it every day dar'st jest +Thyself into fresh brawls; when call'd upon, +Scarce thy week's swearing brings thee off of one; +So in short time, thou art in arrearage grown +Some hundred quarrels, yet dost thou fight none; +Nor need'st thou; for those few, by oath released, +Make good what thou dar'st in all the rest. +Keep thyself there, and think thy valor right, +He that dares damn himself, dares more than fight. + + +TO DOCTOR EMPIRIC. + +When men a dangerous disease did 'scape, +Of old, they gave a cock to Aesculape; +Let me give two, that doubly am got free; +From my disease's danger, and from thee. + + +TO SIR ANNUAL FILTER. + +Filter, the most may admire thee, though not I; +And thou, right guiltless, may'st plead to it, why? +For thy late sharp device. I say 'tis fit +All brains, at times of triumph, should run wit; +For then our water-conduits do run wine; +But that's put in, thou'lt say. +Why, so is thine. + + +ON BANKS THE USURER. +Banks feels no lameness of his knotty gout, +His moneys travel for him in and out, +And though the soundest legs go every day, +He toils to be at hell, as soon as they. + + +ON CHEVRIL THE LAWYER + +No cause, nor client fat, will Cheveril leese, +But as they come, on both sides he takes fees, +And pleaseth both; for while he melts his grease +For this; that wins, for whom he holds his peace. + + + + +EPIGRAMATIC VERSES BY SAMUEL BUTLER. + +OPINION. + + Opinion governs all mankind, +Like the blind's leading of the blind; +For he that has no eyes in 's head, +Must be by a dog glad to be led; +And no beasts have so little in 'em +As that inhuman brute, Opinion. +"Tis an infectious pestilence, +The tokens upon wit and sense, +That with a venomous contagion +Invades the sick imagination: +And, when it seizes any part, +It strikes the poison to the heart." +This men of one another catch, +By contact, as the humors match. +And nothing's so perverse in nature +As a profound opiniator. + + +CRITICS. + + Critics are like a kind of flies, that breed +In wild fig-trees, and when they're grown up, feed +Upon the raw fruit of the nobler kind, +And, by their nibbling on the outward rind, +Open the pores, and make way for the sun +To ripen it sooner than he would have done. + + +HYPOCRISY. + + Hypocrisy will serve as well +To propagate a church, as zeal; +As persecution and promotion +Do equally advance devotion: +So round white stones will serve, they pay, +As well as eggs to make hens lay. + + +POLISH. + + All wit and fancy, like a diamond, +The more exact and curious 'tis ground, +Is forced for every carat to abate, +As much in value as it wants in weight. + + +THE GODLY. + + A godly man, that has served out his time +In holiness, may set up any crime; +As scholars, when they've taken their degrees +May set up any faculty they please. + + +PIETY. + + Why should not piety be made, +As well as equity, a trade, +And men get money by devotion, +As well as making of a motion? +B' allow'd to pray upon conditions, +As well as suitors in petitions? +And in a congregation pray, +No less than Chancery, for pay? + + +MARRIAGE. + + All sorts of vot'ries, that profess +To bind themselves apprentices +To Heaven, abjure, with solemn vows, +Not Cut and Long-tail, but a Spouse +As the worst of all impediments +To hinder their devout intents. + + +POETS. + + It is not poetry that makes men poor; +For few do write that were not so before; +And those that have writ best, had they been rich. +Had ne'er been clapp'd with a poetic itch; +Had loved their ease too well to take the pains +To undergo that drudgery of brains; +But, being for all other trades unfit, +Only t' avoid being idle, set up wit. + + +PUFFING. + + They that do write in authors' praises, +And freely give their friends their voices +Are not confined to what is true; +That's not to give, but pay a due: +For praise, that's due, does give no more +To worth, than what it had before; +But to commend without desert, +Requires a mastery of art, +That sets a gloss on what's amiss, +And writes what should be, not what is. + + +POLITICIANS. + + All the politics of the great +Are like the cunning of a cheat, +That lets his false dice freely run, +And trusts them to themselves alone, +But never lets a true one stir, +Without some fingering trick or slur; +And, when the gamester doubts his play, +Conveys his false dice safe away, +And leaves the true ones in the lurch +T' endure the torture of the search. + + +FEAR. + + There needs no other charm, nor conjurer +To raise infernal spirits up, but fear; +That makes men pull their horns in, like a snail +That's both a pris'ner to itself, and jail; +Draws more fantastic shapes, than in the grains +Of knotted wood, in some men's crazy brains; +When all the cocks they think they see, and bulls, +Are only in the insides of their skulls. + + +THE LAW. + + The law can take a purse in open court +While it condemns a less delinquent for't. + + +THE SAME. + + Who can deserve, for breaking of the laws, +A greater penance than an honest cause. + + +THE SAME. + + All those that do but rob and steal enough, +Are punishment and court-of-justice proof, +And need not fear, nor be concerned a straw +In all the idle bugbears of the law; +But confidently rob the gallows too, +As well as other sufferers, of their due. + + +CONFESSION. + + In the Church of Rome to go to shrift +Is but to put the soul on a clean shift. + + +SMATTERERS + + All smatterers are more brisk and pert +Than those that understand an art; +As little sparkles shine more bright +Than glowing coals, that give them light. + + +BAD WRITERS. + + As he that makes his mark is understood +To write his name, and 'tis in law as good, +So he, that can not write one word of sense +Believes he has as legal a pretense +To scribble what he does not understand, +As idiots have a title to their land. + + +THE OPINIONATIVE. + + Opinionators naturally differ +From other men; as wooden legs are stiffer +Than those of pliant joints, to yield and bow, +Which way soever they're design'd to go. + + +LANGUAGE OF THE LEARNED. + + Were Tully now alive, he'd be to seek +In all our Latin terms of art and Greek; +Would never understand one word of sense +The most irrefragable schoolman means: +As if the Schools design'd their terms of art, +Not to advance a science, but to divert; +As Hocus Pocus conjures to amuse +The rabble from observing what he does. + + +GOOD WRITING. + + As 'tis a greater mystery in the art +Of painting, to foreshorten any part, +Than draw it out; so 'tis in books the chief +Of all perfections to be plain and brief. + + +COURTIERS. + + As in all great and crowded fairs +Monsters and puppet-play are wares, +Which in the less will not go off, +Because they have not money enough; +So men in princes' courts will pass +That will not in another place. + + +INVENTIONS. + + All the inventions that the world contains, +Were not by reason first found out, nor brains, +But pass for theirs who had the luck to light +Upon them by mistake or oversight. + + +LOGICIANS. + + Logicians used to clap a proposition, +As justices do criminals, in prison, +And, in as learn'd authentic nonsense, writ +The names of all their moods and figures fit; +For a logician's one that has been broke +To ride and pace his reason by the book; +And by their rules, and precepts, and examples, +To put his wits into a kind of trammels. + + +LABORIOUS WRITERS. + + Those get the least that take the greatest pains, +But most of all i' th' drudgery of the brains, +A natural sign of weakness, as an ant +Is more laborious than an elephant; +And children are more busy at their play, +Than those that wiseliest pass their time away. + + +ON A CLUB OF SOTS. + + The jolly members of a toping club, +Like pipestaves, are but hoop'd into a tub; +And in a close confederacy link, +For nothing else but only to hold drink. + + +HOLLAND. + + A country that draws fifty feet of water, +In which men live as in the hold of Nature; +And when the sea does in upon them break, +And drown a province, does but spring a leak; +That always ply the pump, and never think +They can be safe, but at the rate they stink; +That live as if they had been run a-ground, +And, when they die, are cast away and drown'd; +That dwell in ships, like swarms of rats, and prey +Upon the goods all nations' fleets convey; +And, when their merchants are blown up and cracked, +Whole towns are cast away and wrecked; +That feed, like cannibals, on other fishes, +And serve their cousin-germans up in dishes: +A land that rides at anchor, and is moor'd, +In which they do not live, but go a-board. + +WOMEN. + + The souls of women are so small, +That some believe they've none at all; +Or if they have, like cripples, still +They've but one faculty, the will; +The other two are quite laid by +To make up one great tyranny; +And though their passions have most pow'r, +They are, like Turks, but slaves the more +To th' abs'lute will, that with a breath +Has sovereign pow'r of life and death, +And, as its little int'rests move, +Can turn 'em all to hate or love; +For nothing, in a moment, turn +To frantic love, disdain, and scorn; +And make that love degenerate +T' as great extremity of hate; +And hate again, and scorn, and piques, +To flames, and raptures, and love-tricks. + + + + +EPIGRAMS OF EDMUND WALLEB. + +A PAINTED LADY WITH ILL TEETH. + +Were men so dull they could not see +That Lyce painted; should they flee, +Like simple birds, into a net, +So grossly woven, and ill set, +Her own teeth would undo the knot, +And let all go that she had got. +Those teeth fair Lyce must not show, +If she would bite: her lovers, though +Like birds they stoop at seeming grapes, +Are dis-abus'd, when first she gapes: +The rotten bones discover'd there, +Show 'tis a painted sepulcher. + + +OF THE MARRIAGE OF THE DWARFS. + +Design, or chance, makes others wive; +But nature did this match contrive: +EVE might as well have ADAM fled, +As she denied her little bed +To him, for whom heav'n seem'd to frame, +And measure out, this only dame. + Thrice happy is that humble pair, +Beneath the level of all care! +Over whose heads those arrows fly +Of sad distrust, and jealousy: +Secured in as high extreme, +As if the world held none but them. + To him the fairest nymphs do show +Like moving mountains, topp'd with snow: +And ev'ry man a POLYPHEME +Does to his GALATEA seem; +None may presume her faith to prove; +He proffers death that proffers love. + Ah CHLORIS! that kind nature thus +From all the world had sever'd us: +Creating for ourselves us two, +As love has me for only you! + + + + +EPIGRAMS OF MATTHEW PRIOR. + +A SIMILE. + +Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop +Thy head into a tin-man's shop? +There, Thomas, didst thou never see +('Tis but by way of simile) +A squirrel spend his little rage, +In jumping round a rolling cage? +The cage, as either side turn'd up, +Striking a ring of bells a-top?-- + Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes, +The foolish creature thinks he climbs: +But here or there, turn wood or wire, +He never gets two inches higher. + So fares it with those merry blades, +That frisk it under Pindus' shades. +In noble songs, and lofty odes, +They tread on stars, and talk with gods; +Still dancing in an airy round, +Still pleased with their own verses' sound; +Brought back, how fast soe'er they go, +Always aspiring, always low. + + +THE FLIES. + +Say, sire of insects, mighty Sol, +(A Fly upon the chariot pole +Cries out), what Blue-bottle alive +Did ever with such fury drive? +Tell Belzebub, great father, tell +(Says t' other, perch'd upon the wheel), +Did ever any mortal Fly +Raise such a cloud of dust as I? + My judgment turn'd the whole debate: +My valor sav'd the sinking state. +So talk two idle buzzing things; +Toss up their heads, and stretch their wings. +But let the truth to light be brought; +This neither spoke, nor t' other fought: +No merit in their own behavior: +Both rais'd, but by their party's favor. + + +PHILLIS'S AGE. + +How old may Phillis be, you ask, + Whose beauty thus all hearts engages? +To answer is no easy task: + For she has really two ages. + +Stiff in brocade, and pinch'd in stays, + Her patches, paint, and jewels on; +All day let envy view her face, + And Phillis is but twenty-one. + +Paint, patches, jewels laid aside, + At night astronomers agree, +The evening has the day belied; + And Phillis is some forty-three. + + +TO THE DUKE DE NOALLES. + + Vain the concern which you express, +That uncall'd Alard will possess + Your house and coach, both day and night, +And that Macbeth was haunted less + By Banquo's restless sprite. + +With fifteen thousand pounds a-year, +Do you complain, you can not bear + An ill, you may so soon retrieve? +Good Alard, faith, is modester + By much, than you believe. + +Lend him but fifty louis-d'or; +And you shall never see him more: + Take the advice; probatum est. +Why do the gods indulge our store, + But to secure our rest? + + +ON BISHOP ATTERBURY. + +Meek Francis lies here, friend: without stop or stay, +As you value your peace, make the best of your way. +Though at present arrested by death's caitiff paw, +If he stirs, he may still have recourse to the law. +And in the King's Bench should a verdict be found, +That by livery and seisin his grave is his ground, +He will claim to himself what is strictly his due, +And an action of trespass will straightway ensue, +That you without right on his premises tread, +On a simple surmise that the owner is dead. + + +FORMA BONUM FRAGILE. + +What a frail thing is beauty! says baron Le Cras, +Perceiving his mistress had one eye of glass: + And scarcely had he spoke it, +When she more confus'd as more angry she grew, +By a negligent rage prov'd the maxim too true: + She dropt the eye, and broke it. + + +EARNING A DINNER. + +Full oft doth Mat. with Topaz dine, +Eateth baked meats, drinketh Greek wine; +But Topaz his own werke rehearseth; +And Mat. mote praise what Topaz verseth. +Now sure as priest did e'er shrive sinner, +Full hardly earneth Mat. his dinner. + + +BIBO AND CHARON. + +When Bibo thought fit from the world to retreat, +And full of champagne as an egg's full of meat, +He waked in the boat; and to Charon he said, +He would be row'd back, for he was not yet dead. +Trim the boat, and sit quiet, stern Charon replied: +You may have forgot, you were drunk when you died. + + +THE PEDANT. + +Lysander talks extremely well; +On any subject let him dwell, + His tropes and figures will content ye +He should possess to all degrees +The art of talk; he practices + Full fourteen hours in four-and-twenty + + + + +EPIGRAMS OF JOSEPH ADDISON. +THE COUNTESS OF MANCHESTER. + +Written on his admission to the Kit-Cat Club, in compliance with the +rule that every new member should name his toast, and write a verse in +her praise. + +While haughty Gallia's dames, that spread +O'er their pale cheeks an artful red, +Beheld this beauteous stranger there, +In nature's charms divinely fair; +Confusion in their looks they showed, +And with unborrowed blushes glowed. + + +TO AN ILL-FAVORED LADY. +[IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.] + +While in the dark on thy soft hand I hung, +And heard the tempting syren in thy tongue, +What flames, what darts, what anguish I endured! +But when the candle entered I was cured. + + +TO A CAPBICIOUS FEIEND. +[IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.] + +In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow, +Thou 'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow; +Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee, +There is no living with thee, nor without thee. + + +TO A ROGUE. +[IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.] + +Thy beard and head are of a different dye: +Short of one foot, distorted in an eye: +With all these tokens of a knave complete, +Should'st thou be honest, thou 'rt a dev'lish cheat. + + + + +EPIGRAMS OF ALEXANDER POPE. + +ON MRS. TOFTS. +(A CELEBRATED OPERA SINGER.) + +So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song, +As had drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus along; +But such is thy avarice, and such is thy pride. +That the beasts must have starved, and the poet have died. + + +TO A BLOCKHEAD. + +You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come: +Knock as you please, there's nobody at home. + + +THE FOOL AND THE POET. + +Sir, I admit your general rule, +That every poet is a fool, +But you yourself may serve to show it, +That every fool is not a poet. + + + + +EPIGRAMS OF DEAN SWIFT. + +ON BURNING A DULL POEM. + +An ass's hoof alone can hold +That poisonous juice, which kills by cold. +Methought when I this poem read, +No vessel but an ass's head +Such frigid fustian could contain; +I mean the head without the brain. +The cold conceits, the chilling thoughts, +Went down like stupefying draughts; +I found my head begin to swim, +A numbness crept through every limb. +In haste, with imprecations dire, +I threw the volume in the fire; +When (who could think?) though cold as ice, +It burnt to ashes in a trice. + How could I more enhance its fame? +Though born in snow, it died in flame. + + +TO A LADY, +On hearing her praise her husband. + +You always are making a god of your spouse; +But this neither Reason nor Conscience allows; +Perhaps you will say, 'tis in gratitude due, +And you adore him because he adores you. +Your argument's weak, and so you will find, +For you, by this rule, must adore all mankind. + + +THE CUDGELED HUSBAND. + +As Thomas was cudgel'd one day by his wife, +He took to his heels and fled for his life: +Tom's three dearest friends came by in the squabble, +And saved him at once from the shrew and the rabble; +Then ventured to give him some sober advice- +But Tom is a person of honor so nice, +Too wise to take counsel, too proud to take warning, +That he sent to all three a challenge next morning. +Three duels he fought, thrice ventured his life; +Went home, and was cudgeled again by his wife. + + +ON SEEING VERSES WRITTEN UPON WINDOWS AT INNS + +The sage, who said he should be proud + Of windows in his breast, +Because he ne'er a thought allow'd + That might not be confest; +His window scrawled by every rake, + His breast again would cover, +And fairly bid the devil take + The diamond and the lover. + + +ON SEEING THE BUSTS OP NEWTON, LOCKE, AND OTHERS, +Placed by Queen Caroline in Richmond Hermitage. + +Louis the living learned fed, +And raised the scientific head; +Our frugal queen, to save her meat, +Exalts the heads that cannot eat. + + +ON THE CHURCH'S DANGER. + +Good Halifax and pious Wharton cry, +The Church has vapors; there's no danger nigh. +In those we love not, we no danger see, +And were they hang'd, there would no danger be. +But we must silent be, amid our fears, +And not believe our senses, but the Peers. +So ravishers that know no sense of shame, +First stop her mouth, and then debauch the dame. + + +ON ONE DELACOURT'S COMPLIMENTING CARTHY ON HIS POETRY. + +Carthy, you say, writes well--his genius true, +You pawn your word for him--he'll vouch for you. +So two poor knaves, who find their credit fail, +To cheat the world, become each other's bail. + + +ON A USURER. + +Beneath this verdant hillock lies, +Demar, the wealthy and the wise. +His heirs, that he might safely rest, +Have put his carcass in a chest, +The very chest in which, they say, +His other self, his money lay. +And, if his heirs continue kind +To that dear self he left behind, +I dare believe, that four in five +Will think his better half alive. + + +TO MRS. BIDDY FLOYD; +OR, THE RECEIPT TO FORM A BEAUTY. + +When Cupid did his grandsire Jove entreat +To form some Beauty by a new receipt, +Jove sent, and found, far in a country scene, +Truth, innocence, good nature, look serene: +From which ingredients first the dext'rous boy +Pick'd the demure, the awkward, and the coy. +The Graces from the court did next provide +Breeding, and wit, and air, and decent pride: +These Venus cleans from every spurious grain +Of nice coquet, affected, pert, and vain. +Jove mix'd up all, and the best clay employ'd; +Then call'd the happy composition FLOYD. + + +THE REVERSE; +OR, MRS. CLUDD. + +Venus one day, as story goes, +But for what reason no man knows, +In sullen mood and grave deport, +Trudged it away to Jove's high court; +And there his Godship did entreat, +To look out for his best receipt: +And make a monster strange and odd, +Abhorr'd by man and every god. +Jove, ever kind to all the fair, +Nor e'er refused a lady's prayer, +Straight oped 'scrutoire, and forth he took +A neatly bound and well-gilt book; +Sure sign that nothing enter'd there, +But what was very choice and rare. +Scarce had he turn'd a page or two-- +It might be more, for aught I know; +But, be the matter more or less, +'Mong friends 't will break no squares, I guess. +Then, smiling, to the dame quoth he, +Here's one will fit you to a T. +But, as the writing doth prescribe, +'Tis fit the ingredients we provide. +Away he went, and search'd the stews, +And every street about the Mews; +Diseases, impudence, and lies, +Are found and brought him in a trice +From Hackney then he did provide, +A clumsy air and awkward pride; +From lady's toilet next he brought +Noise, scandal, and malicious thought. +These Jove put in an old close-stool, +And with them mix'd the vain, the fool. + + But now came on his greatest care, +Of what he should his paste prepare; +For common clay or finer mold +Was much too good, such stuff to hold +At last he wisely thought on mud; +So raised it up, and call'd it--CLUDD. +With this, the lady well content, +Low curtsey'd, and away she went. + + +THE PLACE OF THE DAMNED. + +All folks who pretend to religion and grace, +Allow there's a HELL, but dispute of the place: +But if HELL may by logical rules be defined +The place of the damn'd--I'll tell you my mind. +Wherever the damn'd do chiefly abound, +Most certainly there is HELL to be found: +Damn'd poets, damn'd critics, damn'd blockheads, damn'd knaves; +Damn'd senators bribed, damn'd prostitute slaves; +Damn'd lawyers and judges, damn'd lords and damn'd squires; +Damn'd spies and informers, damn'd friends and damn'd liars; +Damn'd villains, corrupted in every station; +Dama'd time-serving priests all over the nation; +And into the bargain I'll readily give you +Damn'd ignorant prelates, and councillors privy. +Then let us no longer by parsons be flamm'd, +For we know by these marks the place of the damn'd: +And HELL to be sure is at Paris or Rome. +How happy for us that it is not at home! + + +THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. + +With a world of thought oppress'd, +I sunk from reverie to rest. +A horrid vision seized my head, +I saw the graves give up their dead! +Jove, arm'd with terrors, bursts the skies, +And thunder roars and lightning flies; +Amazed, confused, its fate unknown, +The world stands trembling at his throne! +While each pale sinner hung his head, +Jove, nodding, shook the heavens, and said: +"Offending race of human kind, +By nature, reason, learning, blind; +You who, through frailty, stepp'd aside; +And you, who never fell from pride: +You who in different sects were shamm'd, +And come to see each other damn'd; +(So some folk told you, but they knew +No more of Jove's designs than you); +--The world's mad business now is o'er, +And I resent these pranks no more. +--I to such blockheads set my wit! +I damn such fools!--Go, go, you're bit." + + + + +PAULUS THE LAWYER. + LINDSAY. + +"A slave to crowds, scorch'd with the summer's heats, +In courts the wretched lawyer toils and sweats; +While smiling Nature, in her best attire, +Regales each sense, and vernal joys inspire. +Can he, who knows that real good should please +Barter for gold his liberty and ease?" +This Paulus preach'd:--When, entering at the door, +Upon his board the client pours the ore: +He grasps the shining gifts, pores o'er the cause, +Forgets the sun, and dozes o'er the laws. + + + + +EPIGRAMS BY THOMAS SHERIDAN. + +ON A CARICATURE. + +If you say this was made for friend Dan, you belie it, +I'll swear he's so like it that he was made by it. + + +ON DEAN SWIFT'S PROPOSED HOSPITAL FOR LUNATICS + +Great wits to madness nearly are allied, +This makes the Dean for kindred THUS provide. + + +TO A DUBLIN PUBLISHER. +Who displayed a bust of Dean Swift in his window, while publishing +Lord Orrery's offensive remarks upon the Dean. + +Faulkner! for once thou hast some judgment shown, +By representing Swift transformed to stone; +For could he thy ingratitude have known, +Astonishment itself the work had done! + + + + +WHICH IS WHICH. + BYRON. + +"God bless the King! God bless the faith's defender! +God bless--no harm in blessing--the Pretender. +But who that pretender is, and who that king, +God bless us all, is quite another thing." + + + + +ON SOME LINES OF LOPEZ DE VEGA. + DR. JOHNSON. + +If the man who turnips cries, +Cry not when his father dies, +'Tis a proof that he had rather +Have a turnip than his father. + + + + +ON A FULL-LENGTH PORTRAIT OF BEAU MARSH. +Placed between the busts of Newton and Pope. + LORD CHESTERFIELD + +"Immortal Newton never spoke +More truth than here you'll find; +Nor Pope himself e'er penn'd a joke +More cruel on mankind. + +"The picture placed the busts between, +Gives satire all its strength; +Wisdom and Wit are little seen-- +But Folly at full length." + + + + +ON SCOTLAND. + CLEVELAND. + +"Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom; +Nor forced him wander, but confined him home." + + + + +EPIGRAMS OF PETER PINDAR. + +EDMUND BURKE'S ATTACK ON WARREN HASTINGS + +Poor Edmund sees poor Britain's setting sun: +Poor Edmund GROANS--and Britain is UNDONE! + + Reader! thou hast, I do presume (God knows though) been in a snug +room, +By coals or wood made comfortably warm, + And often fancied that a storm WITHOUT, + Hath made a diabolic rout-- +Sunk ships, tore trees up--done a world of harm. + +Yes, thou hast lifted up thy tearful eyes, +Fancying thou heardst of mariners the cries; +And sigh'd, "How wretched now must thousands be! +Oh! how I pity the poor souls at sea!" + When, lo! this dreadful tempest, and his roar, +A ZEPHYR--in the key-hole of the door! + +Now may not Edmund's howlings be a sigh + Pressing through Edmund's lungs for loaves and fishes, +On which he long hath looked with LONGING eye + To fill poor Edmund's not o'erburden'd dishes? + +Give Mun a sup--forgot will be complaint; +Britain be safe, and Hastings prove a SAINT. + + +ON AN ARTIST +Who boasted that his pictures had hung near those of Sir Joshua +Reynolds in the Exhibition. + +A shabby fellow chanc'd one day to meet +The British Roscius in the street, + Garrick, on whom our nation justly brags-- +The fellow hugg'd him with a kind embrace-- +"Good sir, I do not recollect your face," + Quoth Garrick--"No!" replied the man of rags. + +"The boards of Drury you and I have trod + Full many a time together, I am sure--" +"When?" with an oath, cried Garrick--"for by G-- + I never saw that face of yours before!-- + What characters, I pray, + Did you and I together play?" + +"Lord!" quoth the fellow, "think not that I mock-- +When you play'd Hamlet, sir--I play'd the cock" + + +ON THE CONCLUSION OF HIS ODES + + "FINISH'D!" a disappointed artist cries, + With open mouth, and straining eyes; +Gaping for praise like a young crow for meat-- + "Lord! why have you not mentioned ME!" + Mention THEE! +Thy IMPUDENCE hath put me in a SWEAT-- +What rage for fame attends both great and small +Better be D--N'D, than mention'd NOT AT ALL! + + +THE LEX TALIONIS UPON BENJAMIN WEST + +West tells the world that Peter can not rhyme-- + Peter declares, point blank, that West can't paint. +West swears I've not an atom of sublime-- + I swear he hath no notion of a saint; + +And that his cross-wing'd cherubim are fowls, +Baptized by naturalists, owls: +Half of the meek apostles, gangs of robbers; +His angels, sets of brazen-headed lubbers. + +The Holy Scripture says, "All flesh is grass," +With Mr. West, all flesh is brick and brass; + Except his horse-flesh, that I fairly own + Is often of the choicest Portland stone. + I've said it too, that this artist's faces + Ne'er paid a visit to the graces: + + That on expression he can never brag: +Yet for this article hath he been studying, +But in it never could surpass a pudding- + No, gentle reader, nor a pudding-bag. + +I dare not say, that Mr. West + Can not sound criticism impart: +I'm told the man with technicals is blest, + That he can talk a deal upon the art; +Yes, he can talk, I do not doubt it-- +"About it, goddess, and about it." + +Thus, then, is Mr. West deserving praise-- + And let my justice the fair laud afford; +For, lo! this far-fam'd artist cuts both ways, + Exactly like the angel Gabriel's sword; +The beauties of the art his CONVERSE shows, + His CANVAS almost ev'ry thing that's bad! +Thus at th' Academy, we must suppose, + A man more useful never could be had: +Who in himself, a host, so much can do; +Who is both precept and example too! + + +BARRY'S ATTACK UPON SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS + +When Barry dares the President to fly on, + 'Tis like a mouse, that, work'd into a rage + Daring some dreadful war to wage, +Nibbles the tail of the Nemaean lion. + + Or like a louse, of mettle full, + Nurs'd in some giant's skull-- + Because Goliath scratch'd him as he fed, +Employs with vehemence his angry claws, +And gaping, grinning, formidable jaws, + To CARRY OFF the GIANT'S HEAD! + + +ON THE DEATH OP MR. HONE, R. A. + +There's one R. A. more dead! stiff is poor Hone-- +His works be with him under the same stone: +I think the sacred art will not bemoan 'em; +But, Muse!--DE MORTUIS NIL NISI BONUM-- +As to his host, a TRAV'LER, with a sneer, +Said of his DEAD SMALL-BEER. +Go, then, poor Hone! and join a numerous train + Sunk in OBLIVION'S wide pacific ocean; + And may its WHALE-LIKE stomach feel no motion +To cast thee, like a Jonah, up again. + + +ON GEORGE THE THIRD'S PATRONAGE OF BENJAMIN WEST. + +Thus have I seen a child, with smiling face, +A little daisy in the garden place, + And strut in triumph round its fav'rite flow'r; +Gaze on the leaves with infant admiration, +Thinking the flow'r the finest in the nation, + Then pay a visit to it ev'ry hour: +Lugging the wat'ring-pot about, + Which John the gard'ner was oblig'd to fill; +The child, so pleas'd, would pour the water out, + To show its marvelous gard'ning skill; + +Then staring round, all wild for praises panting, +Tell all the world it was its own sweet planting; + And boast away, too happy elf, + How that it found the daisy all itself! + + +ANOTHER ON THE SAME. + +In SIMILE if I may shine agen- +Thus have I seen a fond old hen + With one poor miserable chick, +Bustling about a farmer's yard; +Now on the dunghill laboring hard, + Scraping away through thin and thick, +Flutt'ring her feathers--making such a noise! +Cackling aloud such quantities of joys, + As if this chick, to which her egg gave birth, +Was born to deal prodigious knocks, +To shine the Broughton of game cocks, + And kill the fowls of all the earth! + + +EPITAPH ON PETER STAGGS. + +Poor Peter Staggs, now rests beneath this rail, +Who loved his joke, his pipe, and mug of ale; +For twenty years he did the duties well, +Of ostler, boots, and waiter at the "Bell." +But Death stepp'd in, and order'd Peter Staggs +To feed his worms, and leave the farmers' nags. +The church clock struck one--alas! 't was Peter's knell, +Who sigh'd, "I'm coming--that's the ostler's bell!" + + +TRAY'S EPITAPH. + +Here rest the relics of a friend below, +Blest with more sense than half the folks I know: +Fond of his ease, and to no parties prone, +He damn'd no sect, but calmly gnaw'd his bone; +Perform'd his functions well in ev'ry way- +Blush, CHRISTIANS, if you can, and copy Tray. + + +ON A STONE THROWN AT A VERY GREAT MAN, BUT WHICH MISSED HIM. + +Talk no more of the lucky escape of the head +From a flint so unluckily thrown- +I think very different, with thousands indeed, +'T was a lucky escape for the stone. + + +[The following stanza, on the death of Lady Mount E---'s favorite pig +Cupid, is verily exceeded by nothing in the annals of +impertinence.--P. P.] + +A CONSOLATORY STANZA +TO LADY MOUNT E---, ON THE DEATH OF HER PIG CUPID. + +O dry that tear, so round and big, + Nor waste in sighs your precious wind! +Death only takes a single pig-- + Your lord and son are still behind. + + + + +EPIGRAMS BY ROBERT BURNS. + +THE POET'S CHOICE. + +I murder hate, by field or flood, + Though glory's name may screen us; +In wars at hame I'll spend my blood, + Life-giving wars of Venus. + +The Jeities that I adore, + Are social peace and plenty; +I'm better pleased to make one more, + Than be the death of twenty. + + +ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. + +Here souter Hood in death does sleep;-- + To h-ll, if he's gane thither, +Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, + He'll haud it weel thegither. + + +ON JOHN DOVE + +INNKEEPER OF MAUCHLINE. + +Here lies Johnny Pidgeon; +What was his religion? +Wha e'er desires to ken, +To some other warl' +Maun follow the carl, + For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane! + +Strong ale was ablution-- +Small beer, persecution, + A dram was MEMENTO MORI: +But a full flowing bowl +Was the saving his soul, + And port was celestial glory. + + +ON ANDREW TURNER. + +In se'enteen hunder an' forty-nine, +Satan took stuff to mak' a swine, + And cuist it in a corner; +But wilily he chang'd his plan, +And shaped it something like a man. + And ca'd it Andrew Turner. + + +ON A SCOTCH COXCOMB + +Light lay the earth on Billy's breast, + His chicken heart so tender; +But build a castle on his head, + His skull will prop it under. + + +ON GRIZZEL GRIM. + +Here lies with death auld Grizzel Grim. + Lineluden's ugly witch; +O death, how horrid is thy taste, + To lie with such a b----! + + +ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE. + +Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', + He aften did assist ye; +For had ye stayed whole years awa, + Your wives they ne'er had missed ye. +Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass + To school in bands thegither, +O tread ye lightly on his grass-- + Perhaps he was your father. + + +EPITAPH ON W---. + +Stop, thief! dame Nature cried to Death, +As Willie drew his latest breath; +You have my choicest model ta'en; +How shall I make a fool again? + + +ON A SUICIDE. + +Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell, + Planted by Satan's dibble-- +Poor silly wretch, he's damn'd himsel' + To save the Lord the trouble. + + + + +EPIGRAMS FROM THE GERMAN OF LESSING. + +NIGER. + +"He's gone at last--old Niger's dead!" + Last night 'twas said throughout the city; +Each quidnunc gravely shook his head, + And HALF the town cried, "What a pity!" + +The news proved false--'t was all a cheat-- + The morning came the fact denying; +And ALL the town to-day repeat + What HALF the town last night was crying. + + +A NICE POINT. + +Say which enjoys the greater blisses, +John, who Dorinda's picture kisses, +Or Tom, his friend, the favor'd elf, +Who kisses fair Dorinda's self? +Faith, 'tis not easy to divine, +While both are thus with raptures fainting, +To which the balance should incline, +Since Tom and John both kiss a painting. +THE POINT DECIDED. + +Nay, surely John's the happier of the twain, +Because--the picture can not kiss again! + + +TRUE NOBILITY. + +Young Stirps as any lord is proud, +Vain, haughty, insolent, and loud, +Games, drinks, and in the full career +Of vice, may vie with any peer; +Seduces daughters, wives, and mothers, +Spends his own cash, and that of others, +Pays like a lord--that is to say, +He never condescends to pay, +But bangs his creditor in requital-- +And yet this blockhead wants a title! + + +TO A LIAR. + +Lie as long as you will, my fine fellow, believe me, +Your rhodomontading will never deceive me; +Though you took me in THEN, I confess, my good youth, +When moved by caprice you once told me the truth. + + +MENDAX. + +See yonder goes old Mendax, telling lies +To that good easy man with whom he's walking; +How know I that? you ask, with some surprise; +Why, don't you see, my friend, the fellow's talking. + + +THE BAD-WIFE. + +SAVANS have decided, that search the globe round, +One only bad wife in the world can be found; +The worst of it is, as her name is not known, +Not a husband but swears that bad wife is his own. + + +THE DEAD MISER. + +From the grave where dead Gripeall, the miser, reposes, +What a villainous odor invades all our noses! +It can't be his BODY alone--in the hole +They have certainly buried the usurer's SOUL. + + +ON FELL. + +While Fell was reposing himself on the hay, +A reptile conceal'd bit his leg as he lay; +But all venom himself, of the wound he made light, +And got well, while the scorpion died of the bite. + + +THE BAD ORATOR. + +So vile your grimace, and so croaking your speech, + One scarcely can tell if you're laughing or crying; +Were you fix'd on one's funeral sermon to preach, + The bare apprehension would keep one from dying. + + +THE WISE CHILD. + +How plain your little darling says "Mamma," +But still she calls you "Doctor," not "Papa." +One thing is clear: your conscientious rib +Has not yet taught the pretty dear to fib. + + +SPECIMEN OF THE LACONIC. + +"Be less prolix," says Grill. I like advice-- +"Grill, you're an ass!" Now surely that's concise. + + +CUPID AND MERCURY, OR THE BARGAIN. + +Sly Cupid late with Maia's son + Agreed to live as friend and brother; +In proof, his bow and shafts the one + Chang'd for the well-fill'd purse of t'other. +And now, the transfer duly made, + Together through the world they rove; +The thieving god in arms array'd, + And gold the panoply of love! + + +FRITZ. + +Quoth gallant Fritz, "I ran away +To fight again another day." +The meaning of his speech is plain, +He only fled to fly again. + + +ON DORILIS. + +That Dorilis thus, on her lap as he lies, +Should kiss little Pompey, excites no surprise; +But the lapdog whom thus she keeps fondling and praising, +Licks her face in return--that I own is amazing! + + +TO A SLOW WALKER AND QUICK EATER. + +So slowly you walk, and so quickly you eat, +You should march with your mouth, and devour with your feet. + + +ON TWO BEAUTIFUL ONE-EYED SISTERS + +Give up one eye, and make your sister's two, +Venus she then would be, and Cupid you. + + +THE PER-CONTRA, OR MATRIMONIAL BALANCE + +How strange, a deaf wife to prefer! +True, but she's also dumb, good sir. + + + + +EPIGRAMS S. T. COLERIDGE. + +AN EXPECTORATION, +Or Spienetic Extempore, on my joyful departure from the city of +Cologne. + + As I am rhymer, +And now, at least, a merry one, + Mr. Mum's Eudesheimer, +And the church of St. Geryon, +Are the two things alone, +That deserve to be known, +In the body-and-soul-stinking town of Cologne. + + +EXPECTORATION THE SECOND. + +In Clon, the town of monks and bones, +And pavements fanged with murderous stones, +And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches, +I counted two-and-seventy stenches, +All well defined and separate stinks! +Ye nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks, +The river Rhine, it is well known, +Doth wash your city of Cologne. +But tell me, nymphs, what power divine +Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine? + + +TO A LADY, +Offended by a sportive observation that women have no souls. + +Nay, dearest Anna, why so grave? +I said you had no soul,'tis true, +For what you ARE you can not HAVE; +'Tis _I_ that have one since I first had you. + + +AVARO. +[STOLEN FROM LESSING.] + +There comes from old Avaro's grave +A deadly stench--why sure they have +Immured his SOUL within his grave. + + +BEELZEBUB AND JOB. + +Sly Beelzebub took all occasions +To try Job's constancy and patience. +He took his honor, took his health, +He took his children, took his wealth, +His servants, oxen, horses, cows-- +But cunning Satan did not take his spouse. + +But Heaven, that brings out good from evil, +And loves to disappoint the devil, +Had predetermined to restore +Twofold all he had before; +His servants, horses, oxen, cows-- +Short-sighted devil, not to take his spouse! + + +SENTIMENTAL. + +The rose that blushes like the morn, + Bedecks the valleys low: +And so dost thou, sweet infant corn, + My Angelina's toe. + +But on the rose there grows a thorn, + That breeds disastrous woe: +And so dost thou, remorseless corn, + On Angelina's toe. + + +AN ETERNAL POEM. + +Your poem must ETERNAL be, +Dear sir, it can not fail, +For 'tis incomprehensible, +And wants both head and tail. + + + BAD POETS. + +Swans sing before they die--'t were no bad thing; +Did certain persons die before they sing. + + + + +TO MR. ALEXANDRE, THE VENTRILOQUIST. + SIR WALTER SCOTT. + +Of yore, in Old England, it was not thought good, +To carry two visages under one hood: +What should folks say to YOU? who have faces so plenty, +That from under one hood you last night showed us twenty! +Stand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us in truth, +Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth? +Man, woman or child--a dog or a mouse? +Or are you, at once, each live thing in the house? +Each live thing did I ask?--each dead implement too, +A workshop in your person--saw, chisel, and screw! +Above all, are you one individual?--I know +You must be, at least, Alexandre and Co. +But I think you're a troop, an assemblage, a mob, +And that I, as the sheriff, should take up the job: +And, instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse, +Must read you the riot-act, and bid you disperse! + + + + +THE SWALLOWS. + R. BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. +The Prince of Wales came into Brooke's one day, and complained of +cold, but after drinking three glasses of brandy and water, said he +felt comfortable. + +The prince came in and said't was cold, + Then put to his head the rummer, +Till SWALLOW after SWALLOW came, + When he pronounced it summer. + + + + +FRENCH AND ENGLISH. + ERSKINE + +The French have taste in all they do, Which we are quite without; +For Nature, that to them gave GOUT + To us gave only gout. + + + + +EPIGRAMS BY THOMAS MOORE. + +TO SIR HUDSON LOWE. + +Sir Hudson Lowe, Sir Hudson LOW +(By name, and ah! by nature so), + As thou art fond of persecutions, +Perhaps thou'st read, or heard repeated, +How Captain Gulliver was treated, + When thrown among the Lilliputians. + +They tied him down-these little men did-- +And having valiantly ascended + Upon the Mighty Man's protuberance, +They did so strut!--upon my soul, +It must have been extremely droll + To see their pigmy pride's exuberance! + +And how the doughty mannikins +Amused themselves with sticking pins + And needles in the great man's breeches; +And how some VERY little things, +That pass'd for Lords, on scaffoldings + Got up and worried him with speeches. + +Alas! alas! that it should happen +To mighty men to be caught napping!-- + Though different, too, these persecutions +For Gulliver, THERE, took the nap, +While, HERE, the NAP, oh sad mishap, Is taken by the Lilliputians! + + +DIALOGUE +BETWEEN A CATHOLIC DELEGATE AND HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS DUKE OF CUMBERLAND. + +Said his Highness to NED, with that grim face of his, + "Why refuse us the VETO, dear Catholic NEDDY?"-- +"Because, sir" said NED, looking full in his phiz, + "You're FORBIDDING enough, in all conscience, already!" + + +TO MISS ----- + +With woman's form and woman's tricks +So much of man you seem to mix, + One knows not where to take you; +I pray you, if 'tis not too far, +Go, ask of Nature WHICH you are, + Or what she meant to make you. + +Yet stay--you need not take the pains +With neither beauty, youth, nor brains, + For man or maid's desiring: +Pert as female, fool as male, +As boy too green, as girl too stale + The thing's not worth inquiring! + + +TO ----- + +Die when you will, you need not wear +At heaven's court a form more fair + Than Beauty here on earth has given; +Keep but the lovely looks we see +The voice we hear and you will be + An angel READY-MADE for heaven! + + +UPON BEING OBLIGED TO LEAVE A PLEASANT PARTY +FROM THE WANT OF A PAIR OF BREECHES TO DRESS FOR DINNER IN. + +Between Adam and me the great difference is, + Though a paradise each has been forced to resign, +That he never wore breeches till turn'd out of his, + While, for want of my breeches, I'm banish'd from mine + + +WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE? + +QUEST.-Why is a Pump like Viscount CASTLEREAGH? + ANSW.-Because it is a slender thing of wood, +That up and down its awkward arm doth sway, +And coolly spout, and spout, and spout away, +In one weak, washy, everlasting flood! + + +FROM THE FRENCH. + +Of all the men one meets about, + There's none like Jack--he's everywhere: +At church--park--auction--dinner--rout-- + Go when and where you will, he's there. +Try the West End, he's at your back-- + Meets you, like Eurus, in the East-- +You're call'd upon for "How do, Jack?" + One hundred times a-day, at least. +A friend of his one evening said, + As home he took his pensive way, +"Upon my soul, I fear Jack's dead-- + I've seen him but three times to-day!" + + +A JOKE VERSIFIED. + +"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life, + There's no longer excuse for thus playing the rake-- +It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife."-- + "Why, so it is, father--whose wife shall I take?" + + +THE SURPRISE. + +Doloris, I swear, by all I ever swore, + That from this hour I shall not love thee more.-- +"What! love no more? Oh! why this alter'd vow? +Because I CAN NOT love thee MORE--than NOW!" + + +ON ----. + + Like a snuffers, this loving old dame, + By a destiny grievous enough, + Though so oft she has snapp'd at the flame, + Hath never more than the snuff. + + +ON A SQUINTING POETESS. + +To no ONE Muse does she her glance confine, +But has an eye, at once to ALL THE NINE! + + +ON A TUET-HUNTER. + +Lament, lament, Sir Isaac Heard, + Put mourning round thy page, Debrett, +For here lies one, who ne'er preferr'd + A Viscount to a Marquis yet. + +Beside his place the God of Wit, + Before him Beauty's rosiest girls, +Apollo for a STAR he'd quit, + And Love's own sister for an Earl's. + +Did niggard fate no peers afford, + He took, of course, to peers' relations; +And, rather than not sport a lord, + Put up with even the last creations. + +Even Irish names, could he but tag 'em + With "Lord" and "Duke," were sweet to call, +And, at a pinch, Lord Ballyraggum + Was better than no Lord at all. + +Heaven grant him now some noble nook, + For, rest his soul, he'd rather be +Genteelly damn'd beside a Duke, + Than saved in vulgar company. + + +THE KISS. + +Give me, my love, that billing kiss + I taught you one delicious night, +When, turning epicures in bliss, + We tried inventions of delight. + +Come, gently steal my lips along, + And let your lips in murmurs move +Ah, no!--again--that kiss was wrong + How can you be so dull, my love? + +"Cease, cease!" the blushing girl replied + And in her milky arms she caught me +"How can you thus your pupil chide; + You know 'T WAS IN THE DARK you taught me!" + + +EPITAPH ON A WELL-KNOWN POET--(ROBERT SOUTHEY.) + +Beneath these poppies buried deep, + The bones of Bob the bard lie hid; +Peace to his manes; and may he sleep + As soundly as his readers did! + +Through every sort of verse meandering, + Bob went without a hitch or fall, +Through Epic, Sapphic, Alexandrine, + To verse that was no verse at all; + +Till fiction having done enough, + To make a bard at least absurd, +And give his readers QUANTUM SUFF., + He took to praising George the Third: +And now, in virtue of his crown, + Dooms us, poor whigs, at once to slaughter, +Like Donellan of bad renown, + Poisoning us all with laurel-water. + +And yet at times some awkward qualms he + Felt about leaving honor's track; +And though he's got a butt of Malmsey, + It may not save him from a sack. + +Death, weary of so dull a writer, + Put to his works a FINIS thus. +Oh! may the earth on him lie lighter + Than did his quartos upon us! + + +WRITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY'S COMMON-PLACE BOOK, +Called the "Book of Follies." + +This journal of folly's an emblem of me; +But what book shall we find emblematic of thee? +Oh! shall we not say thou art LOVE'S DUODECIMO? +None can be prettier, few can be less, you know. +Such a volume in SHEETS were a volume of charms; +Or if BOUND, it should only be BOUND IN OUR ARMS! + + +THE RABBINICAL ORIGIN OF WOMEN. + +They tell us that Woman was made of a rib + Just pick'd from a corner so snug in the side; +But the Rabbins swear to you that this is a fib, + And 't was not so at all that the sex was supplied. + +For old Adam was fashion'd, the first of his kind, + With a tail like a monkey, full a yard and a span; +And when Nature cut off this appendage behind, + Why--then woman was made of the tail of the man. + +If such is the tie between women and men, + The ninny who weds is a pitiful elf; +For he takes to his tail, like an idiot, again, + And makes a most damnable ape of himself! + +Yet, if we may judge as the fashions prevail, + Every husband remembers the original plan, +And, knowing his wife is no more than his tail, + Why--he leaves her behind him as much as he can. + + +ANACREONTIQUE. + +Press the grape, and let it pour +Around the board its purple shower; +And while the drops my goblet steep, +I'll think--in WOE the clusters weep. + +Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine! +Heaven grant no tears but tears of wine. +Weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow, +I'll taste the LUXURY OF WOE! + + +SPECULATION. + +Of all speculations the market holds forth, + The best that I know for a lover of pelf, +Is to buy --- up at the price he is worth, +And then sell him at that which he sets on himself. + + + + +ON BUTLER'S MONUMENT. + REV. SAMUEL WESLEY. + +While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive, +No generous patron would a dinner give. +See him, when starved to death and turn'd to dust, +Presented with a monumental bust. +The poet's fate is here in emblem shown-- +He ask'd for BREAD, and he received a STONE. + + + + +ON THE DISAPPOINTMENT OF THE WHIG ASSOCIATES OP THE PRINCE REGENT, AT +NOT OBTAINING OFFICE. + CHARLES LAMB. + +Ye politicians, tell me, pray, +Why thus with woe and care rent? +This is the worst that you can say, +Some wind has blown the wig away, +And left the HAIR APPARENT. + + + + +TO PROFESSOR AIREY, +On his marrying a beautiful woman. + SIDNEY SMITH + +Airey alone has gained that double prize, +Which forced musicians to divide the crown; +His works have raised a mortal to the skies, +His marriage-vows have drawn a mortal down. + + + + +ON LORD DUDLEY AND WARD. + SAMUEL ROGERS + +"They say Ward has no heart, but I deny it; +He has a heart--and gets his speeches by it." + + + + +EPIGRAMS OF LORD BYRON. + +TO THE AUTHOR OF A SONNET BEGINNING +"'SAD IS MY VERSE,' YOU SAY, 'AND YET NO TEAR.'" + + Thy verse is "sad" enough, no doubt, + A devilish deal more sad than witty! + Why should we weep, I can't find out, + Unless for THEE we weep in pity. + + Yet there is one I pity more, + And much, alas! I think he needs it-- + For he, I'm sure, will suffer sore, + Who, to his own misfortune, reads it. + + The rhymes, without the aid of magic, + May ONCE be read--but never after; + Yet their effect's by no means tragic, + Although by far too dull for laughter. + + But would you make our bosoms bleed, + And of no common pang complain? + If you would make us weep indeed, + Tell us you'll read them o'er again. + + +WINDSOR POETICS. + +On the Prince Regent being seen standing between the coffins of Henry +VIII. and Charles I, in the royal vault at Windsor. + +Famed for contemptuous breach of sacred ties, +By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies; +Between them stands another sceptered thing-- +It moves, it reigns--in all but name, a king; +Charles to his people, Henry to his wife, +--In him the double tyrant starts to life; +Justice and death have mixed their dust in vain, +Each royal vampyre wakes to life again. +Ah! what can tombs avail, since these disgorge +The blood and dust of both to mold a George? + + +ON A CARRIER WHO DIED OF DRUNKENNESS. + +John Adams lies here, of the parish of Southwell, +A carrier who carried his can to his mouth well; +He carried so much, and he carried so fast, +He could carry no more--so was carried at last; +For the liquor he drank, being too much for one, +He could not carry off--so he's now carriON. + + + + +EPIGRAMS OF BARHAM. + +ON THE WINDOWS OF KING'S COLLEGE REMAINING BOARDED. + + Loquitur Discipulus Esuriens. + +Professors, in your plan there seems + A something not quite right: +'Tis queer to cherish learning's beams + By shutting out the light. + +While thus we see your windows block'd, + If nobody complains; +Yet everybody must be shock'd, + To see you don't take pains. + +And tell me why should bodily + Succumb to mental meat? +Or why should Pi-ra, Beta Pi-ra, Pi-c, + Be all the pie we eat? + +No HELLUO LIBRORUM I, + No literary glutton, +Would veal with Virgil like to try, + With metaphysics, mutton. + +Leave us no longer in the lurch, + With Romans, Greeks, and Hindoos: +But give us beef instead of birch, + And BOARD US--not your windows. + + +NEW-MADE HONOR. +[IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.] + +A friend I met, some half hour since-- + "GOOD-MORROW JACK!" quoth I; +The new-made Knight, like any Prince, + Frown'd, nodded, and pass'd by; +When up came Jem--"Sir John, your slave!" + "Ah, James; we dine at eight-- +Fail not--(low bows the supple knave) + Don't make my lady wait." +The king can do no wrong? As I'm a sinner, + He's spoilt an honest tradesman and my dinner. + +EHEU FUGACES. + +What Horace says is, +Eheu fugaces +Anni labunter, Postume, Postume! +Years glide away, and are lost to me, lost to me I +Now, when the folks in the dance sport their merry toes, +Taglionis, and Ellslers, Duvernays and Ceritos, +Sighing, I murmur, "O mihi praeteritos !" + + + +ANONYMOUS EPIGRAMS + +ON A PALE LADY WITH A RED-NOSED HUSBAND. + +Whence comes it that, in Clara's face, +The lily only has its place? +Is it because the absent rose +Has gone to paint her husband's nose? + +UPON POPE'S TRANSLATION OF HOMER + +So much, dear Pope, thy English Homer charms, +As pity melts us, or as passion warms, +That after ages will with wonder seek +Who 'twas translated Homer into Greek. + + +RECIPE FOR A MODERN BONNET. + +Two scraps of foundation, some fragments of lace, +A shower of French rose-buds to droop o'er the face; +Fine ribbons and feathers, with crage and illusions, +Then mix and DErange them in graceful confusion; +Inveigle some fairy, out roaming for pleasure, +And beg the slight favor of taking her measure, +The length and the breadth of her dear little pate, +And hasten a miniature frame to create; +Then pour, as above, the bright mixture upon it, +And lo! you possess "such a love of a bonnet!" + + +MY WIFE AND I + +As my wife and I, at the window one day, + Stood watching a man with a monkey, +A cart came by, with a "broth of a boy," + Who was driving a stout little donkey. +To my wife I then spoke, by way of a joke, + "There's a relation of yours in that carriage." +To which she replied, as the donkey she spied, + "Ah, yes, a relation--BY MARRIAGE!" + +ON TWO GENTLEMEN, + +One of whom, O'Connell, delayed a duel on the plea of his wife's +illness; the other declined on account of the illness of his daughter. + +Some men, with a horror of slaughter, +Improve on the Scripture command, +And honor their wife and their daughter, +That their days may be long in the land. + + +WELLINGTON'S NOSE. + +"Pray, why does the great Captain's nose + Resemble Venice?" Duncomb cries. +"Why," quoth Sam Rogers, "I suppose. + Because it has a bridge of size (sighs)." + + +THE SMOKER. + +All dainty meats I do defy + Which feed men fat as swine, +He is a frugal man indeed + That on a leaf can dine! +He needs no napkin for his hands, + His finger's ends to wipe, +That keeps his kitchen in a box, + And roast meat in his pipe! + +AN ESSAY ON THE UNDERSTANDING. + +"Harry, I can not think," says Dick, +"What makes my ANKLES grow so thick:" +"You do not recollect," says Harry, +"How great a CALF they have to carry." + +TO A LIVING AUTHOR. + +Your comedy I've read, my friend, + And like the half you pilfer'd best; +But sure the piece you yet may mend: + Take courage, man! and steal the rest. + + + + +EPIGRAMS BY THOMAS HOOD. + +ON THE ART-UNIONS. + +That picture-raffles will conduce to nourish +Design, or cause good coloring to flourish, +Admits of logic-chopping and wise sawing, +But surely lotteries encourage drawing. + +THE SUPERIORITY OF MACHINERY. + +A mechanic his labor will often discard + If the rate of his pay he dislikes: +But a clock--and its case is uncommonly hard-- + Will continue to work though it STRIKES. + + + + +EPIGRAMS BY W. SAVAGE LANDOR + +ON OBSERVING A VULGAR NAME ON THE PLINTH OF AN ANCIENT STATUE. + +Barbarians must we always be? + Wild hunters in pursuit of fame? + Must there be nowhere stone or tree + Ungashed with some ignoble name. +O Venus! in thy Tuscan dome + May every god watch over thee! +Apollo I bend thy bow o'er Rome, + And guard thy sister's chastity. +Let Britons paint their bodies blue + As formerly, but touch not you. + + +LYING IN STATE. + +Now from the chamber all are gone +Who gazed and wept o'er Wellington; +Derby and Dis do all they can +To emulate so great a man: +If neither can be quite so great, +Resolved is each to LIE IN STATE. + + +[Illustration: LANDOR] + + +EPIGRAMS FROM PUNCH. + +THE CAUSE. + +Lisette has lost her wanton wiles-- + What secret care consumes her youth, +And circumscribes her smiles?-- + A SPECK ON A FRONT TOOTH? + + +IRISH PARTICULAR. + +Shiel's oratory's like bottled Dublin stout-- +For, draw the cork, and only froth comes out. + + +ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER + +A poor man went to hang himself, + But treasure chanced to find: +He pocketed the miser's pelf + And left the rope behind. + +His money gone, the miser hung + Himself in sheer despair: +Thus each the other's wants supplied, + And that was surely fair. + +STICKY. + +I'm going to seal a letter, Dick, + Some WAX pray give to me. +I have not got a SINGLE STICK, + Or WHACKS I'd give to thee. + +THE POET FOILED. + +To win the maid the poet tries, +And sometimes writes to Julia's eye +She likes a VERSE--but, cruel whim, +She still appears A-VERSE to him. + +BLACK AND WHITE + +The Tories vow the Whigs are black as night, +And boast that they are only blessed with light. +Peel's politics to both sides so incline, +His may be called the EQUINOCTIAL LINE. + +INQUEST--NOT EXTRAORDINARY. + +Great Bulwer's works fell on Miss Basbleu's head, +And, in a moment, lo! the maid was dead! +A jury sat, and found the verdict plain-- +She died of MILK and WATER ON THE BRAIN. + + +DOMESTIC ECONOMY. + +Said Stiggins to his wife, one day, + "We've nothing left to eat; +If things go on in this queer way, + We shan't make BOTH ENDS MEET." + +The dame replied, in words discreet, + "We're not so badly fed, +If we can make but ONE end MEAT, + And make the other BREAD." + +ON SEEING AN EXECUTION. + +One morn, two friends before the Newgate drop, +To see a culprit throttled, chanced to stop: +"Alas!" cried one, as round in air he spun, +"That miserable wretch's RACE IS RUN." +"True," said the other, drily, "to his cost, +The race is run--but, by a NECK 'tis lost." + +A VOICE, AND NOTHING ELSE. + +"I wonder if Brougham thinks as much as he talks," + Said a punster, perusing a trial: +"I vow, since his lordship was made Baron Vaux, + He's been VAUX ET PRAETEREA NIHIL!" + +THE AMENDE HONORABLE. + +Quoth Will, "On that young servant-maid + My heart its life-string stakes." +"Quite safe!" cries Dick, "don't be afraid-- + She pays for all she breaks." + +THE CZAR. + +CZAR NICHOLAS is so devout, they say, +His majesty does nothing else than prey. + + +BAS BLEU. + +Ma'amselle Bas Bleu, erudite virgin, +With learned zeal is ever urging + The love and reverence due +From modern men to things antique, +Egyptian, British, Roman, Greek, + Relic of Gaul or Jew. + +No wonder that, Ma'amselle, the love +Due to antiquity to prove + And urge is ever prone; +She knows where'er there cease to be +Admirers of Antiquity, + She needs must lose her own! + + +TO A RICH YOUNG WIDOW. + +I will not ask if thou canst touch + The tuneful ivory key? +Those silent notes of thine are such + As quite suffice for me. + +I'll make no question if thy skill + The pencil comprehends, +Enough for me, love, if thou still + Canst draw thy dividends! + + +THE RAILWAY OP LIFE. + +Short was the passage through this earthly vale, + By turnpike roads when mortals used to wend; +But now we travel by the way of rail, + As soon again we reach the journey's end. + + +A CONJUGAL CONUNDRUM. + +Which is of greater value, prythee, say, + The Bride or Bridegroom?--must the truth be told? +Alas, it must! The Bride is given away-- + The Bridegroom's often regularly sold. + + +NUMBERS ALTERED. + +The lounger must oft, as he walks through the streets, +Be struck with the grace of some girl that he meets; +So graceful behind in dress--ringlets--all that-- +But one gaze at the front--what a horrid old cat! +You then think of the notice you've seen on a door, +Which informs you, of "70 late 24." + +GRAMMAR FOR THE COURT OF BERLIN + +His majesty you should not say of FRITZ, +That king is neuter; so for HIS, use ITS. + + + + +THE EMPTY BOTTLE. + WILLIAM AYTOUN + +Ah, liberty! how like thou art + To this large bottle lying here, +Which yesterday from foreign mart, + Came filled with potent English beer! + +A touch of steel--a hand--a gush-- + A pop that sounded far and near-- +A wild emotion--liquid rush-- + And I had drunk that English beer! + +And what remains?--An empty shell! + A lifeless form both sad and queer, +A temple where no god doth dwell-- + The simple memory of beer! + + + +THE DEATH OF DOCTOR MORRISON. + BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY. + +What's the news?--Why, they say Death has killed Dr. Morrison. +The Pill-maker? Yes. Then Death will be sorry soon. + + + + +EPIGRAMS BY JOHN G. SAXE. + +ON A RECENT CLASSIC CONTROVERSY. + +Nay, marvel not to see these scholars fight, + In brave disdain of certain scath and scar; +'Tis but the genuine, old, Hellenic spite,-- + "When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war!" + + +ANOTHER. + +Quoth David to Daniel--"Why is it these scholars + Abuse one another whenever they speak?" +Quoth Daniel to David--"it nat'rally follers + Folks come to hard words if they meddle with Greek!" + + +ON AN ILL-READ LAWYER. + +An idle attorney besought a brother +For "something to read--some novel or other, + That was really fresh and new." +"Take Chitty!" replied his legal friend, +"There isn't a book that I could lend + Would prove more 'novel' to you!" + + +ON AN UGLY PERSON SITTING FOR A DAGUERREOTYPE + +Here Nature in her glass--the wanton elf-- +Sits gravely making faces at herself; +And while she scans each clumsy feature o'er, +Repeats the blunders that she made before! + + +WOMAN'S WILL. + +Men dying make their wills--but wives + Escape a work so sad; +Why should they make what all their lives + The gentle dames have had? + + +FAMILY QUARRELS. + +"A fool," said Jeanette, "is a creature I hate!" + "But hating," quoth John, "is immoral; +Besides, my dear girl, it's a terrible fate + To be found in a family quarrel!" + + + + +A REVOLUTIONARY HERO. + JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL + +Old Joe is gone, who saw hot Percy goad +His slow artillery up the Concord road, +A tale which grew in wonder year by year; +As every time he told it, Joe drew near +To the main fight, till faded and grown gray, +The original scene to bolder tints gave way; +Then Joe had heard the foe's scared double-quick +Beat on stove drum with one uncaptured stick, +And, ere death came the lengthening tale to lop, +Himself had fired, and seen a red-coat drop; +Had Joe lived long enough, that scrambling fight +Had squared more nearly to his sense of right, +And vanquished Perry, to complete the tale, +Had hammered stone for life in Concord jail. + + + + +EPIGRAMS OF HALPIN + +THE LAST RESORT. + +A dramatist declared he had got +So many people in his plot, +That what to do with half he had +Was like to drive him drama-mad! +"The hero and the heroine +Of course are married--very fine! +But with the others, what to do +Is more than I can tell--can you?" +His friend replied--"'Tis hard to say, +But yet I think there is a way. +The married couple, thank their stars +And half the 'others' take the cars, +The other half you put on board +An Erie steamboat--take my word, +They'll never trouble you again!" +The dramatist resumed his pen. + + +FEMININE ARITHMETIC. + + LAURA. + +On me he shall ne'er put a ring, + So, mamma, 'tis in vain to take trouble-- +For I was but eighteen in spring, + While his age exactly is double. + + MAMMA + +He's but in his thirty-sixth year, + Tall, handsome, good-natured and witty, +And should you refuse him, my dear, + May you die an old maid without pity! + + LAURA + +His figure, I grant you, will pass, + And at present he's young enough plenty; +But when I am sixty, alas! + Will not he be a hundred and twenty? + + +THE MUSHROOM HUNT. + +In early days, ere Common Sense + And Genius had in anger parted, +They made to friendship some pretense, + Though each, Heaven knows! diversely hearted. +To hunt for mushrooms once they went, + Through nibbled sheepwalks straying onward, +Sense with his dull eyes earthward bent, + While Genius shot his glances sunward! +Away they go! On roll the hours, + And toward the west the day-god edges; +See! Genius holds a wreath of flowers, + Fresh culled from all the neighboring hedges! +Alas! ere eve their bright hues flit, + While Common Sense (whom I so doat on!) +Thanked God "that he had little wit," + And drank his ketchup with his mutton. + + + +JUPITER AMANS. +DEDICATED TO VICTOR HUGO. + LONDON LEADER + +"Le petit" call not him who by one act +Has turned old fable into modern fact +Nap Louis courted Europe: Europe shied: +Th' imperial purple was too newly dyed. +"I'll have her though," thought he, "by rape or rapine; +Jove nods sometimes, but catch a Nap a napping! +And now I think of Jove, 't was Jove's own fix, +And so I'll borrow one of Jove's own tricks: +Old itching Palm I'll tickle with a joke, +And he shall lend me England's decent cloak." +'Twas said and done, and his success was full; +He won Europa with the guise of Bull! + + + +THE ORATOR'S EPITAPH. + LORD BROUGHAM. + +"Here, reader, turn your weeping eyes, + My fate a useful moral teaches; +The hole in which my body lies + Would not contain one-half my speeches." + + + + + +ECCENTRIC AND NONDESCRIPT. + + + + +THE JOVIAL PRIEST'S CONFESSION. +TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF WALTER DE MAPES, +TIME OF HENRY II. + LEIGH HUNT. + +I devise to end my days--in a tavern drinking, +May some Christian hold for me--the glass when I am shrinking. +That the cherubim may cry--when they see me sinking, +God be merciful to a soul--of this gentleman's way of thinking. +A glass of wine amazingly--enlighteneth one's intervals; +'Tis wings bedewed with nectar--that fly up to supernals; +Bottles cracked in taverns--have much the sweeter kernels, +Than the sups allowed to us--in the college journals. + +Every one by nature hath--a mold which he was cast in; +I happen to be one of those--who never could write fasting; +By a single little boy--I should be surpass'd in +Writing so: I'd just as lief--be buried; tomb'd and grass'd in. + +Every one by nature hath--a gift too, a dotation: +I, when I make verses--do get the inspiration +Of the very best of wine--that comes into the nation: +It maketh sermons to astound--for edification. + +Just as liquor floeth good--floweth forth my lay so; +But I must moreover eat--or I could not say so; +Naught it availeth inwardly--should I write all day so; +But with God's grace after meat--I beat Ovidius Naso. + +Neither is there given to me--prophetic animation, +Unless when I have eat and drank--yea, ev'n to saturation, +Then in my upper story--hath Bacchus domination +And Phoebus rushes into me, and beggareth all relation. + + + + +TONIS AD RESTO MARE. + ANONYMOUS + +AIR--"Oh, Mary, heave a sigh for me." + +O MARE aeva si forme; + Forme ure tonitru; +Iambicum as amandum, + Olet Hymen promptu; +Mihi is vetas an ne se, + As humano erebi; +Olet mecum marito te, + Or eta beta pi. + +Alas, plano more meretrix, + Mi ardor vel uno; +Inferiam ure artis base, + Tolerat me urebo. +Ah me ve ara silicet, + Vi laudu vimin thus? +Hiatu as arandum sex-- + Illuc Ionicus. + +Heu sed heu vix en imago, + My missis mare sta; +O cantu redit in mihi + Hibernas arida? +A veri vafer heri si, + Mihi resolves indu: +Totius olet Hymen cum-- + Accepta tonitru. + + + + + DIC. + DEAN SWIFT. + +Dic, heris agro at, an da quar to fine ale, +Fora ringat ure nos, an da stringat ure tale. +[Footnote: Dick, here is a groat, a quart o' fine ale. +For a ring at your nose, and a string at your tail.] + + + + +MOLL. + DEAN SWIFT. + +Mollis abuti, +Has an acuti, +No lasso finis, +Molli divinis. +[Footnote: Moll is a beauty, + Has an acute eye; + No lass so fine is, + Molly divine is.] + + + +TO MY MISTRESS. + DEAN SWIFT. + +O mi de armis tres, +Imi na dis tres. +Cantu disco ver +Meas alo ver? +[Footnote: O my dear mistress + I am in a distress. + Can't you discover + Me as a lover?] + + + +A LOVE SONG. + DEAN SWIFT. + +Apud in is almi de si re, +Mimis tres I ne ver re qui re, +Alo veri findit a gestis, +His miseri ne ver at restis. +[Footnote: A pudding is all my desire, + My mistress I never require; + A lover I find it a jest is, + His misery never at rest is.] + + + + +A GENTLE ECHO ON WOMAN. + +IN THE DORIC MANNER. + DEAN SWIFT. + +Shepherd. Echo, I ween, will in the woods reply, + And quaintly answer questions: shall I try? +Echo. Try. +Shepherd. What must we do our passion to express? +Echo. Press. +Shepherd. How shall I please her, who ne'er loved before? +Echo. Before. +Shepherd. What most moves women when we them address? +Echo. A dress. +Shepherd. Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore? +Echo. A door. +Shepherd. If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre. +Echo. Liar. +Shepherd. Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her? +Echo. Buy her. +Shepherd. When bought, no question I shall be her dear? +Echo. Her deer. +Shepherd. But deer have horns: how must I keep her under? +Echo. Keep her under. +Shepherd. But what can glad me when she's laid on bier? +Echo. Beer. +Shepherd. What must I do when women will be kind? +Echo. Be kind. +Shepherd. What must I do when women will be cross? +Echo. Be cross. +Shepherd. Lord, what is she that can so turn and wind? +Echo. Wind. +Shepherd. If she be wind, what stills her when she blows? +Echo. Blows. +Shepherd. But if she bang again, still should I bang her? +Echo. Bang her. +Shepherd. Is there no way to moderate her anger? +Echo. Hang her. +Shepherd. Thanks, gentle Echo! right thy answers tell + What woman is and how to guard her well. +Echo. Guard her well. + + + + +TO MY NOSE. + ANONYMOUS. + +Knows he that never took a pinch, + Nosey! the pleasure thence which flows? +Knows he the titillating joy + Which my nose knows? + +Oh, nose! I am as fond of thee + As any mountain of its snows! +I gaze on thee, and feel that pride + A Roman knows! + + + + +ROGER AND DOLLY. + BLACKWOOD. + +Young Roger came tapping at Dolly's window-- + Thumpaty, thumpaty, thump; +He begg'd for admittance--she answered him no-- + Glumpaty, glumpaty, glump. +No, no, Roger, no--as you came you may go-- + Stumpaty, stumpaty, stump. +O what is the reason, dear Dolly? he cried-- + Humpaty, humpaty, hump-- +That thus I'm cast off and unkindly denied?-- + Trumpaty, trumpaty, trump-- +Some rival more dear, I guess, has been here-- + Crumpaty, crumpaty, crump-- +Suppose there's been two, sir, pray what's that to you, sir + Numpaty, numpaty, nump-- +Wi' a disconsolate look his sad farewell he took-- + Trumpaty, trumputy, trump-- +And all in despair jump'd into a brook-- + Jumpaty, jumpaty, jump-- +His courage did cool in a filthy green pool-- + Slumpaty, slumpaty, slump-- +So he swam to the shore, but saw Dolly no more-- + Dumpaty, dumpaty, dump-- +He did speedily find one more fat and more kind-- + Plumpaty, plumpaty, plump-- +But poor Dolly's afraid she must die an old maid-- + Mumpaty, mumpaty, mump. + + + + + THE IRISHMAN. + BLACKWOOD. + +I. + + There was a lady lived at Leith, + A lady very stylish, man, + And yet, in spite of all her teeth, + She fell in love with an Irishman, + A nasty, ugly Irishman, + A wild tremendous Irishman, +A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, ranting, roaring Irishman. + +II. + + His face was no ways beautiful, + For with small-pox 't was scarred across: + And the shoulders of the ugly dog + Were almost doubled a yard across. + O the lump of an Irishman, + The whiskey devouring Irishman-- +The great he-rogue with his wonderful brogue, the fighting, rioting +Irishman. + +III. + + One of his eyes was bottle green, + And the other eye was out, my dear; + And the calves of his wicked-looking legs + Were more than two feet about, my dear, + O, the great big Irishman, + The rattling, battling Irishman-- +The stamping, ramping, swaggering, staggering, leathering swash of an +Irishman. + +IV. + + He took so much of Lundy-foot, + That he used to snort and snuffle--O, + And in shape and size the fellow's neck + Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo. + O, the horrible Irishman, + The thundering, blundering Irishman-- +The slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing, thrashing, hashing Irishman. + +V. + + His name was a terrible name, indeed, + Being Timothy Thady Mulligan; + And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch, + He'd not rest till he fill'd it full again, + The boozing, bruising Irishman, + The 'toxicated Irishman-- +The whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy, brandy, no dandy Irishman. + +VI. + + This was the lad the lady loved, + Like all the girls of quality; + And he broke the skulls of the men of Leith, + Just by the way of jollity, + O, the leathering Irishman, + The barbarous, savage Irishman-- +The hearts of the maids and the gentlemen's heads were bothered + I'm sure by this Irishman. + + + + +A _CAT_ALECTIC MONODY! + CRUIKSHANK'S OMNIBUS. + +A CAT I sing, of famous memory, +Though CATachrestical my song may be; +In a small garden CATacomb she lies, +And CATaclysms fill her comrades' eyes; +Borne on the air, the CATacoustic song +Swells with her virtues' CATalogue along; +No CATaplasm could lengthen out her years, +Though mourning friends shed CATaracts of tears. +Once loud and strong her CATachist-like voice +It dwindled to a CATcall's squeaking noise; +Most CATegorical her virtues shone, +By CATenation join'd each one to one;-- +But a vile CATchpoll dog, with cruel bite, +Like CATling's cut, her strength disabled quite; +Her CATerwauling pierced the heavy air, +As CATaphracts their arms through legions bear; +'Tis vain! as CATerpillars drag away +Their lengths, like CATtle after busy day, +She ling'ring died, nor left in kit KAT the +Embodyment of this CATastrophe. + + + + +A NEW SONG +OF NEW SIMILES. + JOHN BAY + +My passion is as mustard strong; + I sit all sober sad; +Drunk as a piper all day long, + Or like a March-hare mad. + +Round as a hoop the bumpers flow; + I drink, yet can't forget her; +For though as drunk as David's sow + I love her still the better. + +Pert as a pear-monger I'd be, + If Molly were but kind; +Cool as a cucumber could see + The rest of womankind. + +Like a stuck pig I gaping stare, + And eye her o'er and o'er; +Lean as a rake, with sighs and care, + Sleek as a mouse before. + +Plump as a partridge was I known, + And soft as silk my skin; +My cheeks as fat as butter grown, + But as a goat now thin! + +I melancholy as a cat, + Am kept awake to weep; +But she, insensible of that, + Sound as a top can sleep. + +Hard is her heart as flint or stone, + She laughs to see me pale; +And merry as a grig is grown, + And brisk as bottled ale. + +The god of Love at her approach + Is busy as a bee; +Hearts sound as any bell or roach, + Are smit and sigh like me. + +Ah me! as thick as hops or hail + The fine men crowd about her; +But soon as dead as a door-nail + Shall I be, if without her. + +Straight as my leg her shape appears, + O were we join'd together! +My heart would be scot-free from cares + And lighter than a feather. + +As fine as five-pence is her mien, + No drum was ever tighter; +Her glance is as the razor keen, + And not the sun is brighter + +As soft as pap her kisses are, + Methinks I taste them yet; +Brown as a berry is her hair, + Her eyes as black as jet. + +As smooth as glass, as white as curds + Her pretty hand invites; +Sharp as her needle are her words, + Her wit like pepper bites. + +Brisk as a body-louse she trips, + Clean as a penny drest; +Sweet as a rose her breath and lips, + Round as the globe her breast. + +Full as an egg was I with glee, + And happy as a king: +Good Lord! how all men envied me! + She loved like any thing. + +But false as hell, she, like the wind, + Chang'd, as her sex must do; +Though seeming as the turtle kind, + And like the gospel true. + +If I and Molly could agree, + Let who would take Peru! +Great as an Emperor should I be, + And richer than a Jew. + +Till you grow tender as a chick, + I'm dull as any post; +Let us like burs together stick, + And warm as any toast. + +You'll know me truer than a die, + And wish me better sped; +Flat as a flounder when I lie, + And as a herring dead. + +Sure as a gun she'll drop a tear + And sigh, perhaps, and wish, +When I am rotten as a pear, + And mute as any fish. + + + + +REMINISCENCES OP A SENTIMENTALIST. + THOMAS HOOD. + +"My TABLES! MEAT it is, _I_ SET IT down!"--Hamlet + +I think it was Spring--but not certain I am-- + When my passion began first to work; +But I know we were certainly looking for lamb, + And the season was over for pork. + +'T was at Christmas, I think, when I met with Miss Chase, + Yes--for Morris had asked me to dine-- +And I thought I had never beheld such a face, + Or so noble a turkey and chine. + +Placed close by her side, it made others quite wild + With sheer envy, to witness my luck; +How she blushed as I gave her some turtle, and smiled + As I afterward offered some duck. + +I looked and I languished, alas! to my cost, + Through three courses of dishes and meats; +Getting deeper in love--but my heart was quite lost + When it came to the trifle and sweets. + +With a rent-roll that told of my houses and land, + To her parents I told my designs-- +And then to herself I presented my hand, + With a very fine pottle of pines! + +I asked her to have me for weal or for woe, + And she did not object in the least;-- +I can't tell the date--but we married I know + Just in time to have game at the feast. + +We went to ----, it certainly was the sea-side; + For the next, the most blessed of morns, +I remember how fondly I gazed at my bride, + Sitting down to a plateful of prawns. + +O, never may memory lose sight of that year, + But still hallow the time as it ought! +That season the "grass" was remarkably dear, + And the peas at a guinea a quart. + +So happy, like hours, all our days seemed to haste, + A fond pair, such as poets have drawn, +So united in heart--so congenial in taste-- + We were both of us partial to brawn! + +A long life I looked for of bliss with my bride, + But then Death--I ne'er dreamt about that! +O, there's nothing is certain in life, as I cried + When my turbot eloped with the cat! + +My dearest took ill at the turn of the year, + But the cause no physician could nab; +But something, it seemed like consumption, I fear-- + It was just after supping on crab. + +In vain she was doctored, in vain she was dosed, + Still her strength and her appetite pined; +She lost relish for what she had relished the most, + Even salmon she deeply declined! + +For months still I lingered in hope and in doubt, + While her form it grew wasted and thin; +But the last dying spark of existence went out. + As the oysters were just coming in! + +She died, and she left me the saddest of men, + To indulge in a widower's moan; +Oh! I felt all the power of solitude then, + As I ate my first "natives" alone! + +But when I beheld Virtue's friends in their cloaks, + And with sorrowful crape on their hats, +O my grief poured a flood! and the out-of-door folks + Were all crying--I think it was sprats! + + + + +FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. +A PATHETIC BALLAD. + THOMAS HOOD. + +Ben Battle was a soldier bold, + And used to war's alarms; +But a cannon-ball took off his legs, + So he laid down his arms! + +Now, as they bore him off the field, + Said he, "Let others shoot, +For here I leave my second leg, + And the Forty-second Foot!" + +The army-surgeons made him limbs: + Said he, "they're only pegs: +But there's as wooden members quite + As represent my legs!" + +Now, Ben he loved a pretty maid, + Her name was Nelly Gray; +So he went up to pay his devours, + When he devoured his pay! + +But when he called on Nelly Gray, + She made him quite a scoff; +And when she saw his wooden legs, + Began to take them off! + +"O, Nelly Gray! O, Nelly Gray + Is this your love so warm? +The love that loves a scarlet coat + Should be more uniform!" + +Said she, "I loved a soldier once + For he was blithe and brave +But I will never have a man + With both legs in the grave! + +"Before you had those timber toes, + Your love I did allow, +But then, you know, you stand upon + Another footing now!" + +"O, Nelly Gray! O, Nelly Gray! + For all your jeering speeches, +At duty's call I left my legs, + In Badajos's BREACHES!" + +"Why then," said she, "you've lost the feet + Of legs in war's alarms, +And now you can not wear your shoes + Upon your feats of arms!" + +"O, false and fickle Nelly Gray! + I know why you refuse:-- +Though I've no feet--some other man + Is standing in my shoes! + +"I wish I ne'er had seen your face; + But now, a long farewell! +For you will be my death;--alas + You will not be my NELL!" + +Now, when he went from Nelly Gray, + His heart so heavy got, +And life was such a burden grown, + It made him take a knot! + +So round his melancholy neck + A rope he did entwine, +And, for his second time in life, + Enlisted in the Line. + +One end he tied around a beam, + And then removed his pegs, +And, as his legs were off--of course, + He soon was off his legs! + +And there he hung, till he was dead + As any nail in town-- +For, though distress had cut him up, + It could not cut him down! + +A dozen men sat on his corpse, + To find out why he died-- +And they buried Ben in four cross-roads, + With a STAKE in his inside! + + + + +NO! + THOMAS HOOD. + + No sun--no moon! + No morn--no noon-- +No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day-- + No sky--no earthly view-- + No distance looking blue-- +No road--no street--no "t' other side the way"-- + No end to any Row-- + No indications where the Crescents go-- + No top to any steeple-- +No recognitions of familiar people-- + No courtesies for showing 'em-- + No knowing 'em! +To traveling at all--no locomotion, +No inkling of the way--no notion-- + No go--by land or ocean-- + No mail--no post-- + No news from any foreign coast-- +No park--no ring--no afternoon gentility-- + No company--no nobility-- +No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, + No comfortable feel in any member-- +No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees. + No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds. + November! + + + + +JACOB OMNIUM'S HOSS +A NEW PALLICE COURT CHANT. + W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY + +One sees in Viteall Yard, + Vere pleacemen do resort. +A wenerable hinstitute, + 'Tis called the Pallis Court +A gent as got his i on it, + I think will make some sport + +The natur of this Court + My hindignation riles: +A few fat legal spiders + Here set & spin their viles; +To rob the town theyr privlege is, + In a hayrea of twelve miles. + +The Judge of this year Court + Is a mellitary beak. +He knows no more of Lor + Than praps he does of Greek, +And prowides hisself a deputy + Because he can not speak. + +Four counsel in this Court-- + Misnamed of Justice--sits; +These lawyers owes their places to + Their money, not their wits; +And there's six attornies under them, + As here their living gits. + +These lawyers, six and four, + Was a livin at their ease, +A sendin of their writs abowt, + And droring in the fees, +When their erose a cirkimstance + As is like to make a breeze. +It now is some monce since, + A gent both good and trew +Possest a ansum oss vith vich + He didn know what to do: +Peraps he did not like the oss, + Perhaps he was a scru. + +This gentleman his oss + At Tattersall's did lodge; +There came a wulgar oss-dealer, + This gentleman's name did fodge, +And took the oss from Tattersall's: + Wasn that a artful dodge? + +One day this gentleman's groom + This willain did spy out, +A mounted on this oss, + A ridin him about; +"Get out of that there oss, you rogue," + Speaks up the groom so stout. + +The thief was cruel whex'd + To find hisself so pinn'd; +The oss began to whinny, + The honest groom he grinn'd; +And the raskle thief got off the oss + And cut avay like vind. + +And phansy with what joy + The master did regard +His dearly bluvd lost oss again + Trot in the stable yard! + +Who was this master good + Of whomb I makes these rhymes? +His name is Jacob Homnium, Exquire; + And if _I_'d committed crimes, +Good Lord! I wouldn't ave that mann + Attack me in the TIMES! + +Now, shortly after the groomb + His master's oss did take up, +There came a livery-man + This gentleman to wake up; +And he handed in a little bill, + Which hanger'd Mr. Jacob. + +For two pound seventeen + This livery-man eplied, +For the keep of Mr. Jacob's oss, + Which the thief had took to ride. +"Do you see any think green in me?" + Mr. Jacob Homnium cried. + +"Because a raskle chews + My oss away to robb, +And goes tick at your Mews + For seven-and-fifty bobb, +Shall _I_ be called to pay?--It is + A iniquitious Jobb." + +Thus Mr. Jacob cut + The conwasation short; +The livery-man went ome, + Detummingd to ave sport, +And summingsd Jacob Homnium, Exquire, + Into the Pallis Court + +Pore Jacob went to Court, + A Counsel for to fix, +And choose a barrister out of the four, + An attorney of the six; +And there he sor these men of Lor, + And watched 'em at their tricks. +The dreadful day of trile + In the Pallis Court did come; +The lawyers said their say, + The Judge looked wery glum, +And then the British Jury cast + Pore Jacob Hom-ni-um. + +O, a weary day was that + For Jacob to go through; +The debt was two seventeen + (Which he no mor owed than you). +And then there was the plaintives costs, + Eleven pound six and two. + +And then there was his own, + Which the lawyers they did fix +At the wery moderit figgar + Of ten pound one and six. +Now Evins bless the Pallis Court, + And all its bold ver-dicks! + +I can not settingly tell + If Jacob swaw and cust, +At aving for to pay this sumb, + But I should think he must, +And av drawm a cheque for L24 4s. 8d. + With most igstreme disgust. + +O Pallis Court, you move + My pitty most profound. +A most emusing sport + You thought it, I'll be bound, +To saddle hup a three-pound debt, + With two-and-twenty pound. + +Good sport it is to you, + To grind the honest pore; +To puy their just or unjust debts + With eight hundred per cent, for Lor; +Make haste and git your costes in, + They will not last much mor! + +Come down from that tribewn, + Thou Shameless and Unjust; +Thou Swindle, picking pockets in + The name of Truth, august; +Come down, thou hoary Blasphemy, + For die thou shalt and must. + +And go it, Jacob Homnium, + And ply your iron pen, +And rise up Sir John Jervis, + And shut me up that den; +That sty for fattening lawyers in, + On the bones of honest men. + + PLEACEMAN X. + + + +THE WOFLE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY AND MARY BROWN. + WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. + +An igstrawnary tail I vill tell you this veek-- +I stood in the Court of A'Beckett the Beak, +Vere Mrs. Jane Roney, a vidow, I see, +Who charged Mary Brown with a robbin' of she. + +This Mary was pore and in misery once, +And she came to Mrs. Roney it's more than twelve monce +She adn't got no bed, nor no dinner, nor no tea, +And kind Mrs. Roney gave Mary all three. + +Mrs. Roney kep Mary for ever so many veeks +(Her conduct disgusted the best of all Beax), +She kept her for nothink, as kind as could be, +Never thinking that this Mary was a traitor to she. + +"Mrs. Roney, O Mrs. Roney, I feel very ill; +Will you jest step to the doctor's for to fetch me a pill?" +"That I will, my pore Mary," Mrs. Roney says she: +And she goes off to the doctor's as quickly as may be. + +No sooner on this message Mrs. Roney was sped, +Than hup gits vicked Mary, and jumps out a bed; +She hopens all the trunks without never a key-- +She bustes all the boxes, and vith them makes free. + +Mrs. Roney's best linning gownds, petticoats, and close, +Her children's little coats and things, her boots and her hose, +She packed them, and she stole 'em, and avay vith them did flee +Mrs. Roney's situation--you may think vat it vould be! + +Of Mary, ungrateful, who had served her this vay, +Mrs. Roney heard nothink for a long year and a day, +Till last Thursday, in Lambeth, ven whom should she see? +But this Mary, as had acted so ungrateful to she. + +She was leaning on the helbo of a worthy young man; +They were going to be married, and were walkin hand in hand; +And the church-bells was a ringing for Mary and he, +And the parson was ready, and a waitin' for his fee. + +When up comes Mrs. Roney, and faces Mary Brown, +Who trembles, and castes her eyes upon the ground. +She calls a jolly pleaseman, it happens to be me; +I charge this young woman, Mr. Pleaseman, says she. + +Mrs. Roney, o, Mrs. Roney, o, do let me go, +I acted most ungrateful I own, and I know, +But the marriage bell is a ringin, and the ring you may see, +And this young man is a waitin, says Mary, says she. + +I don't care three fardens for the parson and clark, +And the bell may keep ringing from noon day to dark. +Mary Brown, Mary Brown, you must come along with me. +And I think this young man is lucky to be free. + +So, in spite of the tears which bejewed Mary's cheek, +I took that young gurl to A'Beckett the Beak; +That exlent justice demanded her plea-- +But never a sullable said Mary said she. + +On account of her conduck so base and so vile, +That wicked young gurl is committed for trile, +And if she's transpawted beyond the salt sea, +It's a proper reward for such willians as she. + +Now, yon young gurls of Southwark for Mary who veep, +From pickin and stealin your ands you must keep, +Or it may be my dooty, as it was Thursday veek +To pull you all hup to A'Beckett the Beak. + PLEACEMAN X + + + + +THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS. + W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY + +Galliant gents and lovely ladies, + List a tail vich late befel, +Vich I heard it, bein on duty, + At the Pleace Hoffice, Clerkenwell. + +Praps you know the Fondling Chapel, + Vere the little children sings: +(Lord I likes to hear on Sundies + Them there pooty little things!) + +In this street there lived a housemaid, + If you particklarly ask me where-- +Vy, it was at four-and-tventy, + Guilford Street, by Brunsvick Square + +Vich her name was Eliza Davis, + And she went to fetch the beer: +In the street she met a party + As was quite surprized to see her. + +Vich he vas a British Sailor, + For to judge him by his look: +Tarry jacket, canvas trowsies, + Ha-la Mr. T. P. Cooke. + +Presently this Mann accostes + Of this hinnocent young gal-- +Pray, saysee, Excuse my freedom, + You're so like my Sister Sal! + +You're so like my Sister Sally, + Both in valk and face and size; +Miss, that--dang my old lee scuppers, + It brings tears into my hyes! + +I'm a mate on board a wessel, + I'm a sailor bold and true; +Shiver up my poor old timbers, + Let me be a mate for you! + +What's your name, my beauty, tell me? + And she faintly hansers, "Lore, +Sir, my name's Eliza Davis, + And I live at tventy-four." + +Hofttimes came this British seaman, + This deluded gal to meet: +And at tventy-four was welcome, + Tventy-four in Guilford Street + +And Eliza told her Master + (Kinder they than Missuses are), +How in marridge he had ast her, + Like a galliant Brittish Tar. + +And he brought his landlady vith him + (Vich vas all his hartful plan), +And she told how Charley Thompson + Reely was a good young man. + +And how she herself had lived in + Many years of union sweet, +Vith a gent she met promiskous, + Valkin in the public street. + +And Eliza listened to them, + And she thought that soon their bands +Vould be published at the Fondlin. + Hand the clergyman jine their ands. + +And he ast about the lodgers + (Vich her master let some rooms), +likevise vere they kep their things, and + Vere her master kep his spoons. + +Hand this vicked Charley Thompson + Came on Sundy veek to see her, +And he sent Eliza Davis + Hout to vetch a pint of beer. + +Hand while poor Eliza vent to + Fetch the beer, devoid of sin, +This etrocious Charley Thompson + Let his wile accomplish him. + +To the lodgers, their apartments, + This abandingd female goes, +Prigs their shirts and umberellas: + Prigs their boots, and hats, and clothes + +Vile the scoundrle Charley Thompson, + Lest his wictim should escape, +Hocust her vith rum and vater, + Like a fiend in huming shape. + +But a hi was fixt upon 'em + Vich these raskles little sore; +Namely, Mr. Hide, the landlord + Of the house at tventy-four. + +He vas valkin in his garden, + Just afore he vent to sup; +And on looking up he sor the + Lodger's vinders lighted hup. + +Hup the stairs the landlord tumbled; + Something's going wrong, he said; +And he caught the vicked voman + Underneath the lodger's bed. + +And he called a brother Pleaseman, + Vich vas passing on his beat, +Like a true and galliant feller, + Hup and down in Guildford Street. + +And that Pleaseman, able-bodied, + Took this voman to the cell; +To the cell vere she was quodded, + In the Close of Clerkenwell. + +And though vicked Charley Thompson + Boulted like a miscrant base, +Presently another Pleaseman + Took him to the self-same place. + +And this precious pair of raskles + Tuesday last came up for doom; +By the beak they was committed, + Vich his name was Mr. Combe. + +Has for poor Eliza Davia, + Simple gurl of tventy-four, +She, I ope, will never listen + In the streets to sailors moar. + +But if she must ave a sweet-art + (Vich most every gurl expex), +Let her take a jolly Pleaseman, + Vich is name peraps is--X. + + + + +LINES ON A LATE HOSPICIOUS EWENT. +[Footnote: The Birth of Prince Arthur] +BY A GENTLEMAN OF THE FOOT-GUARDS (BLUE). + W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. + +I paced upon my beat + With steady step and slow, +All huppandownd of Ranelagh-street; + Ran'lagh, St. Pimlico. + +While marching huppandownd + Upon that fair May morn, +Beold the booming cannings sound, + A royal child is born! + +The Ministers of State + Then presnly I sor, +They gallops to the Pallis gate, + In carridges and for. + +With anxious looks intent, + Before the gate they stop, +There comes the good Lord President, + And there the Archbishopp. + +Lord John he next elights; + And who comes here in haste? +'Tis the ero of one underd fights, + The caudle for to taste. + +Then Mrs. Lily, the nuss, + Toward them steps with joy; +Say the brave old Duke, "Come tell to us + Is it a gal or a boy?" + +Says Mrs. L. to the Duke, + "Your Grace, it is a PRINCE." +And at that nuss's bold rebuke, + He did both laugh and wince. + +He vews with pleasant look + This pooty flower of May, +Then says the wenerable Duke, + "Egad, its my buthday." + +By memory backards borne, + Peraps his thoughts did stray +To that old place where he was born + Upon the first of May. + +Peraps he did recal + The ancient towers of Trim; +And County Meath and Dangan Hall + They did rewisit him. + +I phansy of him so + His good old thoughts employin; +Fourscore years and one ago + Beside the flowin' Boyne. + +His father praps he sees, + Most musicle of Lords, +A playing maddrigles and glees + Upon the Arpsicords. + +Jest phansy this old Ero + Upon his mother's knee! +Did ever lady in this land + Ave greater sons than she? + +And I shouldn be surprise + While this was in his mind, +If a drop there twinkled in his eyes + Of unfamiliar brind. + + * * * * + +To Hapsly Ouse next day + Drives up a Broosh and for, +A gracious prince sits in that Shay + (I mention him with Hor!) + +They ring upon the bell, + The Porter shows his ed, +(He fought at Vaterloo as vell, + And vears a veskit red.) + +To see that carriage come + The people round it press: +"And is the galliant Duke at ome?" + "Your Royal Ighness, yes." + +He stepps from out the Broosh + And in the gate is gone, +And X, although the people push, + Says wery kind "Move hon." + +The Royal Prince unto + The galliant Duke did say, +"Dear Duke, my little son and you + Was born the self-same day. + +"The lady of the land, + My wife and Sovring dear, +It is by her horgust command + I wait upon you here. + +"That lady is as well + As can expected be; +And to your Grace she bid me tell + This gracious message free. + +"That offspring of our race, + Whom yesterday you see, +To show our honor for your Grace, + Prince Arthur he shall be. + +"That name it rhymes to fame; + All Europe knows the sound; +And I couldn't find a better name + If you'd give me twenty pound. + +"King Arthur had his knights + That girt his table round, +But you have won a hundred fights, + Will match 'em, I'll be bound. + +"You fought with Bonypart, + And likewise Tippoo Saib; +I name you then, with all my heart, + The Godsire of this babe." + +That Prince his leave was took, + His hinterview was done. +So let us give the good old Duke + Good luck of his god-son, + +And wish him years of joy + In this our time of Schism, +And hope he'll hear the royal boy + His little catechism. + +And my pooty little Prince + That's come our arts to cheer, +Let me my loyal powers ewince + A welcomin of you ere. + +And the Poit-Laureat's crownd, + I think, in some respex, +Egstremely shootable might be found + For honest Pleaseman X. + + + + +THE LAMENTABLE BALLAD OF THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH. + W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. + +Come, all ye Christian people, and listen to my tail, +It is all about a Doctor was traveling by the rail, +By the Heastern Counties Railway (vich the shares don't desire), +From Ixworth town in Suffolk, vich his name did not transpire. + +A traveling from Bury this Doctor was employed +With a gentleman, a friend of his, vich his name was Captain Loyd; +And on reaching Marks Tey Station, that is next beyond Colchester, +a lady entered into them most elegantly dressed. + +She entered into the carriage all with a tottering step, +And a pooty little Bayby upon her bussum slep; +The gentlemen received her with kindness and siwillaty, +Pitying this lady for her illness and debillaty. + +She had a fust-class ticket, this lovely lady said, +Because it was so lonesome she took a secknd instead. +Better to travel by secknd class than sit alone in the fust, +And the pooty little Baby upon her breast she nust. + +A seein of her cryin, and shiverin and pail, +To her spoke this surging, the Ero of my tail; +Saysee you look unwell, ma'am, I'll elp you if I can, +And you may tell your case to me, for I'm a meddicle man. + +"Thank you, sir," the lady said, "I only look so pale, +Because I ain't accustom'd to traveling on the rale; +I shall be better presnly, when I've ad some rest:" +And that pooty little Baby she squeeged it to her breast. + +So in conwersation the journey they beguiled, +Capting Loyd and the medical man, and the lady and the child, +Till the warious stations along the line was passed, +For even the Heastern Counties' trains must come in at last. + +When at Shorediteh tumminus at lenth stopped the train, +This kind meddicle gentleman proposed his aid again. +"Thank you, sir," the lady said, "for your kyindness dear; +My carridge and my osses is probbibly come here. + +"Will you old this baby, please, vilst I step and see?" +The Doctor was a famly man: "That I will," says he. +Then the little child she kist, kist it very gently, +Vich was sucking his little fist, sleeping innocently. + +With a sigh from her art, as though she would have bust it, +Then she gave the Doctor the child--wery kind he nust it; +Hup then the lady jumped hoff the bench she sat from, +Tumbled down the carridge steps and ran along the platform. + +Vile hall the other passengers vent upon their vays, +The Capting and the Doctor sat there in a maze; +Some vent in a Homminibus, some vent in a Cabby, +The Capting and the Doctor vaited with the babby. + +There they sat looking queer, for an hour or more, +But their feller passinger neather on 'em sore: +Never, never back again did that lady come +To that pooty sleeping Hinfant a suckin of his Thum! + +What could this pore Doctor do, bein treated thus, +When the darling baby woke, cryin for its nuss? +Off he drove to a female friend, vich she was both kind and mild, +And igsplained to her the circumstance of this year little child. + +That kind lady took the child instantly in her lap, +And made it very comforable by giving it some pap; +And when she took its close off, what d'you think she found? +A couple of ten pun notes sown up, in its little gownd! + +Also, in its little close, was a note which did conwey, +That this little baby's parents lived in a handsome way: +And for its Headucation they reglary would pay, +And sirtingly like gentle-folks would claim the child one day, +If the Christian people who'd charge of it would say, +Per adwertisement in the TIMES, where the baby lay. + +Pity of this baby many people took, +It had such pooty ways and such a pooty look; +And there came a lady forrard (I wish that I could see +Any kind lady as would do as much for me, + +And I wish with all my art, some night in MY night gownd, +I could find a note stitched for ten or twenty pound)-- +There came a lady forrard, that most honorable did say, +She'd adopt this little baby, which her parents cast away. + +While the Doctor pondered on this hoffer fair, +Comes a letter from Devonshire, from a party there, +Hordering the Doctor, at its Mar's desire, +To send the little infant back to Devonshire. + +Lost in apoplexity, this pore meddicle man, +Like a sensable gentleman, to the Justice ran; +Which his name was Mr. Hammill, a honorable beak, +That takes his seat in Worship-street four times a week. + +"O Justice!" says the Doctor, "Instrugt me what to do, +I've come up from the country, to throw myself on you; +My patients have no doctor to tend them in their ills, +(There they are in Suffolk without their draffts and pills!) + +"I've come up from the country, to know how I'll dispose +Of this pore little baby, and the twenty-pun note, and the clothes, +And I want to go back to Suffolk, dear Justice, if you please, +And my patients wants their Doctor, and their Doctor wants his feez." + +Up spoke Mr. Hammill, sittin at his desk, +"This year application does me much perplesk; +What I do adwise you, is to leave this babby +In the Parish where it was left, by its mother shabby." + +The Doctor from his Worship sadly did depart-- +He might have left the baby, but he hadn't got the heart +To go for to leave that Hinnocent, has the laws allows, +To the tender mussies of the Union House. + +Mother who left this little one on a stranger's knee, +Think how cruel you have been, and how good was he! +Think, if you've been guilty, innocent was she; +And do not take unkindly this little word of me: +Heaven be merciful to us all, sinners as we be! + + PLEACEMAN X. + + + + +THE CRYSTAL PALACE. + W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. + + With ganial foire + Thransfuse me loyre, +Ye sacred nymphths of Pindus, + The whoile I sing + That wondthrous thing +The Palace made o' windows! + + Say, Paxton, truth, + Thou wondthrous youth, +What sthroke of art celistial + What power was lint + You to invint +This combineetion cristial + + O would before + That Thomas Moore +Likewoise the late Lord Boyron, + Thim aigles sthrong + Of Godlike song, +Cast oi on that cast oiron! + + And saw thim walls, + And glittering halls, +Thim rising slendther columns, + Which I, poor pote, + Could not denote, +No, not in twinty vollums. + + My Muse's words + Is like the birds +That roosts beneath the panes there; + Her wings she spoils + 'Gainst them bright toiles, +And cracks her silly brains there. + + This Palace tall, + This Cristial Hall, +Which imperors might covet, + Stands in Hide Park + Like Noah's Ark +A rainbow bint above it. + + The towers and faynes, + In other scaynes, +The fame of this will undo, + Saint Paul's big doom, + St. Payther's Room, +And Dublin's proud Rotundo. + + 'Tis here that roams, + As well becomes +Her dignitee and stations, + Victoria great, + And houlds in state +The Congress of the Nations. + + Her subjects pours + From distant shores. +Her Injians and Canajians; + And also we, + Her kingdoms three, +Attind with our allagiance. + + Here comes likewise + Her bould allies, +Both Asian and Europian; + From East and West + They sent their best +To fill her Coornocopean. + + I seen (thank Grace!) + This wondthrous place +(His Noble Honor Misteer + H. Cole it was + That gave the pass, +And let me see what is there.) + + With conscious proide + I stud insoide +And look'd the World's Great Fair in. + Until me sight + Was dazzled quite, +And couldn't see for staring. + + There's holy saints + And window paints, +By Maydiayval Pugin; + Alhamborough Jones + Did paint the tones +Of yellow and gambouge in. + + There's fountains there + And crosses fair; +There's water-gods with urrns; + There's organs three, + To play, d'ye see, +"God save the Queen," by turns. + + There's statues bright + Of marble white, +Of silver and of copper, + And some in zink, + And some, I think, +That isn't over proper. + + There's staym Ingynes, + That stand in lines, +Enormous and amazing, + That squeal and snort, + Like whales in sport, +Or elephants a-grazing. + + There's carts and gigs, + And pins for pigs; +There's dibblers and there's harrows, + And plows like toys, + For little boys, +And illegant wheel-barrows. + + For them genteels + Who ride on wheels, +There a plenty to indulge 'em, + There's Droskys snug + From Paytersbug +And vayhycles from Belgium. + + There's Cabs on Stands, + And Shandthry danns; +There's wagons from New York here; + There's Lapland Sleighs, + Have cross'd the seas, +And Jaunting Cars from Cork here. + + Amazed I pass + Prom glass to glass, +Deloighted I survey 'em; + Fresh wondthers grows + Beneath me nose +In this sublime Musayum, + + Look, here's a fan + From far Japan, +A saber from Damasco; + There's shawls ye get + From far Thibet, +And cotton prints from Glasgow. + + There's German flutes, + Marcoky boots, +And Naples Macaronies; + Bohaymia + Has sent Bohay, +Polonia her polonies. + + There's granite flints + That's quite imminse, +There's sacks of coals and fuels, + There's swords and guns, + And soap in tuns, +And Ginger-bread and Jewels. + + There's taypots there, + And cannons rare; +There's coffins filled with roses. + There 'a canvas tints, + Teeth instruments, +And shuits of clothes by Moses. + + There's lashins more + Of things in store, +But thim I don't remimber; + Nor could disclose + Did I compose +From May time to Novimber. + + Ah, JUDY thru! + With eyes so blue, +That you were here to view it! + And could I screw + But tu pound tu +'Tis I would thrait you to it. + + So let us raise + Victoria's praise, +And Albert's proud condition, + That takes his ayse + As he surveys +This Crystal Exhibition. + + +[Illustration: THACKERAY] + + +THE SPECULATORS. + W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY + +The night was stormy and dark, The town was shut up in +sleep: Only those were abroad who were out on a lark, Or +those who'd no beds to keep. + +I pass'd through the lonely street, The wind did sing and +blow; I could hear the policeman's feet Clapping to and fro. + +There stood a potato-man In the midst of all the wet; He +stood with his 'tato-can In the lonely Haymarket. + +Two gents of dismal mien. And dark and greasy rags, Came +out of a shop for gin Swaggering over the flags: + + Swaggering over the stones, + These snabby bucks did walk + And I went and followed those seedy ones, + And listened to their talk. + + Was I sober or awake? + Could I believe my ears? + Those dismal beggars spake + Of nothing but railroad shares. + + I wondered more and more: + Says one--"Good friend of mine, + How many shares have you wrote for + In the Diddlesee Junction line?" + + "I wrote for twenty," says Jim, + "But they wouldn't give me one;" + His comrade straight rebuked him + For the folly he had done: + + "O Jim, you are unawares + Of the ways of this bad town; + _I_ always write for five hundred shares, + And THEN they put me down." + + "And yet you got no shares," + Says Jim, "for all your boast;" + "I WOULD have wrote," says Jack, "but where + Was the penny to pay the post?" + + "I lost, for I couldn't pay + That first instalment up; + But here's taters smoking hot--I say + Let's stop, my boy, and sup." + + And at this simple feast + The while they did regale, + I drew each ragged capitalist + Down on my left thumb-nail. + + Their talk did me perplex, + All night I tumbled and toss'd + And thought of railroad specs, + And how money was won and lost. + + "Bless railroads everywhere," + I said, "and the world's advance; + Bless every railroad share + In Italy, Ireland, France, + + For never a beggar need now despair, + And every rogue has a chance." + + + + + LETTER + +FROM MR. HOSEA BIGLOW TO THE HON. J. T. BUCKINGHAM, EDITOR OF THE +BOSTON COURIER, COVERING A LETTER FROM MR. B. SAWIN, PRIVATE IN THE +MASSACHUSETTS REGIMENT IN MEXICO. + JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + +Mister Buckinum, the follerin Billet was writ hum by a Yung feller of +Our town that wuz cussed fool enuff to goe atrottin inter Miss Chiff +arter a Drum and fife. It ain't Nater for a feller to let on that he's +sick o' any bizness that He went intu off his own free will and a Cord, +but I rather callate he's middlin tired o' voluntearin By this Time. I +bleeve u may put dependunts on his statemence. For I never heered +nothin bad on him let Alone his havin what Parson Wilbur cals a +PONGSHONG for cocktales, and he ses it wuz a soshiashun of idees sot +him agoin arter the Crootin Sargient cos he wore a cocktale onto his +hat. + +his Folks gin the letter to me and I shew it to parson Wilbur and he +ses it oughter Bee printed, send It to mister Buckinum, ses he, I don't +ollers agree with him, ses he, but by Time, says he, I DU like a feller +that ain't a Feared. + +I have intusspussed a Few refleckshuns hear and thair. We're kind o' +Prest with Hayin. + Ewers respecfly + HOSEA BIGLOW. + +This kind o' sogerin' aint a mite like our October trainin', +A chap could clear right out from there ef 't only looked like + rainin'. +An' th' Cunnles, tu, could kiver up their shappoes with bandanners, +An' send the insines skootin' to the bar-room with their banners, +(Fear o' gittin' on 'em spotted), an' a feller could cry quarter +Ef he fired away his ramrod arter tu much rum an' water. +Recollect wut fun we hed, you 'n I an' Ezry Hollis, +Up there to Waltham plain last fall, ahavin' the Cornwallis? +[Footnote: i halt the Site of a feller with a muskit as I do plze But +their is fun to a Cornwallis I ain't agoin to deny it.--H.B.]This sort +o' thing aint JEST like thet--I wish thet I wuz furder- +[Footnote: he means Not quite so fur i guess.--H.B.]Nimepunce a day fer +killin' folks comes kind o' low fer murder +(Wy I've worked out to slarterin' some for Deacon Cephas Billins, +An' in the hardest times there wuz I ollers tetched ten shillins), +There's sutthin' gits into my throat thet makes it hard to swaller, +It comes so nateral to think about a hempen collar; +It's glory--but, in spite o' all my tryin to git callous, +I feel a kind o' in a cart, aridin' to the gallus. +But when it comes to BEIN' killed--I tell ye I felt streaked +The fust time ever I found out wy baggonets wuz peaked, +Here's how it wuz: I started out to go to a fandango, +The sentinul he ups an' sez, "Thet's furder 'an you can go" +"None o' your sarse," sez I; sez he, "Stan' back!" "Aint you a buster. +Sez I, "I'm up to all thet air, I guess I've ben to muster; +I know wy sentinuls air sot; you aint agoin' to eat us; +Caleb haint to monopoly to court the seenoreetas; +My folks to hum air full ez good ez hisn be, by golly!" +An' so ez I wuz goin' by, not thinkin'; wut would folly, +The everlatin' cus he stuck his one-pronged pitchfork in me +An' made a hole right thru my close ez ef I wuz an in'my. +Wal, it beats all how big I felt hoorawin' in ole Funnel +Wen Mister Bolles he gin the sword to our Leftenant Cunnle +(It's Mister Secondary Bolles,* thet writ the prize peace essay, +*[Footnote: the ignerant creeter means Sekketary; but he ollers stuck +to his books like cobbler's wax to an ile-stone.--H. B.] +Thet's wy he didn't list himself along o' us, I dessay), +An' Rantoul, tu, talked pooty loud, but dont' put HIS foot in it, +Coz human life's so sacred thet he's principled agin'it-- +Though I myself can't rightly see it's any wus achokin' on 'em +Than puttin' bullets thru their lights, or with a bagnet pokin' on + 'em; +How dreffle slick he reeled it off (like Blitz at our lyceum +Ahaulin' ribbins from his chops so quick you skeercely see 'em), +About the Anglo-Saxon race (an' saxons would be handy +To do the buryin' down here upon the Rio Grandy), +About our patriotic pas an' our star-spangled banner, +Our country's bird alookin' on an' singin' out hosanner, +An' how he (Mister B himself) wuz happy fer Ameriky-- +I felt, ez sister Patience sez, a leetle mite histericky. +I felt, I swon, ez though it wuz a dreffle kind o' privilege +Atrampin' round thru Boston streets among the gutter's drivelage; +I act'lly thought it wuz a treat to hear a little drummin, +An' it did bonyfidy seem millanyum wuz acomin' +Wen all on us got suits (darned like them wore in the state prison) +An' every feller felt ez though all Mexico wuz hisn. +[Footnote: It must be aloud that thare's a streak o' nater in lovin' +sho, but it sartinly is of the curusest things in nater to see a +rispecktable dri goods dealer (deekon off a chutch mayby) a riggin' +himself out in the Weigh they du and struttin' round in the Reign +aspilin' his trowsis and makin' wet goods of himself. E fany +thin's foolisher and moor dicklus than militerry gloary it is milishy +gloary.--H. B] +This 'ere's about the meanest place a skunk could wal diskiver +(Saltillo's Mexican, I b'lieve, fer wut we call Saltriver). +The sort o' trash a feller gits to eat doos beat all nater, +I'd give a year's pay fer a smell o' one good bluenose tater; +The country here thet Mister Bolles declared to be so charmin' +Throughout is swarmin' with the most alarmin' kind o' varmin'. +He talked about delishis froots, but then it wuz a wopper all, +The holl on't 's mud an' prickly pears, with here an' there a + chapparal; +You see a feller peekin' out, an', fust you know, a lariat +Is round your throat en' you a copse, 'fore you can say, "Wut + air ye at?" +[Footnote: these fellers are verry proppilly called Rank Heroes, and +the more tha kill the ranker and more Herowick tha bekum.--H. B.] +You never see sech darned gret bugs (it may not be irrelevant +To say I've seen a SCARABAEUS PILULARIUS big ez a year old elephant), +[Footnote: It wuz "tumblebug" as he Writ it, but the parson put the +Latten instid. I sed tother maid better meeter, but he said tha was +eddykated peepl to Boston and tha wouldn't stan' it no how. Idnow as +tha WOOOD and idnow as tha wood.--H. B.] +The rigiment come up one day in time to stop a red bug +From runnin' off with Cunnle Wright--'t wuz jest a common + CIMEX LECTULARIUS. +One night I started up on eend an' thought I wuz to hum agin, +I heern a horn, thinks I it's Sol the fisherman hez come agin, +HIS bellowses is sound enough--ez I'm a livin' creeter, +I felt a thing go thru my leg--'t wuz nothin' more 'n a skeeter! +Then there's the yaller fever, tu, they call it here el vomito-- +(Come, thet wun't du, you landcrab there, I tell ye to le' GO my toe! +My gracious! it's a scorpion thet's took a shine to play with 't, +I darsn't skeer the tarnal thing fer fear he'd run away with 't). +Afore I come away from hum I hed a strong persuasion +Thet Mexicans worn't human beans*--an ourang outang nation, +*[Footnote: he means human beins, that's wut he means. I spose he +kinder thought tha wuz human beans ware the Xisle Poles comes +from.--H. B.] +A sort o' folks a chap could kill an' never dream on't arter, +No more'n a feller'd dream o' pigs thet he hed hed to slarter; +I'd an idee thet they were built arter the darkle fashion all, +An' kickin' colored folks about, you know, 's a kind o' national +But when I jined I worn't so wise ez thet air queen o' Sheby, +Fer, come to look at 'em, they aint much diff'rent from wut we be +An' here we air ascrougin' 'em out o' thir own dominions, +Ashelterin' 'em, ez Caleb sez, under our eagle's pinions, +"Wich means to take a feller up jest by the slack o' 's trowsis +An' walk him Spanish clean right out o' all his homes an' houses +Wal, it doos seem a curus way, but then hooraw fer Jackson! +It must be right, fer Caleb sez it's reg'lar Anglo-Saxon. +The Mex'cans don't fight fair, they say, they piz'n all the water, +An' du amazin' lots o' things thet isn't wut they ough' ter; +Bein' they haint no lead, they make their bullets out o' copper +An' shoot the darned things at us, tu, which Caleb sez aint proper; +He sez they'd ough' to stan' right up an' let us pop 'em fairly +(Guess wen he ketches 'em at thet he'll hev to git up airly), +Thet our nation's bigger 'n theirn an' so its rights air bigger, +An thet it's all to make 'em free that we air pullin' trigger, +Thet Anglo Saxondom's idee's abreakin' 'em to pieces, +An' thet idee's thet every man doos jest wut he damn pleases; +Ef I don't make his meanin' clear, perhaps in some respex I can, +I know that "every man" don't mean a nigger or a Mexican; +An' there's another thing I know, an' thet is, ef these creeturs, +Thet stick an Anglo-saxon mask onto State-prison feeturs, +Should come to Jaalam Center fer to argify an' spout on't, +The gals 'ould count the silver spoons the minnit they cleared + out on't + +This goin' ware glory waits ye haint one agreeable feetur, +An' ef it worn't fer wakin' snakes, I'd home agin short meter; +O, wouldn't I be off, quick time, ef't worn't thet I wuz sartin +They'd let the daylight into me to pay me fer desartin! +I don't approve o' tellin' tales, but jest to you I may state +Our ossifers aint wut they wuz afore they left the Baystate +Then it wuz "Mister Sawin, sir, you're middlin' well now, be ye? +Step up an' take a nipper, sir; I'm dreffle glad to see ye;" +But now it's "Ware's my eppylet? here, Sawin, step an fetch it! +An' mind your eye, be thund'rin' spry, or, damn ye, you shall + ketch it!" +Wal, ez the Doctor sez, some pork will bile so, but by mighty, +Ef I bed some on 'em to hum, I'd give 'em linkum vity, +I'd play the rogue's march on their hides an' other [illeg] follerin'-- +But I must close my letter here, for one on 'em's a-hollerin', +These Anglosaxon ossifers--wal, taint no use ajawin', +I'm safe enlisted fer the war, + Yourn, + BIRDOFREEDOM SAWIN + + + + +A LETTER + +FROM A CANDIDATE FOR THE PRESIDENCY IN ANSWER TO SUTTIN QUESTIONS +PROPOSED BY MR. HOSEA BIGLOW, INCLOSED IN A NOTE FROM MR. BIGLOW TO S. +H. GAY, ESQ., EDITOR OF THE NATIONAL ANTI-SLAVERY STANDARD. + JAMES RUSSEL LOWELL + +Deer Sir its gut to be the fashun now to rite letters to the candid 8s +and I wus chose at a public Meetin in Jalaam to du wut wus nessary fur +that town. I writ to 271 ginerals and gut ansers to 209. the air called +candid 8s but I don't see nothin candid about em. this here 1 which I +send wus thought satty's factory. I dunno as it's ushle to print +Poscrips, but as all the ansers I got hed the saim, I sposed it wus +best. times has gretly changed. Formaly to knock a man into a +cocked hat wus to use him up, but now it ony gives him a chance furthe +cheef madgutracy.--H. B. + +Dear Sir--You wish to know my notions + On sartin pints thet rile the land; +There's nothin' thet my natur so shuns + Es bein' mum or underhand; +I'm a straight-spoken kind o' creetur + Thet blurts right out wut's in his head, +An' ef I've one pecooler feetur, + It is a nose thet wunt be led. + +So, to begin at the beginnin'; + An' come directly to the pint, +I think the country's underpinnin' + Is some consid'ble out o' jint; +I aint agoin' to try your patience + By tellin' who done this or thet, +I don't make no insinooations, + I jest let on I smell a rat. + +Thet is, I mean, it seems to me so, + But, ef the public think I'm wrong +I wunt deny but wut I be so-- + An', fact, it don't smell very strong; +My mind's tu fair to lose its balance + An' say wich party hez most sense; +There may be folks o'greater talence + Thet can't set stiddier on the fence. + +I'm an eclectic: ez to choosin' + 'Twixt this an'thet, I'm plaguy lawth; +I leave a side thet looks like losin', + But (wile there's doubt) I stick to both; +I stan' upon the Constitution, + Ez preudunt statesmun say, who've planned +A way to git the most profusion + O' chances ez to ware they'll stand. + +Ez fer the war, I go agin it-- + I mean to say I kind o' du-- +Thet is, I mean thet, bein' in it, + The best way wuz to fight it thru; +Not but wut abstract war is horrid, + I sign to thet with all my heart-- +But civlyzation doos git forrid + Sometimes upon a powder-cart. + +About thet darned Proviso matter + I never hed a grain o' doubt, +Nor I aint one my sense to scatter + So's no one couldn't pick it out; +My love fer North an' South is equil, + So I'll just answer plump an' frank, +No matter wut may be the sequil-- + Yes, sir, I am agin a Bank. + +Ez to the answerin' o' questions, + I 'am an off ox at bein' druv, +Though I aint one thet ary test shuns + I'll give our folks a helpin' shove; +Kind o' promiscoous I go it + Fer the holl country, an' the ground +I take, ez nigh ez I can show it, + Is pooty gen'ally all round. + +I don't appruve o' givin' pledges; + You'd ough' to leave a feller free, +An' not go knockin' out the wedges + To ketch his fingers in the tree; +Pledges air awfle breachy cattle + Thet preudent farmers don't turn out-- +Ez long'z the people git their rattle, + Wut is there fer'm to grout about? + +Ez to the slaves, there's no confusion + In MY idees consarnin' them-- +_I_ think they air an Institution, + A sort of--yes, jest so--ahem: +Do _I_ own any? Of my merit + On thet pint you yourself may jedge; +All is, I never drink no sperit, + Nor I haint never signed no pledge. + +Ez to my principles, I glory + In hevin' nothin' o' the sort; +I aint a Wig, I aint a Tory, + I'm jest a candidate, in short; +Thet's fair an' square an' parpendicler, + But, ef the Public cares a fig +To hev me an' thin' in particler. + Wy, I'm a kind o' peri-wig. + + P. S. + +Ez we're a sort o' privateerin', + O' course, you know, it's sheer an' sheer +An' there is sutthin' wuth your hearin' + I'll mention in YOUR privit ear; +Ef you git ME inside the White House, + Your head with ile I'll kio' o' 'nint +By gitt'n' YOU inside the Light-house + Down to the eend o' Jaalam Pint + +An' ez the North hez took to brustlin' + At bein' scrouged from off the roost, +I'll tell ye wut'll save all tusslin' + An' give our side a harnsome boost-- +Tell 'em thet on the Slavery question + I'm RIGHT, although to speak I'm lawth; +This gives you a safe pint to rest on, + An' leaves me frontin' South by North. + + + + +THE CANDIDATE'S CREED. +(BIGLOW PAPERS.) + JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + +I du believe in Freedom's cause, + Ez fur away ez Paris is; +I love to see her stick her claws + In them infarnal Pharisees; +It's wal enough agin a king + To dror resolves and triggers,-- +But libbaty's a kind o' thing + Thet don't agree with niggers. + +I du believe the people want + A tax on teas and coffees, +Thet nothin' aint extravygunt,-- + Purvidin' I'm in office; +For I hev loved my country sence + My eye-teeth filled their sockets, +An' Uncle Sam I reverence, + Partic'larly his pockets. + +I du believe in ANY plan + O' levyin' the taxes, +Ez long ez, like a lumberman, + I git jest wut I axes: +I go free-trade thru thick an' thin, + Because it kind o' rouses +The folks to vote--and keep us in + Our quiet custom-houses. + +I du believe it's wise an' good + To sen' out furrin missions, +Thet is, on sartin understood + An' orthydox conditions;-- +I mean nine thousan' dolls. per ann., + Nine thousan' more fer outfit, +An' me to recommend a man + The place 'ould jest about fit. + +I du believe in special ways + O' prayin' an' convartin'; +The bread comes back in many days, + An' buttered, tu, fer sartin;-- +I mean in preyin' till one busts + On wut the party chooses, +An' in convartin' public trusts + To very privit uses. + +I do believe hard coin the stuff + Fer 'lectioneers to spout on; +The people's ollers soft enough + To make hard money out on; +Dear Uncle Sam pervides fer his, + An' gives a good-sized junk to all-- +I don't care HOW hard money is, + Ez long ez mine's paid punctooal. + +I du believe with all my soul + In the gret Press's freedom, +To pint the people to the goal + An' in the traces lead 'em: +Palsied the arm thet forges yokes + At my fat contracts squintin', +An' wilhered be the nose thet pokes + Inter the gov'ment printin'! + +I du believe thet I should give + Wut's his'n unto Caesar, +Fer it's by him I move an' live, + From him my bread an' cheese air +I du believe thet all o' me + Doth bear his souperscription,-- +Will, conscience, honor, honesty, + An' things o' thet description. + +I du believe in prayer an' praise + To him thet hez the grantin' +O' jobs--in every thin' thet pays, + But most of all in CANTIN'; +This doth my cup with marcies fill, + This lays all thought o' sin to rest-- +I DON'T believe in princerple, + But, O, I DU in interest. + +I du believe in bein' this + Or thet, ez it may happen +One way, or t' other hendiest is + To ketch the people nappin'; +It aint by princerples nor men + My preudent course is steadied-- +I scent wich pays the best, an' then + Go into it baldheaded. + +I du believe thet holdin' slaves + Comes nat'ral tu a President, +Let 'lone the rowdedow it saves + To have a wal-broke precedunt; +Fer any office, small or gret, + I could'nt ax with no face, +Without I'd been, thru dry an' wet, + The unrizziest kind o' doughface. + +I du believe wutever trash + 'll keep the people in blindness,-- +Thet we the Mexicans can thrash + Right inter brotherly kindness-- +Thet bombshells, grape, an' powder 'n' ball + Air good-will's strongest magnets-- +Thet peace, to make it stick at all, + Must be druv in with bagnets. + +In short, I firmly du believe + In Humbug generally, +Fer it's a thing thet I perceive + To hev a solid vally; +This heth my faithful shepherd ben, + In pasturs sweet heth led me, +An' this'll keep the people green + To feed ez they have fed me. + + + + +THE COURTIN'. + JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + +Zekle crep' up, quite unbeknown, + An' peeked in thru the winder, +An there sot Huldy all alone, + 'ith no one nigh to hender. + +Agin' the chimbly crooknecks hung, + An' in among 'em rusted +The ole queen's arm thet gran'ther Young + Fetched back from Concord busted. + +The wannut logs shot sparkles out + Toward the pootiest, bless her! +An' leetle fires danced all about + The chiny on the dresser. + +The very room, coz she wuz in, + Looked warm frum floor to ceilin'. +An' she looked full ez rosy agin + Ez th' apple she wuz peelin'. + +She heerd a foot an' knowd it, tu, + Araspin' on the scraper-- +All ways to once her feelins flew + Like sparks in burnt-up paper. + +He kin' o' l'itered on the mat, + Some doubtfle of the seekle: +His heart kep' goin' pitypat, + But hern went pity Zekle. + + + + +A SONG FOR A CATARRH. + PUNCH + +By Bary ALLe is like the suL, + WheL at the dawL it fliLgs +Its goldeL sBiles of light upoL + Earth's greeL and loLely thiLgs. +IL vaiL I sue, I oLly wiL + FroB her a scorLful frowL, +But sooL as I By prayers begiL, + She cries O Lo! begoLe, +Yes! yes! the burtheL of her soLg + Is Lo! Lo! Lo! begoLe! + +By Bary ALLe is like the mooL, + WheL first her silver sheeL +Awakes the LightiLgale's soft tuLe, + That else had sileLt beeL. +But Bary ALLe, like darkest Light, + OL be, alas! looks dowL; +Her sBiles oL others beaB their light, + Her frowLs are all By owL. +I've but oLe burtheL to By soLg-- + Her frowLs are all By owL. + + + + +EPITAPH ON A CANDLE. + PUNCH. + +A WICKED one lies buried here, + Who died in a DECLINE; +He never rose in rank, I fear, + Though he was born to SHINE. + +He once was FAT, but now, indeed, + He's thin as any griever; +He died--the Doctors all agreed, + Of a most BURNING fever. + +One thing of him is said with truth, + With which I'm much amused; +It is--that when he stood, forsooth, + A STICK he always used. + +Now WINDING-SHEETS he sometimes made, + But this was not enough, +For finding it a poorish trade, + He also dealt in SNUFF. + +If e'er you said "GO OUT, I pray," + He much ill nature show'd; +On such occasions he would say, + "Vy, if I do, I'M BLOW'D" + +In this his friends do all agree, + Although you'll think I'm joking, +When GOING OUT 'tis said that he + Was very fond of SMOKING. + +Since all religion he despised, + Let these few words suffice, +Before he ever was baptized + They DIPP'D him once or twice. + + + + +POETRY ON AN IMPROVED PRINCIPLE. +A RENCONTER WITH A TEA-TOTALLER. + PUNCH. + +On going forth last night, a friend to see, +I met a man by trade a s-n-o-B; +Reeling along the path he held his way. +"Ho! ho!" quoth I, "he's d-r-u-n-K" +Then thus to him--"Were it not better, far, +You were a little s-o-b-e-R? +'T were happier for your family, I guess, +Than playing of such rum r-i-g-S. +Besides, all drunkards, when policemen see 'em, +Are taken up at once by t-h-e-M." +'Me drunk!" the cobbler cried, "the devil trouble you +You want to kick up a blest r-o-W. +Now, may I never wish to work for Hoby, +If drain I've had!" (the lying s-n-O-B!) +I've just return'd from a tee-total party, +Twelve on us jamm'd in a spring c-a-R-P. +The man as lectured, now, WAS drunk; why, bless ye, +He's sent home in a c-h-a-i-S-E. +He'd taken so much lush into his belly, +I'm blest if he could t-o-dd-L-E. +A pair on 'em--hisself and his good lady;-- +The gin had got into her h-e-A-D. +(My eye and Betty! what weak mortals WE are; +They said they took but ginger b-e-E-R!) +But as for me, I've stuck ('t was rather ropy) +All day to weak imperial p-O-P. +And now we've had this little bit o' sparrin', +Just stand a q-u-a-r-t-e-R-N!" + + + + +ON A REJECTED NOSEGAY, +OFFERED BY THE AUTHOR TO A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY, WHO RETURNED IT. + PUNCH. + +What! then you won't accept it, wont you? Oh! +No matter; pshaw! my heart is breaking, though. +My bouquet is rejected; let it be: +For what am I to you, or you to me? +'Tis true I once had hoped; but now, alas! +Well, well; 'tis over now, and let it pass. +I was a fool--perchance I am so still; +You won't accept it! Let me dream you will: +But that were idle. Shall we meet again? +Why should we? Water for my burning brain? +I could have loved thee--Could! I love thee yet +Can only Lethe teach me to forget? +Oblivion's balm, oh tell me where to find! +Is it a tenant of the anguish'd mind? +Or is it?--ha! at last I see it come; +Waiter! a bottle of your oldest rum. + + + + +A SERENADE. + PUNCH. + +Smile, lady, smile! (BLESS ME! WHAT'S THAT? +CONFOUND THE CAT!)-- +Smile, lady, smile! One glance bestow +On him who sadly waits below, +To catch--(A VILLAIN UP ABOVE +HAS THROWN SOME WATER ON ME, LOVE!) +To catch one token-- +(OH, LORD! MY HEAD IS BROKEN; +THE WRETCH WHO THREW THE WATER DOWN, +HAS DROPPED THE JUG UPON MY CROWN)-- +To catch one token, which shall be +As dear as life itself to me. +List, lady, then; while on my lute +I breathe soft--(NO! I'LL NOT BE QUIET; +HOW DARE YOU CALL MY SERENADE A RIOT? +I DO DEFY YOU)--while upon my lute +I breathe soft sighs--(YES, I DISPUTE +YOUR RIGHT TO STOP ME)--breathe soft sighs. +Grant but one look from those dear eyes-- +(THERE, TAKE THAT STUPID NODDLE IN AGAIN; +CALL THE POLICE!--DO! I'LL PROLONG MY STRAIN), +We'll wander by the river's placid flow-- +(UNTO THE STATION-HOUSE!--NO, SIR, I WON'T GO; +LEAVE ME ALONE!)--and talk of love's delight. +(OH, MURDER!--HELP! I'M LOCKED UP FOR THE NIGHT!) + + + + +RAILROAD NURSERY RHYME. + PUNCH. + Air--"Ride a Cock Horse." + +Fly by steam force the country across, +Faster than jockey outside a race-horse: +With time bills mismanaged, fast trains after slow, +You shall have danger wherever you go. + + + + +AN INVITATION TO THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS + PUNCH. + +I have found out a gig-gig-gift for my fuf-fuf-fair, + I have found where the rattle-snakes bub-bub-breed; +Will you co-co-come, and I'll show you the bub-bub-bear, + And the lions and tit-tit-tigers at fuf-fuf-feed. + +I know where the co-co-cockatoo's song + Makes mum-mum-melody through the sweet vale; +Where the mum-monkeys gig-gig-grin all the day long + Or gracefully swing by the tit-tit-tit-tail. + +You shall pip-pip-play, dear, some did-did-delicate joke + With the bub-bub-bear on the tit-tit-top of his pip-pip-pip-pole; +But observe, 'tis forbidden to pip-pip-poke At the bub-bub-bear with +your pip-pip-pink pip-pip-pip-pip-parasol! + +You shall see the huge elephant pip-pip-play, + You shall gig-gig-gaze on the stit-stit-stately racoon; +And then did-did-dear, together we'll stray + To the cage of the bub-bub-blue-faced bab-bab-boon. + +You wished (I r-r-remember it well, + And I lul-lul-loved you the m-m-more for the wish) +To witness the bub-bub-beautiful pip-pip-pel- + ican swallow the l-l-live little fuf-fuf-fish! + + + + +THE PEOPLE AND THEIR PALACE. +IMPROVISED BY A FINE GENTLEMAN. + PUNCH. + +Oh dem that absawd Cwystal Palace! alas, +What a pity they took off the duty on glass! +It's having been evaw ewected, in fact, +Was en-ti-a-ly owing to that foolish act. + +Wha-evew they put it a cwowd it will dwaw, +And that is the weason I think it a baw; +I have no gweat dislike to the building, as sutch; +The People is what I object to sa mutch. + +The People!--I weally am sick of the wawd: +The People is ugly, unpleasant, absawd; +Wha-evaw they go, it is always the case, +They are shaw to destroy all the chawm of the place. + +Their voices are loud, and their laughter is hawse; +Their fealyaws are fabsy, iwegulaw, cause; +How seldom it is that their faces disclose, +What one can call, pwopally speaking, a nose! + +They have dull heavy looks, which appeaw to expwess +Disagweeable stwuggles with common distwess; +The People can't dwess, doesn't know how to walk. +And would uttaly wuin a spot like the Pawk. + +That I hate the People is maw than I 'll say; +I only would have them kept out of my way, +Let them stay at the pot-house, wejoice in the pipe, +And wegale upon beeaw, baked patatas, and twipe. + +We must have the People--of that tha's no doubt-- +In shawt they could not be, pahaps, done without. +If'twa not faw the People we could not have Boots +Tha's no doubt that they exawcise useful pasuits. + +They are all vewy well in their own pwopa spheeaw +A long distance off; but I don t like them neeaw; +The slams is the place faw a popula show; +Don't encouwage the people to spoil Wotten Wow. + +It is odd that the DUKE OF AWGYLL could pasue, +So eccentwic a cawse, and LAD SHAFTESBUWY too, +As to twy and pwesawve the Glass House on its site, +Faw no weason on awth but the People's delight. + + + + +A "SWELL'S" HOMAGE TO MRS. STOWE + PUNCH. + +A must wead Uncle Tom--a wawk + Which A'm afwaid's extwemely slow, +People one meets begin to talk + Of Mrs. HARWIETBEECHASTOWE. + +'Tis not as if A saw ha name + To walls and windas still confined; +All that is meawly vulga fame: + A don't wespect the public mind. + +But Staffa'd House has made haw quite + Anotha kind a pawson look, +A Countess would pasist, last night, + In asking me about haw book. + +She wished to know if I admiawd + EVA, which quite confounded me; +And then haw Ladyship inqwaw'd + Whethaw A did'nt hate LEGWEE? + +Bai JOVE! A was completely flaw'd; + A wish'd myself, or haw, at Fwance; +And that's the way a fella's baw'd + By ev'wy gal he asks to dance. + +A felt myself a gweat a fool + Than A had evaw felt befaw; +A'll study at some Wagged School + The tale of that old Blackamaw! + + + + +THE EXCLUSIVE'S BROKEN IDOL. + PUNCH. + +A don't object at all to War +With a set a fellas like the Fwench, +But this dem wupcha with the Czar, +It gives one's feeling quite a wench. + +The man that peace in Yawwup kept +Gives all his pwevious life the lie; +A fina fella neva stepped, +Bai JOVE, he's maw than six feet high! + +He cwushed those democwatic beasts; +He'd flog a Nun; maltweat a Jew, +Or pawsecute those Womish Pwiests, +Most likely vewy pwoppa too. + +To think that afta such a cawce, +Which nobody could eva blame, +The EMP'WA should employ bwute fawce +Against this countwy just the same! + +We all consida'd him our fwiend, +But in a most erwoneus light, +In shawt, it seems you can't depend +On one who fancies might is wight. + +His carwacta is coming out; +His motives--which A neva saw-- +Are now wevealed beyond a doubt, +And we must fight--but what a baw! + + + +THE LAST KICK OF FOP'S ALLEY. + PUNCH. +Air--"Weber's Last Waltz." + +My wawst feaws are wealized; the Op wa is na maw, +And the wain of DONIZETTI and TAPISCHOWE are aw! +No entapwising capitalist bidding faw the lot, +In detail at last the pwopaty is being sold by SCOTT. + +Fahwell to Anna Bolena; to Nauma, oh, fahwell! +Adieu to La Sonnambula! the hamma wings haw knell; +I Puwitani, too, must cease a cwowded house to dwaw, +And they've knocked down lovely Lucia, the Bwide of Lammamaw. + +Fahwell the many twinkling steps; fahwell the gwaceful fawm +That bounded o'er the wose-beds, and that twipped amid the stawm; +Fahwell the gauze and muslin--doomed to load the Hebwew's bags; +Faw the Times assauts the wawdwobe went--just fancy--as old wags! + +That ev'wy thing that's bwight must fade, we know is vewy twue, +And now we see what sublunawy glowwy must come to; +How twue was MAIDSTONE'S pwophecy; the Deluge we behold +Now that HAW MAJESTY'S Theataw is in cawse of being sold. + + + + +THE MAD CABMAN'S SONG OF SIXPENCE +[Footnote: This inimitable burlesque was published soon after the cab +fare had reduced from eightpence to sixpence a mile.] + PUNCH. + +Wot's this?--wot hever is this 'ere? + Eh?--arf a suvrin!--feels like vun-- +Boohoo! they won't let me have no beer! + Suppose I chucks it up into the sun!-- + No--that ain't right-- + The yaller's turned wite! + Ha, ha, ho!--he's sold and done-- + Come, I say!--I won't stand that-- + 'Tis all my eye and BETTY MARTIN! + Over the left and all round my hat, + As the pewter pot said to the kevarten. + +Who am I? HEMPRER of the FRENCH + LEWIS NAPOLEON BONYPART, + Old Spooney, to be sure-- +Between you and me and the old blind oss + And the doctor says there ain't no cure. + + D' ye think I care for the blessed Bench?-- +From Temple Bar to Charing Cross? + Two mile and better--arf a crown-- + Talk of screwing a feller down! +As for poor BILL, it's broke his art. + Cab to the Moon, sir? Here you are!-- + That's--how much?-- + A farthin' touch! + Now as we can't demand back fare. + +But, guv'ner, wot can this 'ere be?-- + The fare of a himperial carridge? +You don't mean all this 'ere for me! + In course you ain't heerd about my marridge-- + I feels so precious keveer! + How was it I got that kick o' the 'ed? + I've ad a slight hindisposition + But a Beak ain't no Physician. + Wot's this 'ere, sir? wot's this 'ere? + You call yerself a gentleman? yer Snob! + He wasn't bled: + And I was let in for forty bob, + Or a month, instead: + And I caught the lumbago in the brain-- + I've been confined-- + But never you mind-- + Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! I ain't hinsane. + +Vot his this 'ere? Can't no one tell? + It sets my ed a spinnin-- +The QUEEN'S eye winks--it ain't no sell-- + The QUEEN'S 'ed keeps a grinnin: + Ha, ha! 't was guv + By the cove I druv-- + I vunders for wot e meant it! + For e sez to me, + E sez, sez e, + As I ort to be contented! +Wot did yer say, sir, wot did yer say? + My fare!--wot, that! + Yer knocks me flat. + Hit in the vind!--I'm chokin--give us air-- + My fare? Ha, ha! My fare? Ho, ho! My fare? + +Call that my fare for drivin yer a mile? +I ain't hinsane--not yet--not yet avile! + Wot makes yer smile? +My blood is bilin' in a wiolent manner! + Wot's this I've got? + Show us a light-- + This 'ere is--wot?-- +There's sunthin the matter with my sight-- + It is--yes!--No!-- + 'Tis, raly, though-- + Oh, blow! blow! blow!-- +Ho, ho, ho, ho! it is, it is a Tanner! + + + + +ALARMING PROSPECT + PUNCH. + To the Editor of "PUNCH." + +SIR--You are aware, of course, that in the progress of a few centuries +the language of a country undergoes a great alteration; that the Latin +of the Augustan age was very different from that of the time of +Tarquin; and no less so from that which prevailed at the fall of the +Roman empire. Also, that the Queen's English is not precisely what it +was in Elizabeth's days; to say nothing of its variation from what was +its condition under the Plantagenets. + +I observe, with regret, that our literature is becoming conversational, +and our conversation corrupt. The use of cant phraseology is daily +gaining ground among us, and this evil will speedily infect, if it has +not already infected, the productions of our men of letters. I fear +most for our poetry, because what is vulgarly termed SLANG is +unfortunately very expressive, and therefore peculiarly adapted for the +purposes of those whose aim it is to clothe "thoughts that breathe" in +"words that burn;" and, besides, it is in many instances equivalent to +terms and forms of speech which have long been recognized among +poetical writers as a kind of current coin. + +The peril which I anticipate I have endeavored to exemplify in the +following + +AFFECTING COPY OF VERSES (WITH NOTES). + +Gently o'er the meadows prigging, [1] + Joan and Colin took their way, +While each flower the dew was swigging, [2] + In the jocund month of May. + +Joan was beauty's plummiest [3] daughter; + Colin youth's most nutty [4] son; +Many a nob [5] in vain had sought her-- + Him full many a spicy [6] one. + +She her faithful bosom's jewel + Did unto this young un' [7] plight; +But, alas! the gov'nor [8] cruel, + Said as how he'd never fight. [9] + +Soon as e'er the lark had risen, + They had burst the bonds of snooze, [10] +And her daddle [11] link'd in his'n, [12] + Gone to roam as lovers use. + +In a crack [13] the youth and maiden + To a flowery bank did come, +Whence the bees cut, [14] honey-laden, + Not without melodious hum. + +Down they squatted [15] them together, + "Lovely Joan," said Colin bold, +"Tell me, on thy davy, [16] whether + Thou dost dear thy Colin hold?" + +"Don't I, just?" [17] with look ecstatic, + Cried the young and ardent maid; +"Then let's bolt!" [18] in tone emphatic, + Bumptuous [19] Colin quickly said. + +"Bolt?" she falter'd, "from the gov'nor? + Oh! my Colin, that won't pay; [20] +He will ne'er come down, [21] my love, nor + Help us, if we run away." + +"Shall we then be disunited?" + Wildly shrieked the frantic cove; [22] +"Mull'd [23] our happiness! and blighted + In the kinchin-bud [24] our love! + +"No, my tulip! [25] let us rather + Hand in hand the bucket kick; [26] +Thus we'll chouse [27] your cruel father-- + Cutting from the world our stick!" [28] + +Thus he spoke, and pull'd a knife out, + Sharp of point, of edge full fine; +Pierc'd her heart, and let the life out-- + "Now," he cried, "here's into mine!" [29] + +But a hand unseen behind him + Did the fatal blow arrest. +Oh, my eye! [30] they seize and bind him-- + Gentle Mure, conceal the rest! + +In the precints of the prison, + In his cold crib [31] Colin lies; +Mourn his fate all you who listen, + Draw it mild, and mind your eyes! [32] + +1. "Prigging," stealing; as yet exclusively applied to petty larceny. +"Stealing" is as well known to be a poetical term as it is to be an +indictable offense; the Zephyr and the Vesper Hymn, cum multis aliis, +are very prone to this practice. +2. "Swigging," drinking copiously--of malt liquor in particular. +"Pearly drops of dew we drink."--OLD SONG. +3. "Plummiest," the superlative of "plummy," exquisitely delicious; an +epithet commonly used by young gentlemen in speaking of a bonne bouche +or "tit bit," as a mince pie, a preserved apricot, or an oyster patty. +The transference of terms expressive of delightful and poignant savor +to female beauty, is common with poets. "Death, that hath sucked the +honey of thy breath."--SHAKESPEARE. "Charley loves a pretty girl, AS +SWEET AS SUGAR CANDY."--ANON. +4. "Nutty," proper--in the old English sense of "comely," "handsome." +"Six PROPER youths, and tall."--OLD SONG. +5. "Nob," a person of consequence; a word very likely to be patronized, +from its combined brevity and significancy. +6. "Spicy," very smart and pretty; it has the same recommendation, and +will probably supplant the old favorite "bonny." "Busk ye, busk ye, my +bonny, bonny bride."--HAMILTON. +7. "Young'un," youth, young man. "A YOUTH to fortune and to fame +unknown."--GRAY. +8. "Gov'nor," or "guv'nor," a contraction of "governor," a father. It +will, no doubt, soon supersede sire, which is at present the poetical +equivalent for the name of the author of one's existence. See all the +poets, passim. +9. "Said as how he'd never fight," the thing was out of the question; +a metaphorical phrase, though certainly, at present, a vulgar one. +10. "Snooze," slumber personified, like "Morpheus," or "Somnus." +11. "Daddle."--Q. from daktulos, a finger--pars pro toto!--Hand, the +only synonym for it that we have, except "Paw," "Mawley," &c., which +are decidedly generis ejusdem.12. "His'n," his own; corresponding to +the Latin suus, his own and +nobody else's, so frequently met with in OVID and others. +13. "Crack," a twinkling, an extremely short interval of time, which +was formerly expressed, in general, by a periphrasis; as, "Ere the +leviathan can swim a league!"--SHAKESPEARE. +14. "Cut," sped. A synonym. +15. "Squatted," sat. Id. +16. "Davy," affidavit, solemn oath. Significant and euphonious, +therefore alluring to the versifier. +17. "Don't I, just?" A question for a strong affirmation, as, "Oh, +yes, indeed I do;" a piece of popular rhetoric, pithy and forcible and +consequently almost sure to be adopted--especially by the pathetic +writers. +18. "Bolt," ran away. Syn. +19. "Bumptious," fearless, bold, and spirited; a very energetic +expression such as those rejoice in who would fair "DENHAM'S strength +with Waller's sweetness join." +20. "That won't pay," that plan will never answer. Metaph. +21. "Come down," disburse; also rendered in the vernacular by "fork +out." etc. Id. +22. "Cove," swain. "Alexis shunn'd his fellow SWAINS."--PRIOR. See +also SHENSTONE PASSIM. +23. "Mull'd," equivalent to "wreck'd," a term of pathos. +24. "Kinchin-bud," infant-bud. Metaph.; moreover, very tender, sweet, +and touching, as regards the idea. +25. "My tulip," a term of endearment. "Fairest FLOWER, all flowers +excelling." ODE TO A CHILD: COTTON. +26. "The bucket kick," pleonasm for die; as, "to breathe life's latest +sigh."--"To yield the soul,"--"the breath,"--or, UT APUD ANTIQ. "Animam +expirare," seu "efflare," etc. +27. "Chouse," cheat. Syn. +28. "Cutting . . . our stick." Pleon. ut supra. +29. "Here's unto mine!" A form of speech analogous to "Have at +thee."--SHAKESPEARE, and the dramatists generally. +30. "Oh, my eye!" an interjectional phrase, tantamount to "Oh, +heavens!" "Merciful powers!" etc. +31. "Cold crib," cold bed. "Go to thy cold bed and warm thee."--SHAK. +32. "Draw it mild," etc. Metaph. for "Rule your passions, and beware!" + +I doubt not that it will be admitted by your judicious readers that I +have substantiated my case. Our monarchical institutions may preserve +our native tongue for a time, but if it does not become, at no very +distant period, as strange a medley as that of the American is at +present--to use the expressive but peculiar idiom of that +people--"IT'S A PITY." + I am, sir, etc., P. + + + + +EPITAPH ON A LOCOMOTIVE. +BY THE SOLE SURVIVOR OF A DEPLORABLE ACCIDENT (NO BLAME TO BE ATTACHED +TO ANY SERVANTS OF THE COMPANY). + PUNCH. + + Collisions four + Or five she bore, +The Signals wor in vain; + Grown old and rusted, + Her biler busted, +And smash'd the Excursion Train. + + "HER END WAS PIECES." + + + + +THE TICKET OF LEAVE. +[AS SUNG BY THE HOLDER, AMID A CONVIVIAL CIRCLE IN THE SLUMS.] + PUNCH. + +Ven a prig has come to grief, + He's no call for desperation; +Though I'm a conwicted thief, + Still I've opes of liberation. +The Reverend Chapling to deceive + A certain dodge and safe resource is, +Whereby you gets a Ticket of Leave, + And then resumes your wicious courses. + +(SPOKEN.) I vos lagged, my beloved pals, on a suspicion of burglary, +'ad up afore the Recorder, and got seven years' penal serwitude and +'ard labor. Hand preshus 'ard labor and 'ard lines I found it at first, +mind you. Vell, I says to myself, blow me! I ain't a goin' to stand +this 'ere, you know: but 'taint no ass kickin' agin stone walls and +iron spikes: wot I shall try and do is to gammon the parson. + + "Ven a prig," etc. + +Them parsons is so jolly green, + They're sure to trust in your conwersion, +Which they, in course, believes 'as been + The consequence of their exertion. +You shakes your 'ead, turns up your eyes, + And they takes that to be repentance; +Wherein you moans, and groans, and sighs, + By reason only of your sentence. + +(SPOKEN.) Wen in a state of wiolent prespiration smokin' 'ot from the +crank, the Chapling comes into my cell, and he says, says he, "My man," +he says, "how do you feel?" "'Appy, sir," says I, with a gentle sithe: +"thank you, sir: quite 'appy." "But you seem distressed, my poor +fellow," says he. "In body, sir," says I; "yes. But that makes me more +'appy. I'm glad to be distressed in body. It serves me right. But in +mind I'm 'appy: leastways almost 'appy." "'Ave you hany wish to +express," says he: "is there any request as you would like to make." +"'AWKER'S HEVENING POTION, sir," says I, "and the DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER: +if 'AWKER'S HEVENING POTION was but mine--and the DAIRYMAN'S +DAUGHTER--I think, sir, I should be quite 'appy." "My friend," says the +parson, "your desire shall be attended to," and hout he valked: me a +takin' a sight at 'im be'ind 'is back; for as soon as I thought he +wos out of 'earin', sings I to myself-- + "Ven a prig," etc + +In the chapel hof the Jug, + Then I did the meek and lowly, +Pullin' sitch a spoony mug + That I looked unkimmon pure and 'oly. +As loud as ever I could shout, + All the responses too I hutter'd, +Well knowing what I was about: + So the reverend Gent I buttered. + +(Spoken.) Won day he comes to me arter service, and axes me what I +thought: I could do for myself in the way of yarnin a honest +liveliwood, if so be as I was to be allowed my liberty and to go back +to the world. "Ah! sir," says I, "I don't think no longer about the +world. 'Tis a world of sorrow and wanity, I havn't given a thought to +what I should do in it" "Every one," says the Chapling "has his sphere +of usefulness in society; can you think of no employment which you have +the desire and ability to follow?" "Well, sir," says I "if there is a +wocation which I should feel delight and pleasure in follerin 'tis that +of a Scripter Reader. But I ain't worthy to be a Scripter Reader. A +coal-porter of tracts and religious books, sir, I thinks that's what I +should like to try and be, if the time of my just punishment was up. +But there's near seven year, sir, to think about that--and p'raps +'tis better for me to be here." That's the way I used to soap the +Chapling--Cos vy? + "Ven a prig," etc. +So he thought I kissed the rod, + All the while my 'art was 'ardened; +And I 'adn't been very long in quod + Afore he got me as good as pardoned; +And here am I with my Ticket of Leave, + Obtained by shamming pious feeling, +Which lets me loose again to thieve, + For I means to persewere in stealing. + +(Spoken.) With which resolution, my beloved pals, if you please I'll +couple the 'elth of the clergy; and may they hever continue to be sitch +kind friends as they now shows theirselves to us when we gets into +trouble. For, + "Ven a prig," etc. + + + + +A POLKA LYRIC. + BARCLAY PHILLIPS + +Qui nunc dancere vult modo, +Wants to dance in the fashion, oh! +Discere debet--ought to know, +Kickere floor cum heel and toe, + One, two, three, + Hop with me, +Whirligig, twirligig, rapide. + +Polkam jungere, Virgo, vis, +Will you join the polka, miss? +Liberius--most willingly, +Sic agimus--then let us try: + Nunc vide, + Skip with me, +Whirlabout, roundabout, celere. + +Turn laeva cito, tum dextra, +First to the left, and then t' other way; +Aspice retro in vultu, +You look at her, and she looks at you. + Das palmam + Change hands, ma'am; +Celere--run away, just in sham. + + + + +A SUNNIT TO THE BIG OX. + +COMPOSED WHILE STANDING WITHIN 2 FEET OF HIM, AND A TUCHIN' OF HIM NOW +AND THEN. + ANONYMOUS + +All hale! thou mighty annimil--all hale! +You are 4 thousand pounds, and am purty wel +Perporshund, thou tremenjos boveen nuggit! +I wonder how big you was wen you +Wos little, and if yure muther wud no you now +That you've grone so long, and thick, and phat; +Or if yure father would rekognize his ofspring +And his kaff, thou elefanteen quodrupid! +I wonder if it hurts you mutch to be so big, +And if you grode it in a month or so. +I spose wen you wos young tha didn't gin +You skim milk but all the kreme you kud stuff +Into your little stummick, jest to see +How big yude gro; and afterward tha no doubt +Fed you on otes and ha and sich like, +With perhaps an occasional punkin or squosh! +In all probability yu don't no yure enny +Bigger than a small kaff; for if you did, + +Yude brake down fences and switch your tail, +And rush around, and hook, and beller, +And run over fowkes, thou orful beast +O, what a lot of mince pize yude maik, +And sassengers, and your tale, +Whitch kan't wa fur from phorty pounds, +Wud maik nigh unto a barrel of ox-tail soop, +And cudn't a heep of stakes be cut oph yu, +Whitch, with salt and pepper and termater +Ketchup, wouldn't be bad to taik. +Thou grate and glorious inseckt! +But I must klose, O most prodijus reptile! +And for mi admirashun of yu, when yu di, +I'le rite a node unto yore peddy and remanes, +Pernouncin' yu the largest of yure race; +And as I don't expect to have a half a dollar +Agin to spare for to pa to look at yu, and as +I ain't a ded head, I will sa, farewell. + + + + +ENIGMATIC + + + +RIDDLES BY MATTHEW PRIOR. + +TWO RIDDLES. + +Sphinx was a monster that would eat +Whatever stranger she could get; +Unless his ready wit disclos'd +The subtle riddle she propos'd. + Oedipus was resolv'd to go, +And try what strength of parts would do. +Says Sphinx, on this depends your fate; +Tell me what animal is that +Which has four feet at morning bright, +Has two at noon and three at night? +'Tis man, said he, who, weak by nature, +At first creeps, like his fellow creature, +Upon all-four; as years accrue, +With sturdy steps he walks on two; +In age, at length, grows weak and sick, +For his third leg adopts a stick. + Now, in your turn, 'tis just methinks, +You should resolve me, Madam Sphinx. +What greater stranger yet is he +Who has four legs, then two, then three; +Then loses one, then gets two more, +And runs away at last on four? + +ENIGMA. + +By birth I'm a slave, yet can give you a crown, +I dispose of all honors, myself having none: +I'm obliged by just maxims to govern my life, +Yet I hang my own master, and lie with his wife. +When men are a-gaming I cunningly sneak, +And their cudgels and shovels away from them take. +Pair maidens and ladies I by the hand get, +And pick off their diamonds, tho' ne'er so well set. +For when I have comrades we rob in whole bands, +Then presently take off your lands from your hands. +But, this fury once over, I've such winning arts, +That you love me much more than you do your own hearts. + +ANOTHER. + +Form'd half beneath, and half above the earth, +We sisters owe to art our second birth: +The smith's and carpenter's adopted daughters, +Made on the land, to travel on the waters. +Swifter they move, as they are straiter bound, +Yet neither tread the air, or wave, or ground: +They serve the poor for use, the rich for whim, +Sink when it rains, and when it freezes swim. + + + +RIDDLES BY DEAN SWIFT AND HIS FRIENDS. +[Footnote: The following notice is subjoined to some of those riddles, +in the Dublin edition: "About nine or ten years ago (i. e. about 1724), +some ingenious gentle-men, friends to the author, used to entertain +themselves with writing riddles, and send them to him and their other +acquaintance; copies of which ran about, and some of them were printed, +both here and in England. The author, at his leisure hours, fell into +the same amusement; although it be said that he thought them of no +great merit, entertainment, or use. However, by the advice of some +persons, for whom the author has a great esteem, and who were pleased +to send us the copies, we have ventured to print the few following, as +we have done two or three before, and which are allowed to be genuine; +because we are informed that several good judges have a taste for such +kind of compositions."] + +A MAYPOLE. + +Deprived of root, and branch, and rind, +Yet flowers I bear of every kind: +And such is my prolific power, +They bloom in less than half an hour; +Yet standers-by may plainly see +They get no nourishment from me. +My head with giddiness goes round, +And yet I firmly stand my ground; +All over naked I am seen, +And painted like an Indian queen. +No couple-beggar in the land +E'er join'd such numbers hand in hand. +I join'd them fairly with a ring; +Nor can our parson blame the thing. +And though no marriage words are spoke, +They part not till the ring is broke: +Yet hypocrite fanatics cry, +I'm but an idol raised on high; +And once a weaver in our town, +A damn'd Cromwellian, knock'd me down. +I lay a prisoner twenty years, +And then the jovial cavaliers +To their old post restored all three-- +I mean the church, the king, and me. + + +ON THE MOON. + + I with borrowed silver shine, + What you see is none of mine. + First I show you but a quarter, + Like the bow that guards the Tartar: + Then the half, and then the whole, + Ever dancing round the pole. + +What will raise your admiration, +I am not one of God's creation, +But sprung (and I this truth maintain), +Like Pallas, from my father's brain. +And after all, I chiefly owe +My beauty to the shades below. +Most wondrous forms you see me wear, +A man, a woman, lion, bear, +A fish, a fowl, a cloud, a field, +All figures heaven or earth can yield; +Like Daphne sometimes in a tree; +Yet am not one of all you see. + + +ON INK. + +I am jet black, as you may see, + The son of pitch and gloomy night; +Yet all that know me will agree, + I'm dead except I live in light. + +Sometimes in panegyric high, + Like lofty Pindar, I can soar, +And raise a virgin to the sky, + Or sink her to a filthy ----. + +My blood this day is very sweet, + To-morrow of a bitter juice; +Like milk, 'tis cried about the street, + And so applied to different use. + +Most wondrous is my magic power: + For with one color I can paint; +I'll make the devil a saint this hour, + Next make a devil of a saint. + +Through distant regions I can fly, + Provide me but with paper wings; +And fairly show a reason why + There should be quarrels among kings; + +And, after all, you'll think it odd, + When learned doctors will dispute, +That I should point the word of God, + And show where they can best confute. + +Let lawyers bawl and strain their throats + 'Tis I that must the lands convey, +And strip their clients to their coats; + Nay, give their very souls away. + + +ON A CIRCLE. + +I'm up and down, and round about, +Yet all the world can't find me out; +Though hundreds have employ'd their leisure, +They never yet could find my measure. +I'm found almost in every garden, +Nay, in the compass of a farthing. +There's neither chariot, coach, nor mill, +Can move an inch except I will. + + +ON A PEN. + +In youth exalted high in air, +Or bathing in the waters fair, +Nature to form me took delight, +And clad my body all in white. +My person tall, and slender waist, +On either side with fringes graced; +Tell me that tyrant man espied, +And dragg'd me from my mother's side, +No wonder now I look so thin; +The tyrant stript me to the skin: +My skin he flay'd, my hair he cropt: +At head and foot my body lopt: +And then, with heart more hard than s one, +He pick'd my marrow from the bone. +To vex me more, he took a freak +To slit my tongue and make me speak +But, that which wonderful appears, +I speak to eyes, and not to ears. +He oft employs me in disguise, +And makes me tell a thousand lies: +To me he chiefly gives in trust +To please his malice or his lust, +From me no secret he can hide: +I see his vanity and pride: +And my delight is to expose +His follies to his greatest foes. +All languages I can command, +Yet not a word I understand. +Without my aid, the best divine +In learning would not know a line: +The lawyer must forget his pleading; +The scholar could not show his reading + Nay; man my master is my slave; +I give command to kill or save. +Can grant ten thousand pounds a-year, +And make a beggar's brat a peer. + But, while I thus my life relate, +I only hasten on my fate. +My tongue is black, my mouth is furr'd, +I hardly now can force a word. +I die unpitied and forgot, +And on some dunghill left to rot. + + +A FAN. + +From India's burning clime I'm brought, +With cooling gales like zephyrs fraught. +Not Iris, when she paints the sky, +Can show more different hues than I: +Nor can she change her form so fast, +I'm now a sail, and now a mast. +I here am red, and there am green, +A beggar there, and here a queen. +I sometimes live in a house of hair, +And oft in hand of lady fair. +I please the young, I grace the old, +And am at once both hot and cold +Say what I am then, if you can, +And find the rhyme, and you're the man. + + +ON A CANNON. + +Begotten, and born, and dying with noise, +The terror of women, and pleasure of boys, +Like the fiction of poets concerning the wind, +I'm chiefly unruly when strongest confined. +For silver and gold I don't trouble my head, +But all I delight in is pieces of lead; +Except when I trade with a ship or a town, +Why then I make pieces of iron go down. +One property more I would have you remark, +No lady was ever more fond of a spark; +The moment I get one my soul's all a-fire, +And I roar out my joy, and in transport expire. + + +ON THE FIVE SENSES. + +All of us in one you'll find, +Brethren of a wondrous kind; +Yet among us all no brother +Knows one title of the other; +We in frequent counsels are, +And our marks of things declare, +Where, to us unknown, a clerk +Sits, and takes them in the dark. +He's the register of all +In our ken, both great and small; +By us forms his laws and rules, +He's our master, we his tools; +Yet we can with greatest ease +Turn and wind him where you please. + One of us alone can sleep, +Yet no watch the rest will keep, +But the moment that he closes, +Every brother else reposes. + If wine's bought or victuals drest, +One enjoys them for the rest. + Pierce us all with wounding steel, +One for all of us will feel. + Though ten thousand cannons roar, +Add to them ten thousand more, +Yet but one of us is found +Who regards the dreadful sound. + + +ON SNOW. + +From Heaven I fall, though from earth I begin. +No lady alive can show such a skin. +I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather, +But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together. +Though candor and truth in my aspect I bear, +Yet many poor creatures I help to insnare. +Though so much of Heaven appears in my make, +The foulest impressions I easily take. +My parent and I produce one another, +The mother the daughter, the daughter the mother. + + +ON A CANDLE. + +Of all inhabitants on earth, +To man alone I owe my birth, +And yet the cow, the sheep, the bee, +Are all my parents more than he: +I, a virtue, strange and rare, +Make the fairest look more fair; +And myself, which yet is rarer, +Growing old, grow still the fairer. +Like sots, alone I'm dull enough, +When dosed with smoke, and smear'd with snuff; +But, in the midst of mirth and wine, +I with double luster shine. +Emblem of the Fair am I, +Polish'd neck, and radiant eye; +In my eye my greatest grace, +Emblem of the Cyclops' race; +Metals I like them subdue, +Slave like them to Vulcan too; +Emblem of a monarch old, +Wise, and glorious to behold; +Wasted he appears, and pale, +Watching for the public weal: +Emblem of the bashful dame, +That in secret feeds her flame, +Often aiding to impart +All the secrets of her heart; +Various is my bulk and hue, +Big like Bess, and small like Sue: +Now brown and burnish'd like a nut, +At other times a very slut; +Often fair, and soft and tender, +Taper, tall, and smooth, and slender: +Like Flora, deck'd with various flowers +Like Phoebus, guardian of the hours: +But whatever be my dress, +Greater be my size or less, +Swelling be my shape or small +Like thyself I shine in all. +Clouded if my face is seen, +My complexion wan and green, +Languid like a love-sick maid, +Steel affords me present aid. +Soon or late, my date is done, +As my thread of life is spun; +Yet to cut the fatal thread +Oft revives my drooping head; +Yet I perish in my prime, +Seldom by the death of time; +Die like lovers as they gaze, +Die for those I live to please; +Pine unpitied to my urn, +Nor warm the fair for whom I burn; +Unpitied, unlamented too, +Die like all that look on you. + + +ON A CORKSCREW. + +Though I, alas! a prisoner be, +My trade is prisoners to set free. +No slave his lord's commands obeys +With such insinuating ways. +My genius piercing, sharp, and bright, +Wherein the men of wit delight. +The clergy keep me for their ease, +And turn and wind me as they please. +A new and wondrous art I show +Of raising spirits from below; +In scarlet some, and some in white; +They rise, walk round, yet never fright +In at each mouth the spirits pass, +Distinctly seen as through a glass. +O'er head and body make a rout, +And drive at last all secrets out; +And still, the more I show my art, +The more they open every heart. + A greater chemist none than I +Who, from materials hard and dry, +Have taught men to extract with skill +More precious juice than from a still. + Although I'm often out of case, +I'm not ashamed to show my face. +Though at the tables of the great +I near the sideboard take my seat; +Yet the plain 'squire, when dinner's done, +Is never pleased till I make one; +He kindly bids me near him stand, +And often takes me by the hand. + I twice a-day a-hunting go, +And never fail to seize my foe; +And when I have him by the poll, +I drag him upward from his hole; +Though some are of so stubborn kind, +I'm forced to leave a limb behind. + I hourly wait some fatal end; +For I can break, but scorn to bend. + + +AN ECHO. + +Never sleeping, still awake, +Pleasing most when most I speak; +The delight of old and young, +Though I speak without a tongue. +Nought but one thing can confound me, +Many voices joining round me; +Then I fret, and rave, and gabble, +Like the laborers of Babel. +Now I am a dog, or cow, +I can bark, or I can low; +I can bleat, or I can sing, +Like the warblers of the spring. +Let the love-sick bard complain, +And I mourn the cruel pain; +Let the happy swain rejoice, +And I join my helping voice: +Both are welcome, grief or joy, +I with either sport and toy. +Though a lady, I am stout, +Drums and trumpets bring me out: +Then I clash, and roar, and rattle, +Join in all the din of battle. +Jove, with all his loudest thunder, +When I'm vexed can't keep me under, +Yet so tender is my ear, +That the lowest voice I fear; +Much I dread the courtier's fate, +When his merit's out of date, +For I hate a silent breath, +And a whisper is my death. + + +ON THE VOWELS. + +We are little airy creatures, +All of different voice and features; +One of us in glass is set, +One of us you'll find in jet. +T'other you may see in tin, +And the fourth a box within. +If the fifth you should pursue, +It can never fly from you. + + +ON A PAIR OF DICE. + +We are little brethren twain, +Arbiters of loss and gain, +Many to our counters run, +Some are made, and some undone: +But men find it to their cost, +Few are made, but numbers lost. +Though we play them tricks forever, +Yet they always hope our favor. + + +ON A SHADOW IN A GLASS. + +By something form'd, I nothing am, +Yet every thing that you can name; +In no place have I ever been, +Yet everywhere I may be seen; +In all things false, yet always true, +I'm still the same--but ever now. +Lifeless, life's perfect form I wear, +Can show a nose, eye, tongue, or ear, +Yet neither smell, see, taste, nor hear. +All shapes and features I can boast, +No flesh, no bones, no blood-no ghost: +All colors, without paint, put on, +And change, like the chameleon. +Swiftly I come, and enter there, +Where not a chink lets in the air; +Like thought, I'm in a moment gone, +Nor can I ever be alone: +All things on earth I imitate +Faster than nature can create; +Sometimes imperial robes I wear, +Anon in beggar's rags appear; +A giant now, and straight an elf, +I'm every one, but ne'er myself; +Ne'er sad I mourn, ne'er glad rejoice, +I move my lips, but want a voice, +I ne'er was born, nor ne'er can die, +Then, pr'ythee, tell me what am I? + + +ON TIME. + +Ever eating, ever cloying, +All-devouring, all-destroying +Never finding full repast, +Till I eat the world at last. + + + +CATALOGUE OF SOURCES + + + +ADDISON, JOSEPH--The Essayist of the "Spectator;" born 1632 died 1708. +Addison, though one of the most celebrated of English humorists, wrote +scarcely a line of humorous verse. + +ALLINGHAM, WILLIAM--An American writer; contributor to "Putnam's +Magazine;" author of a volume of poems recently published in Hartford. + +ANONYMOUS--To Punch's Almanac, for 1856, we are indebted for an account +of this prolific writer: + +"Of Anon," says Punch, "but little is known, though his works are +excessively numerous. He has dabbled in every thing. Prose and Poetry +are alike familiar to his pen. One moment he will be up the highest +flights of philosophy, and the next he will be down in some kitchen +garden of literature, culling an Enormous Gooseberry, to present it to +the columns of some provincial newspaper. His contributions are +scattered wherever the English language is read. Open any volume of +Miscellanies at any place you will, and you are sure to fall upon some +choice little bit signed by 'Anon.' What a mind his must have been! It +took in every thing like a pawnbroker's shop. Nothing was too trifling +for its grasp. Now he was hanging on to the trunk of an elephant and +explaining to you how it was more elastic than a pair of India-rubber +braces; and next he would be constructing a suspension bridge with a +series of monkey's tails, tying them together as they do pocket- +handkerchief's in the gallery of a theater when they want to fish up a +bonnet that has fallen into the pit. + +"Anon is one of our greatest authors. If all the things which are +signed with Anon's name were collected on rows of shelves, he would +require a British Museum all to himself. And yet of this great man so +little is known that we are not even acquainted with his Christian +name. There is no certificate of baptism, no moldy tombstone, no musty +washing-bill in the world on which we can hook the smallest line of +speculation whether it was John, or James, or Joshua, or Tom, or Dick, +or Billy Anon. Shame that a man should write so much, and yet be known +so little. Oblivion uses its snuffers, sometimes, very unjustly. On +second thoughts, perhaps, it is as well that the works of Anon were not +collected together. His reputation for consistency would not probably +be increased by the collection. It would be found that frequently he +had contradicted himself---that in many instances when he had been +warmly upholding the Christian white of a question he had afterward +turned round, and maintained with equal warmth the Pagan black of it. +He might often be discovered on both sides of a truth, jumping boldly +from the right side over to the wrong, and flinging big stones at any +one who dared to assail him in either position. Such double-sidedness +would not be pretty, and yet we should be lenient to such +inconsistencies. With one who had written so many thousand volumes, who +had twirled his thoughts as with a mop on every possible subject, how +was it possible to expect any thing like consistency? How was it likely +that he could recollect every little atom out of the innumerable atoms +his pen had heaped up? + +"Anon ought to have been rich, but he lived in an age when piracy was +the fashion, and when booksellers walked about, as it were, like Indian +chiefs with the skulls of the authors they had slain, hung round their +necks. No wonder, therefore, that we know nothing of the wealth of +Anon. Doubtless he died in a garret, like many other kindred spirits, +Death being the only score out of the many knocking at his door that he +could pay. But to his immortal credit let it be said he has filled more +libraries than the most generous patrons of literature. The volumes +that formed the fuel of the barbarians' bonfire at Alexandria would be +but a small book-stall by the side of the octavos, quartos, and +duodecimos he has pyramidized on our book-shelves. Look through any +catalogue you will, and you will find that a large proportion of the +works in it have been contributed by Anon. The only author who can in +the least compete with him in fecundity is Ibid." + +ANTI-JACOBIN, THE---Perhaps the most famous collection of Political +Satires extant. Originated by Canning in 1797, it appeared in the form +of a weekly newspaper, interspersed with poetry, the avowed object of +which was to expose the vicious doctrines of the French Revolution, and +to hold up to ridicule and contempt the advocates of that event, and +the sticklers for peace and parliamentary reform. The editor was +William Gifford, the vigorous and unscrupulous critic and poetaster the +writers, Mr. John Hookham Frere, Mr. Jenkinson (afterward Earl of +Liverpool); Mr. George Ellis, Lord Clare, Lord Mornington (afterward +Marquis Wellesley), Lord Morpeth (afterward Earl of Carlisle), Baron +Macdonald, and others. These gentlemen spared no means, fair or foul, +in their attempts to blacken their adversaries. Their most +distinguished countrymen, if opposed to the Tory government of the time +being, were treated with no more respect than foreign adversaries, and +were held up to public execration as traitors, blasphemers, and +debauchees. The period was one of great political excitement, a fierce +war with republican France being in progress, the necessity for which +divided the public into two great parties; national credit being +affected, the Bank of England suspending cash payments, mutinies +breaking out in the fleets at Spithead and the Nore, and Ireland at the +verge of rebellion. Spain, also, had declared war against Britain, +which was thus left to contend singly against the power of France. +Party feeling running very high, the anti-Jacobins were by no means +discriminating in their attacks, associating men together who really +had nothing in common. Hence the reader is surprised to find Charles +Lamb and other non-intruders into politics, figuring as congenial +conspirators with Tom Paine. Fox, Sheridan, Erskine, and other eloquent +liberals of the day, with Tierney, Home Tooke, and Coleridge were at +the same tune writing and talking in the opposite extreme, and little +quarter was given--certainly none on the part of the Tory wits. The +poetry of the "Anti-Jacobin," however, was not exclusively political, +comprising also parodies and burlesques on the current literature of +the day, some being of the highest degree of merit, and distinguished +by sharp wit and broad humor of the happiest kind. In these, Canning +and his coadjutors did a real service to letters, and assisted in a +purification which Gifford, by his demolition of the Delia Cruscan +school of poetry had so well begun. Perhaps no lines in the English +language have been more effective or oftener quoted than Canning's +"Friend of Humanity and the Knife Grinder." Many of the celebrated +caricatures of Gilray were originally designed to illustrate the Poetry +of the Anti-Jacobin. It had, however, but a brief, though brilliant +existence. Wilberforce and others of the more moderate supporters of +the ministry became alarmed at the boldness of the language employed. +Pitt (himself a contributor to the journal), was induced to interfere, +and after a career of eight months, the "Anti-Jacobin" (in its original +form), ceased to be. + +AYTOUN, WILLIAM--Professor of Polite Literature in the Edinburg +University: editor of "Blackwood's Magazine:" son-in-law of the late +Professor Wilson. Professor Aytoun was bred to the bar but, we believe, +never came into practice. He is tha author of several humorous pieces, +and of many in which the intention to be humorous was not realized. He +is what the English call a very CLEVER man. Like many others who excel +in ridicule and sarcasm, he is devoid of that kind of moral principle +which makes a writer prefer the Just to the Dashing. Aytoun is a fierce +Tory in politics--a snob on principle. The specimens of his humorous +poetry contained in this collection were taken from the "Ballads of Bon +Gaultier," and the "Idees Napoleoniennes," editions of both of which +have been published in this country. + +BARHAM, REV. RICHARD HARRIS--Author of the celebrated "Ingoldsby +Legends," published originally in "Bentley's Miscellany," afterward +collected and published in three volumes, with a memoir by a son of the +author. + +Mr. Barham was born at Canterbury, England, December 6th, 1788. His +family is of great antiquity, having given its name to the well-known +"Barham Downs," between Dover and Canterbury. He was educated at St. +Paul's School in Canterbury, where he made the acquaintance of Richard +Bentley, who afterward became his publisher. From this school, he wont +to Oxford, entering Brazennose College, as a gentleman commoner, where +he met Theodore Hook, and formed a friendship with that prince of wits +which terminated only with Hook's life. At the University, Barham led +a wild, dissipated life--as the bad custom then was--and was noted as a +wit and good fellow. Being called to account, on one occasion, by his +tutor for his continued absence from morning prayer, Barham replied, + +"The fact is, sir, you are too LATE for me." + +"Too late?" exclaimed the astonished tutor. + +"Yes, sir," rejoined the student, "I can not sit up till seven o'clock +in the morning. I am a man of regular habits, and unless I get to bed +by four or five, I am fit for nothing the next day." + +The tutor took this jovial reply seriously, and Barham perceiving that +he was really wounded, offered a sincere apology, and afterward +attended prayers more regularly. + +Entering the church, he devoted himself to his clerical duties with +exemplary assiduity, and obtained valuable preferment, rising at length +to be one of the Canons of St. Paul's Cathedral. This office brought +him into relations with Sydney Smith, with whom, though Barham was a +Tory, he had much convivial intercourse. + +Very early in life Mr. Barham became an occasional contributor to +Blackwood's Magazine, then in the prime of its vigorous youth. The +series of contributions called "Family Poetry," which appear in the +volumes for 1823, and subsequent years, were by him. Most of those +humorous effusions have been transferred to this volume. In 1837 Mr. +Bentley established his "Miscellany," and secured the services of his +friend Barham, who, up to this time was unknown to the general public, +though he had been for nearly twenty years a successful writer. The +"Ingoldsby Legends" now appeared in rapid succession, and proved so +popular that their author soon became one of the recognized wits of the +day. A large number of these unique and excellent productions enrich +the present collection, "As respects these poems," says Mr. Barham's +biographer, "remarkable as they have been pronounced for the wit and +humor which they display, their distinguishing attractions lies in the +almost unparalleled flow and felicity of the versification. Popular +phrases, sentences the most prosaic, even the cramped technicalities of +legal diction, and snatches from well-nigh every language, are wrought +in with an apparent absence of all art and effort that surprises, +pleases, and convulses the reader at every turn. The author triumphs +with a master hand over every variety of stanza, however complicated or +exacting; not a word seems out of place, not an expression forced; +syllables the most intractable, and the only partners fitted for them +throughout the range of language are coupled together as naturally as +those kindred spirits which poets tell us were created pairs, and +dispersed in space to seek out their particular mates. A harmony +pervades the whole, a perfect modulation of numbers, never, perhaps, +surpassed, and rarely equaled in compositions of their class. This was +the forte of Thomas Ingoldsby; a harsh line or untrue rhyme grated on +his ear like the Shandean hinge." These observations are just. As a +rhymer, Mr. Barham has but one equal in English literature--Byron. + +Mr. Barham died at London on the 17th of June, 1845, in the +fifty-seventh year of his age. He was an extremely amiable, +benevolent character. It does not appear that his love of the +humorous was ever allowed to interfere with the performance of his +duties as a clergyman. Without being a great preacher, he was a +faithful and kindly pastor, never so much in his element as when +ministering to the distresses, or healing the differences of his +parishioners. Unlike his friend, Sydney Smith, he was singularly fond +of the drama, and for many years was a member of the Garrick Club. He +was one of the few English writers of humorous verse, ALL of whose +writings may be read aloud by a father to his family, and in whose +wit there was no admixture of gall. + +"BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY"--A London Monthly Magazine, founded about twenty +years ago by Mr. Bentley, the publisher. Charles Dickens, and the +author of the Ingoldsby Legends were among the first contributors. + +BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE--First appeared in April, 1817 Founded by William +Blackwood, a shrewd Edinburgh bookseller. Its literary ability and +fierce political partisanship, soon placed it fore-most in the ranks of +Tory periodicals. Perhaps no magazine has ever achieved such celebrity, +or numbered such a host of illustrious contributors. John Wilson, the +world-famous "Christopher North," was the virtual, though not nominal +editor, Blackwood himself retaining that title. It would be a long task +to enumerate all, who, from the days of Sir Walter Scott and the +Ettrick Shepherd, to those of Bulwer and Charles Mackay, have appeared +in its columns. Maginn, Lockhart, Gillies, Moir, Landor, Wordsworth, +Coleridge, Lamb, Bowles, Barry Cornwall, Gleig, Hamilton, Aird, Sym, De +Quincey, Allan Cunningham, Mrs. Hemans, Jerrold, Croly, Warren, +Ingoldsby (Barham), Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Milnes, and many +others, of scarcely less note, found in Blackwood scope for their +productions, whether of prose or verse. In its early days much of +personality and sarcasm marked its pages, savage onslaughts on Leigh +Hunt, and "the Cockney School of Literature," alternating with attacks +on the Edinburgh Review, the Quarterly, and all Whigs and Whig +productions whatever. The celebrated Noctes Ambrosianae, a series of +papers containing probably more learning, wit, eloquence, eccentricity, +humor, and personality than have ever appeared elsewhere, formed part +of the individuality of Blackwood. They were written by Wilson, Maginn, +Lockhart, and Hogg, the two first named (and especially Wilson), having +the pre-eminence. To the New York edition of this work, by Dr. Shelton +Mackenzie (whose notes contain a perfect mine of information), we refer +the reader for further particulars relative to Blackwood. + +BROUGHAM, LORD--The well-known member of the English House of Peers. It +seems, from some jocularities attributed to his lordship, that he adds +to his many other claims to distinction that of being a man of wit. + +BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN--The most celebrated of American poets. Editor +of the "New York Evening Post." Born 1794. + +BURNS, ROBERT--Born 1750, died 1796. The best loved, most national, +most independent, truest, and greatest of Scottish poets, of whom to +say more here were an impertinence. + +BUTLER, SAMUEL--Born in 1612; the son of a substantial farmer in +Worcestershire, England. Very little is known of the earlier portion of +his life, as he had reached the age of fifty before he was so much as +heard of by his contemporaries. He appears to have received a good +education at the cathedral school of his native county, and to have +filled various situations, as clerk in the service of Thomas Jeffries +of Earl's Croombe, secretary to the Countess of Kent, and general man +of business to Sir Samuel Luke, of Cople Hoo, Bedfordshire, who, it is +said, served as the model for his hero, Hudibras. The first part of +this singular poem was published at the close of 1662, and met with +extraordinary success. Its wit, its quaint sense and learning, its +passages of sarcastic reflection on all manner of topics, and above +all, its unsparing ridicule of men and things on the Puritan side, +combined to render it a general favorite. The reception of Part II., +which appeared a year subsequent, was equally flattering. Yet its +author seems to have fallen into the greatest poverty and obscurity, +from which be never was enabled to emerge. It appears to have been his +strange fate to flash all at once into notoriety, which lasted +precisely two years, to fill the court and town during that time with +continuous laughter, intermingled with inquiries who and what he was, +and then for seventeen long years to plod on unknown and unregarded, +still hearing his Hudibras quoted, and still preparing more of it, or +matter similar, with no result. He died, in almost absolute +destitution, in 1680, and was buried at a friend's expense, in the +church-yard of St. Paul's, Covent Garden. + +BYROM--A noted English Jacobite. Born 1691. + +BYRON, GEORGE GORDON NOEL--Born 1788, died in Greece, 1824. Respecting +his celebrated Satire on the poet Rogers, which appears in this +collection, we read the following in a London periodical:--"The satire +on Rogers, by Lord Byron, is not surpassed for cool malignity, +dexterous portraiture, and happy imagery, in the whole compass of the +English language. It is said, and by those well informed, that Rogers +used to bore Byron while in Italy, by his incessant minute +dilettantism, and by visits at hours when Byron did not care to see +him. One of many wild freaks to repel his unreasonable visits was to +set his big dog at him. To a mind like Byron's, here was sufficient +provocation for a satire. The subject, too, was irresistible. Other +inducements were not wanting. No man indulged himself more in +sarcastic remarks on his cotemporaries than Mr. Rogers. He indulged +his wit at any sacrifice. He spared no one, and Byron, consequently +did not escape. Sarcastic sayings travel on electric wings--and one of +Rogers's personal and amusing allusions to Byron reached the ears of +the poetic pilgrim at Ravenna. Few characters can bear the microscopic +scrutiny of wit. Byron suffered. Fewer characters can bear its +microscopic scrutiny when quickened by anger, and Rogers suffered still +more severely. + +"This, the greatest of modern satirical portraits in verse, was written +before their final meeting at Bologna. Rogers was not aware that any +saying of his had ever reached the ear of Byron, and Byron never +published the verses on Rogers. They met like the handsome women +described by Cibber, who, though they wished one another at the devil, +are 'My dear,' and 'My dear,' whenever they meet. One doubtless +considered his saying as something to be forgotten, and the other his +verses as something not to be remembered. These verses are not included +in Byron's works, and are very little known." + +CHAUCER lived in the thirteenth century, dying in 1400. He is +designated the father of English poetry. The obsolete phraseology +of his writings, though presenting a barrier to general appreciation +and popularity, will never deter those who truly love the "dainties +that are bred in a book" from holding him in affection and reverence. +His chief work, the "Canterbury Pilgrimage," "well of English +undefiled" as it is, was written in the decline of life, when its +author had passed his sixtieth year. For catholicity of spirit, love +of nature, purity of thought, pathos, humor, subtle and minute +discrimination of character and power of expressing it, Chaucer has +one superior--Shakspeare. + +CHESTERFIELD, LORD--Born in 1694; died 1773. Courtier, statesman, and +man of the world; famous for many things, but known to literature +chiefly by his "Letters to his Son," which have formed three +generations of "gentlemen," and still exert great influence. +Chesterfield was a noted wit in his day, but most of his good things +have been lost. + +CLEVELAND, JOHN--A political writer of Charles the First's time; +author of several satirical pieces, now known only to the curious. +He died in 1659. + +COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR--Poet, plagiarist, and opium-eater. Born at +Bristol, in 1770. Died near London in 1834. He was a weak man of +genius, whose reputation, formerly immense, has declined since he has +been better known. But "Christabel" and the "Ancient Mariner," will +charm many generations of readers yet unborn. Most of the epigrams +which appear in his works are ADAPTED from Leasing. + +COWPER, WILLIAM--The gentle poet of religious England: born 1731; died +1800. Cowper was an elegant humorist, despite the gloominess of his +religious belief. It is said, however, that his most comic effusions +were written during periods of despondency. + +"CRUIKSHANK'S OMNIBUS"--A monthly Magazine, published at the period of +the artist's greatest celebrity, principally as a vehicle for his +pencil. Its editor was Laman Blanchard, a lively essayist, and amiable +man, whom anticipations of pecuniary distress subsequently goaded to +suicide. + +DEVREAUX, S. H.--An American scholar. Translator of "Yriarte's Fables," +recently published in Boston. + +ERSKINE, THOMAS--One of the most eminent of English lawyers. Born 1750; +died 1823. + +FIELDING, HENRY--The great English Humorist; author of "Tom Jones;" +born, 1707; died, 1754. + +GAY, JOHN--A poet and satirist of the days of Queen Anne. Born 1688; +died, 1732. His wit, gentleness, humor, and animal spirits appear to +have rendered him a general favorite. In worldly matters he was not +fortunate, losing 20,000 pounds by the South Sea bubble; nor did his +interest, which was by no means inconsiderable, succeed in procuring +him a place at court. He wrote fables, pastorals, the burlesque poem of +"Trivia," and plays, the most successful and celebrated of which is +the "Beggar's Opera." Of this work there exists a sequel or second +part, as full of wit and satire as the original, but much less known. +Its performance was suppressed by Walpole, upon whom it was supposed to +reflect. + +GRAY, THOMAS--Author of the "Elegy written in a Country Church-yard;" +Professor of Modern History in the University of Cambridge. Born in +London, 1716; died, 1771. Gray was learned in History, Architecture, +and Natural History. As a poet, he was remarkable for the labor +bestowed on his poems, for his reluctance to publish, and for the small +number of his compositions. Carlyle thinks he is the only English poet +who wrote less than he ought. + +HALPIX.----- --A writer for the press, a resident of New York, author +of "Lyrics by the Letter H," published a year or two since by Derby. + +HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL--A physician of Boston, Professor of Anatomy in +Harvard University; born at Cambridge, Mass., in 1809. Dr. Holmes's +humorous verses are too well known to require comment in this place. +His burlesque, entitled "Evening, by a Tailor," is very excellent of +its kind. + +HOOD, THOMAS--Author of the "Song of the Shirt," which Punch had the +honor of first publishing. Born in 1798; died in 1845. Hood was the son +of a London bookseller, and began life as a clerk. He became afterward +an engraver, but was drawn gradually into the literary profession, +which he exercised far more to the advantage of his readers than his +own. His later years were saddened by ill-health and poverty. Some of +his comic verses seem forced and contrived, as though done for needed +wages. Hood was one of the literary men who should have made of +literature a staff, not a crutch. It was in him to produce, like Lamb, +a few very admirable things, the execution of which should have been +the pleasant occupation of his leisure, not the toil by which he gained +his bread. + +HUNT, JAMES HENRY LEIGH--English Journalist and Poet. Born in 1784. His +father was a clergyman of the Established church, and a man of wit and +feeling. + +JOHNSON, DR. SAMUEL--Born 1709; died 1784. Critic, moralist, +lexicographer, and, above all, the hero of Boswell's Life of Johnson. +The ponderous philosopher did not disdain, occasionally, to give play +to his elephantine wit. + +JONSON, BEN--Born 1574; died 1637. Poet, playwright, and friend of +Shakspeare, in whose honor he has left a noble eulogium. A manly, +sturdy, laborious, English genius, of whose dramatic productions, +however, but one ("Every Man in his Humor") has retained possession of +the stage. He is also the author of some exquisite lyrics. +LAMB, CHARLES--Born in London, 1775; died, 1832. As a humorous +essayist, unrivaled and peculiar, he is known and loved by all who are +likely to possess this volume. + +LANDOR, WALTER SAVAGE--A living English writer of considerable +celebrity, author of "Imaginary Conversations," contributor to several +leading periodicals. Mr. Landor is now advanced in years. His humorous +verses are few, and not of striking excellence. + +"LANTERN," THE--A comic weekly, in imitation of "Punch," published in +this city a few years ago. The leading spirit of the "Lantern" was Mr. +John Brougham, the well-known dramatist and actor. + +"LEADER," THE--A London weekly newspaper, of liberal opinions; ably +written and badly edited, and, therefore, of limited circulation. + +LESSING, GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM--The well-known German author; born 1729; +died 1781. The epigrams of Lessing have been so frequently stolen by +English writers, that, perhaps, they may now be considered as belonging +to English literature, and hence entitled to a place in this +collection. At least we found the temptation to add them to our stock +irresistible. + +LINDSAY--A friend of Dean Swift. A polite and elegant scholar; an +eminent pleader at the bar in Dublin, and afterward advanced to be one +of the justices of the Common Pleas. + +LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL--The American Poet. Born at Boston, in the year +1819. To Mr. Lowell must be assigned a high, if not the highest place, +among American writers of humorous poetry. The Biglow Papers, from +which we have derived several excellent pieces for this volume, is one +of the most ingenious and well-sustained jeux d'esprit in existence. + +MAPES, WALTER DE--A noted clerical wit of Henry the Second's time. + +MOORE, THOMAS--The Irish poet; born at Dublin in the year 1780. Moore +has been styled the best writer of political squibs that ever lived. He +was employed to write comic verses on passing events, by the conductors +of the "London Times," in which journal many of his satirical poems +appeared. The political effusions that gave so much delight thirty +years ago are, however, scarcely intelligible to the present +generation, or if intelligible, not interesting. But Moore wrote many a +sprightly stanza, the humor of which does not depend for its effect +upon local or cotemporary allusions. This collection contains most of +them. + +MORRIS, GEORGE P--The father of polite journalism in this city, and the +most celebrated of American Song-writers. Born in Pennsylvania about +the beginning of the present century. + +"PERCY RELIQUES"--A celebrated collection of ancient ballads, edited +by Bishop Percy, a man of great antiquarian knowledge and poetic +taste. The publication of the "Percy Reliques" in the last century, +introduced the taste for the antique, which was gratified to the +utmost by Sir Walter Scott, and which has scarcely yet ceased to rage +in some quarters. + +PHILIPS, BARCLAY--A living English writer, of whom nothing is known in +this country. + +PINDAR, PETER--See Wolcott. + +POPE, ALEXANDER--The poet of the time of Queen Anne; author of the +"Dunciad," which has been styled the most perfect of satires. Born in +London, 1688; died, 1744. + +PRAED, WINTHROP MACKWORTH--An English poet, author of "Lillian," born +in London about the year 1800. Little is known of Mr. Praed in this +country, though it was here that his poems were first collected and +published in a volume. His family is of the aristocracy of the city, +where some of his surviving relations are still engaged in the +business of banking. At Eton, Praed was highly distinguished for his +literary talents. He was for some time the editor of "The Etonian," a +piquant periodical published by the students. From Eton he went to +Cambridge, where he won an unprecedented number of prizes for poems +and epigrams in Greek, Latin, and English. On returning to London, he +was associated with Thomas Babbington Macaulay in the editorship of +"Knight's Quarterly Magazine," after the discontinuance of which he +occasionally contributed to the "New Monthly." A few years before +his death, Mr. Praed became a member of Parliament, but owing to his +love of ease and society, obtained little distinction in that body. + +Mr. N. P. Willis thus writes of the poet as he appeared in society: +"We chance to have it in our power to say a word as to Mr. Praed's +personal appearance, manners, etc. It was our good fortune when first +in England (in 1834 or '35), to be a guest at the same hospitable +country-house for several weeks. The party there assembled was +somewhat a femous one-Miss Jane Porter, Miss Julia Pardoe, Krazinski +(the Polish historian), Sir Gardiner Wilkinson (the Oriental traveler), +venerable Lady Cork ('Lady Bellair' of D'lsraeli's novel), and several +persons more distinguished in society than in literature. Praed, we +believe, had not been long married, but he was there with his wife. He +was apparently about thirty-five, tall, and of dark complexion, with a +studious bend in his shoulders, and of irregular features strongly +impressed with melancholy. His manners were particularly reserved, +though as unassuming as they could well be. His exquisitely beautiful +poem of 'Lillian' was among the pet treasures of the lady of the house, +and we had all been indulged with a sight of it, in a choicely bound +manuscript copy--but it was hard to make him confess to any literary +habits or standing. As a gentleman of ample means and retired life, the +land of notice drawn upon him by the admiration of this poem, seemed +distasteful. His habits were very secluded. We only saw him at table +and in the evening; and, for the rest of the day, he was away in the +remote walks and woods of the extensive park around the mansion, +apparently more fond of solitude than of anything else. Mr. Praed's +mind was one of wonderful readiness--rhythm and rhyme coming to him +with the flow of an improvisatore. The ladies of the party made the +events of every day the subjects of charades, epigrams, sonnets, etc., +with the design of suggesting inspiration to his ready pen; and he was +most brilliantly complying, with treasures for each in her turn." + +Mr. Praed died on the 15th of July, 1839, without having accomplished +any thing worthy the promise of his earlier years--another instance of +Life's reversing the judgment of College. As a writer of agreeable +trifles for the amusement of the drawing-room, he has had few +superiors, and it is said that a large number of his impromptu +effusions are still in the possession of his friends unpublished. Two +editions of his poems have appeared in New York, one by Langley in +1844, and another by Redfield a few years later. + +PRIOR, MATTHEW--Born 1664; died 1721. A wit and poet of no small genius +and good nature--one of the minor celebrities of the days of Queen +Anne. His "Town and Country Mouse," written to ridicule of Dryden's +famous "Hind and Panther," procured him the appointment of Secretary of +Embassy at the Hague, and he subsequently rose to be ambassador at +Paris. Suffering disgrace with his patrons he was afterward recalled, +and received a pension from the University of Oxford, up to the time of +his death. + +"PUNCH"--Commenced in July, 1841, making its appearance just at the +close of the Whig ministry, under Lord Melbourne, and the accession of +the Tories, headed by Sir Robert Peel. Originated by a circle of wits +and literary men who frequented the "Shakspeare's Head," a tavern in +Wych-street, London. Mark Lemon, the landlord was, and still is, its +editor. He is of Jewish descent, and had some reputation for ability +with his pen, having been connected with other journals, and also +written farces and dramatic pieces. Punch's earliest contributors were +Douglas Jerrold, Albert Smith, Gilbert Abbot a'Beckett Hood and Maginn- +Thackeray's debut occurring in the third volume. It is said that one +evening each week was especially devoted to a festive meeting of these +writers, where, Lernon presiding, they deliberated as to the conduct +and course of the periodical. "Punch," however, was at first not +successful, and indeed on the point of being abandoned as a bad +speculation, when Messrs. Bradbury and Evans, two aspiring printers, +now extensive publishers, purchased it at the very moderate price of +one hundred pounds, since which time it has continued their property, +and a valuable one. In those days it presented a somewhat different +appearance from the present, being more closely printed, finer type +used, and the illustrations (with the exception of small, black, +silhouette cuts, after the style of those in similar French +publications), were comparatively scanty. Soon, however, "Punch" throve +apace, amply meriting its success. To Henning's drawings (mostly those +of a political nature), were added those of Leech, Kenny Meadows, Phiz +(H. K. Browne), Gilbert, Alfred Crowquill (Forrester), and +others--Doyle's pencil not appearing till some years later. Chief of +these gentlemen in possession of the peculiar artistic ability which +has identified itself with "Punch" is unquestionably Mr. John Leech, +of whom we shall subsequently speak, at greater length. He has remained +constant to the journal from its first volume. +Jerrold's writings date from the commencement. Many essays and satiric +sketches over fancy signatures, are from his pen. His later and longer +productions, extending through many volumes, are "Punch's Letters to +his Son," "Punch's Complete Letter Writer," "Twelve Labors of +Hercules," "Autobiography of Tom Thumb," "Mrs. Caudle's Curtain +Lectures," "Capsicum House for Young Ladies," "Our Little Bird," "Mrs. +Benimble's Tea and Toast," "Miss Robinson Crusoe," and "Mrs. Bib's +Baby," the last two of which were never completed. During the +publication of the "Caudle Lectures," "Punch" reached the highest +circulation it has attained. We have the authority of a personal friend +of the author for the assertion that their heroine was no fictitious +one. The lectures were immensely popular, Englishmen not being slow to +recognize in Jerold's caustic portraiture the features of a very +formidable household reality. But with the ladies Mrs. Caudle proved no +favorite, nor, in their judgment, did the "Breakfast-Table-Talk," of +the Henpecked Husband (subsequently published in the Almanac of the +current year), make amends for the writer's former productions. +Albert Smith's contributions to the pages of "Punch," were the +"Physiologies of the London Medical Student," "London Idler," and +"Evening Parties," with other miscellaneous matter. Much of the +author's own personal experience is probably comprised in the former, +and his fellow-students and intimates at Middlesex Hospital were at no +loss to identify the majority of the characters introduced. Mr. Smith's +connection with "Punch" was not of long continuance. A severe criticism +appearing subsequently in its columns, on his novel of the "Marchioness +of Brinvilliers" (published in "Bentley's Miscellany," of which journal +he was then editor), he, in retaliation, made an onslaught on "Punch" +in another story, the "Pottleton Legacy," where it figures under the +title of the Cracker. + +Mr. Gilbert a'Beckett, who had before been engaged in many unsuccessful +periodicals, found in "Punch" ample scope for his wit and extraordinary +faculty of punning. In "The Comic Blackstone," "Political Dictionary," +"Punch's Noy's Maxims," and the "Autobiography, and other papers +relating to Mr. Briefless," he put his legal knowledge to a comic use. +Many fugitive minor pieces have also proceeded from his pen, and he has +but few equals in that grotesque form of hybrid poetry known as +Macaronic. He is now a London magistrate, and PAR EXCELLENCE, the +punster of "Punch." + +The Greek versions of sundry popular ballads, such as "The King of the +Cannibal Islands," were the work of Maginn. Hood's world-famous "Song +of the Shirt," first appeared in "Punch's" pages. + +Thackeray has also been an industrious contributor, Commencing with +"Miss Tickletoby's Lectures" (an idea afterward carried out in a +somewhat different fashion by a'Beckett in his "Comic History of +England"), he, besides miscellaneous writings, produced the "Snob +Papers," "Jeames's Diary," "Punch in the East," "Punch's Prose +Novelists," "The Traveler in London," "Mr. Brown's Letters to a Young +Man about Town," and "The Proser." Of the merits of these works it is +unnecessary to speak. The "Book of Snobs" may rank with its author's +most finished productions. "Jeames's Diary," suggested by the +circumstance of a May-fair footman achieving sudden affluence by +railroad speculations during the ruinously exciting period of 1846, +may, however, be considered only a further carrying out of the original +idea of "Charles Yellowplush." A ballad in it, "The Lines to my +Sister's Portrait," is said, to use a vulgar, though expressive phrase, +to have SHUT UP Lord John Manners, who had achieved some small +reputation as "one of the Young England poits." Thackeray parodied his +style, and henceforth the voice of the minstrel was dumb in the land. +Like Jerrold's "Caudle Lectures," of which many versions appeared at +the London theaters, Jeames's adventures were dramatized. The "Prose +Novelists" contain burlesque imitations of Bulwer, D'Israeli, Lever, +James, Fennimore Cooper, and Mrs. Gore. The illustrations accompanying +Thackeray's publications in "Punch," are by his own hand, as are also +many other sketches scattered throughout the volumes. They may be +generally distinguished by the insertion of a pair of spectacles in +the corner. His articles, too, frequently bear the signature "SPEC." +Not until the commencement of 1855 did Thackeray relinquish his +connection with "Punch." An allusion to this, from his pen, contained +in an essay on the genius of Leech, and published in the "Westminster +Review," was commented upon very bitterly by Jerrold, in a notice of +the article which appeared in "Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper," of which he +is editor. + +During the last five years, other writers, among which may be +enumerated the Mayhew brothers, Mr. Tom Taylor, Angus Reach, and +Shirley Brooks, have found a field for their talents in "Punch.'Only +Jerrold, a'Beckett, and the editor, Mark Lemon, remain of the +original contributors. Its course has been a varied, but perfectly +independent one, generally, however, following the lead of the +almighty "Times," that glory and shame of English journalism, on +political questions. In earlier days it was every way more democratic, +and the continuous ridicule both of pen and pencil directed against +Prince Albert, was said to have provoked so much resentment on the part +of the Queen, that she proposed interference to prevent the artist +Doyle supplying two frescos to the pavilion at Buckingham Palace. +"Punch's" impartiality has been shown by attacks on the extremes and +absurdities of all parties, and there can be little question that it +has had considerable influence in producing political reform, and a +large and liberal advocacy of all popular questions. In behalf of that +great change of national policy, the repeal of the Corn Laws, "Punch" +fought most vigorously, not, however, forgetting to bestow a few raps +of his baton on the shoulders of the Premier whose wisdom or sense of +expediency induced such sudden tergiversation as to bring it about. +O'Connell's blatant and venal patriotism was held up to merited +derision, which his less wary, but more honest followers in agitation, +O'Brien, Meagher, and Mitchell, equally shared. Abolition (or at least +modification) of the Game Laws, and of the penalty of death, found +championship in "Punch," though the latter was summarily dropped upon a +change in public opinion, perhaps mainly induced by one of Carlyle's +"Latter Day" pamphlets. "Punch" has repeatedly experienced (and +merited) the significant honor of being denied admission to the +dominions of continental monarchs. Louis Philippe interdicted its +presence in France, even (if we recollect aright) before the Spanish +marriage had provoked its fiercest attacks--subsequently, however, +withdrawing his royal veto. In Spain, Naples, the Papal Dominions, +those of Austria, Russia, and Prussia, the hunch-backed jester has been +often under ban as an unholy thing, or only tolerated in a mutilated +form. Up to the commencement of the late war, strict measures of this +kind were in operation upon the Russian frontier, but "Punch" now is +freely accorded ingress in the Czar's dominions--probably as a means of +keeping up the feeling of antagonism toward England. + +Its success has provoked innumerable rivals and imitators, from the +days of "Judy," "Toby," "The Squib," "Joe Miller," "Great Gun," and +"Puppet-Show," to those of "Diogenes" and" "Falstaff." None +haveachieved permanent popularity, and future attempts would most +likely be +attended with similar failure, as "Punch" has a firm hold on the +likings of the English people, and especially Londoners. It fairly +amounts to one of their institutions. Like all journals of merit and +independence, it has had its law troubles, more than one action for +libel having been commenced against it. James Silk Buckingham, the +traveler and author, took this course, in consequence of the +publication of articles disparaging a club of his originating, known as +the "British and Foreign Institute." A Jew clothes-man, named Hart, +obtained a small sum as damages from "Punch." But Alfred Bunn, lessee +of Drury Lane Theater, libretto-scribbler, and author of certain trashy +theatrical books, though most vehemently "pitched into," resorted to +other modes than legal redress. He produced a pamphlet of a shape and +appearance closely resembling his tormentor, filled not only with +quizzical, satirical, and rhyming articles directed against Lemon, +a'Beckett, and Jerrold (characterizing them as Thick-head, Sleek-head, +and Wrong-head), but with caricature cuts of each. Whether in direct +consequence or not, it is certain that "the poet Bunn" was unmolested +in future. + +Our notice would scarcely be complete without a few lines devoted to +the "Punch" artists, and more especially John Leech. Doyle (the son of +H. B., the well-known political caricaturist), whose exquisite +burlesque medieval drawings illustrative of the "Manners and Customs of +ye Englishe," will be remembered by all familiar with "Punch's" pages, +relinquished his connection with the journal and the yearly salary of +eight hundred pounds, in consequence of the Anti-papal onslaughts which +followed the nomination of Cardinal Wiseman to the (Catholic) +Archbishop of Westminster. The artist held the older faith, and was +also a personal friend of "His Eminence." His place was then filled by +John Tenniel, a historical painter, who had supplied a cartoon to the +Palace of Westminster, and is still employed on "Punch," he, in +conjunction with John Leech, and an occasional outsider, furnishing the +entire illustrations. John Leech, himself, to whom the periodical +unquestionably owes half its success, has been constant to "Punch" from +an early day. He has brought caricature into the region of the fine +arts, and become the very Dickens of the pencil in his portrayal of the +humorous side of life. Before his advent, comic drawing was confined to +very limited topics, OUTRE drawings and ugliness of features forming +the fun--such as it was. Seymour's "Cockney Sportsmen," and +Cruikshank's wider (yet not extensive) range of subjects, were then the +best things extant. How stands the case now? Let "Punch's" +twenty-nine volumes, with their ample store of pictorial mirth of +Leech's creating, so kindly, so honest, so pleasant and graceful, +answer. Contrast their blameless wit and humor with the equivoque +and foul double entendre of French drawings, and think of the +difference involuntarily suggested between the social atmospheres of +Paris and London. + +Leech is a good-looking fellow, approaching the age of forty, and not +unlike one of his own handsome "swells" in personal appearance. The +Royal Academy Exhibition of 1855 contained his portrait, painted by +Millais, the chief of the pre-Raphaelite artists, who is said to be his +friend. As may be gathered from his many sporting sketches, Leech is +fond of horses, and piques himself on "knowing the points" of a good +animal. (We may mention, by-the-by, that Mr. "Briggs" of equestrian +celebrity had his original on the Stock Exchange.) He in summer travels +considerably, forwarding his sketches to the "Punch" office, generally +penciling the accompanying words on the wood-block. In one of the past +volumes, dating some eight or ten years back, he has introduced himself +in a cut designated "our artist during the hot weather," wherein he +appears with his coat off, reclining upon a sofa, and informing a +pretty servant-girl who enters the room, that "he is busy." Quizzical +Portraits of the writers of "Punch" have been introduced in its pages. +In Jerrold's "Capsicum House" (vol. XII.), the author's portrait, +burlesqued into the figure of "Punch," occurs more than once. And a +double-page cut, entitled "Mr. Punch's Fancy Ball," in the early part +of the same volume, comprises sketches of the then entire corps of +contributors, artistic and literary. They are drawn as forming the +orchestra, Lemon conducting, Jerrold belaboring a big drum, Thackeray +playing on the flute, Leech the violin, and others extracting harmony +from divers musical instruments. Again they appear at a later date, as +a number of boys at play, in an illustration at the commencement of +Vol. XXVII. + +"Punch's" office is at 85 Fleet-street. The engraving, printing, and +stereotyping is performed at Lombard-street, Whitefriars, where its +proprietors have extensive premises. + +REJECTED ADDRESSES, by James and Horace Smith, published in London, +October, 1812. The most successful jeu d'esprit of modern times, having +survived the occasion that suggested it for nearly half a century, and +still being highly popular. It has run through twenty editions in +England, and three in America. The opening of Drury-lane theater in +1802, after having been burned and rebuilt, and the offering of a prize +of fifty pounds by the manager for the best opening address, were the +circumstances which suggested the production of the "Rejected +Addresses." The idea of the work was suddenly conceived, and it was +executed in six weeks. In the preface to the eighteenth London edition +the authors give an interesting statement of the difficulties they +encountered in getting the volume published: + +"Urged forward by our hurry, and trusting to chance, two very bad +coadjutors in any enterprise, we at length congratulated ourselves on +having completed our task in time to have it printed and published by +the opening of the theater. But, alas! our difficulties, so far from +being surmounted, seemed only to be beginning. Strangers to the arcana +of the bookseller's trade, and unacquainted with their almost +invincible objection to single volumes of low price, especially when +tendered by writers who have acquired no previous name, we little +anticipated that they would refuse to publish our 'Rejected Addresses,' +even although we asked nothing for the copyright. Such, however, proved +to be the case. Our manuscript was perused and returned to us by +several of the most eminent publishers. Well do we remember betaking +ourselves to one of the craft in Bond-street, whom we found in a back +parlor, with his gouty leg propped upon a cushion, in spite of which +warning he diluted his luncheon with frequent glasses of Madeira. 'What +have you already written?' was his first question, and interrogatory to +which we had been subjected in almost every instance. 'Nothing by which +we can be known.' 'Then I am afraid to undertake the publication.' We +presumed timidly to suggest that every writer must have a beginning, +and that to refuse to publish for him until he had acquired a name, was +to imitate the sapient mother who cautioned her son against going into +the water until he could swim. 'An old joke--a regular Joe!' exclaimed +our companion, tossing off another bumper. 'Still older than Joe +Miller,' was our reply; 'for, if we mistake not, it is the very first +anecdote in the facetiae of Hierocles.' 'Ha, sirs!' resumed the +bibliopolist, 'you are learned, are you? do, hoh!--Well, leave your +manuscript with me; I will look it over to-night, and give you an +answer to-morrow.' Punctual as the clock we presented ourselves at his +door on the following morning when our papers were returned to us with +the observation--'These trifles are really not deficient in smartness; +they are well, vastly well for beginners; but they will never +do--never. They would not pay for advertising, and without it I should +not sell fifty copies.' + +"This was discouraging enough. If the most experienced publishers +feared to be out of pocket by the work, it was manifest D FORTIORI, +that its writers ran a risk of being still more heavy losers, should +they undertake the publication on their own account. We had no +objection to raise a laugh at the expense of others; but to do it at +our own cost, uncertain as we were to what extent we might be involved, +had never entered into our contemplation. In this dilemma, our +'Addresses,' now in every sense rejected, might probably have never +seen the light, had not some good angel whispered us to betake +ourselves to Mr. John Miller, a dramatic publisher, then residing in +Bow-street, Covent Garden. No sooner had this gentleman looked over our +manuscript, than he immediately offered to take upon himself all the +risk of publication, and to give us half the profits, SHOULD THERE BE +ANY; a liberal proposition, with which we gladly closed. So rapid and +decided was its success, at which none were more unfeignedly astonished +than its authors, that Mr. Miller advised us to collect some +'Imitations of Horace,' which had appeared anonymously in the 'Monthly +Mirror,' offering to publish them upon the same terms. We did so +accordingly; and as new editions of the 'Rejected Addresses' were +called for in quick succession, we were shortly enabled to sell our +half copyright in the two works to Mr. Miller, for one thousand pounds! +We have entered into this unimportant detail, not to gratify any +vanity of our own, but to encourage such literary beginners as may +be placed in similar circumstances; as well as to impress upon +publishers the propriety of giving more consideration to the possible +merit of the works submitted to them, than to the mere magic of a +name." + +The authors add, that not one of the poets whom they "audaciously +burlesqued," took offense at the ludicrous imitation of their style. +From "Sir Walter Scott," they observe, "we received favors and notice, +both public and private, which it will be difficult to forget, because +we had not the smallest claim upon his kindness. 'I certainly must have +written this myself!' said that fine tempered man to one of the +authors, pointing to the description of the Fire, 'although I forgot +upon what occasion.' Lydia White, a literary lady, who was prone to +feed the lions of the day, invited one of us to dinner; but, +recollecting afterward that William Spencer formed one of the party, +wrote to the latter to put him off; telling him that a man was to be at +her table whom he 'would not like to meet.' 'Pray who is this whom I +should not like to meet?' inquired the poet 'O!' answered the lady, +'one of those men who have made that shameful attack upon you!' 'The +very man upon earth. I should like to know!' rejoined the lively and +careless bard. The two individuals accordingly met, and have continued +fast friends over since. Lord Byron, too, wrote thus to Mr. Murray +from Italy: 'Tell him we forgive him, were he twenty times our +satirist.' + +"It may not be amiss to notice, in this place, one criticism of a +Leicester clergyman, which may be pronounced unique: 'I do not see why +they should have been rejected,' observed the matter-of-fact annotator; +'I think some of them very good!' Upon the whole, few have been the +instances, in the acrimonious history of literature, where a malicious +pleasantry like the 'Rejected Addresses'--which the parties ridiculed +might well consider more annoying than a direct satire--instead of +being met by querulous bitterness or petulant retaliation, has procured +for its authors the acquaintance, or conciliated the good-will, of +those whom they had the most audaciously burlesqued." + +James Smith died in London on the 29th of December, 1836, in the +sixty-fourth year of his age. His brother survived him many years. Both +were admired and ever-welcome members of the best society of London. + +ROGERS, SAMUEL--The English poet and banker, recently deceased. Author +of a "pretty poem," entitled, "The Pleasures of Memory." In his old +age, he was noted for the bitter wit of his conversation. + +SAXE, JOHN G--Editor of the "Burlington Gazette," and "Wandering +Minstrel." The witty poems of Mr. Saxe are somewhat in the manner of +Hood. To be fully appreciated they must be heard, as they roll in +sonorous volumes, from his own lips. His collected poems were published +a few years ago by Ticknor & Fields, and have already reached a ninth +edition. + +SCOTT, SIR WALTER--Born 1771; died, 1832. Sir Walter Scott, though he +excelled all his cotemporaries in the humorous delineation of +character, wrote little humorous verse. The two pieces published in +this volume are so excellent that one is surprised to find no more of +the same description in his writings. + +SHERIDAN, DR. THOMAS--Noted for being an intimate friend of Dean Swift, +and the grandfather of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Born in 1684; died in +1738. He was an eccentric, witty, somewhat learned, Dublin +schoolmaster. He published some sermons and a translation of Persius; +acquired great celebrity as a teacher; but through the imprudence that +distinguished the family, closed his life in poverty. We may infer from +the few specimens of his facetious writings that have been preserved +that he was one of the wittiest of a nation of wits. One or two of his +epigrams are exquisitely fine. + +SHERIDAN, RICHARD BRINSLEY--Author of the "Rivals," and the "School for +Scandal." Born at Dublin in 1751; died, 1816. Sheridan must have +written more humorous poetry than we have been able to discover. It is +probable that most of his epigrams and verified repartees have either +not been preserved, or have escaped our search. Moore, in his "Life of +Sheridan," gives specimens of his satirical verses, but only a few, and +but one of striking excellence. + +SMITH, HORACE--See "Rejected Addresses." + +SMITH, JAMES--See "Rejected Addresses." + +SMITH, REV. SYDNEY--The jovial prebendary of St. Paul's, the wittiest +Englishman that ever lived; died in 1845. Except the "Recipe for +Salad," and an epigram, we have found no comic verses by him. He +"leaked another way." + +SOUTHEY, ROBERT--The English poet and man of letters; born in 1774. +Southey wrote a great deal of humorous verse, much of which is +ingenious and fluent. He was amazingly dexterous in the use of words, +and excelled all his cotemporaries, except Byron and Barham, in the +art of rhyming. + +SWIFT, JONATHAN--Dean of St. Patrick's. Dublin. Born 1667; died, 1739. +It were superfluous to speak of the career or abilities of this great +but most unhappy man, who unquestionably ranks highest amid the +brilliant names of that brilliant epoch. His works speak for him, and +will to all time. Of his poetical writings it may be said that though +only surpassed in wit and humor by his more universally known prose, +they are infinitely NASTIER than any thing else in the English +language. They have, however, the negative virtue of being nowise +licentious or demoralizing--or at least no more so than is inseparable +from the choice of obscene and repulsive subjects. Nearly all his +unobjectionable comic verses may be found in this volume. + +THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE--The greatest of living satirists. Born at +Calcutta of English parents, in 1811. Most of Mr. Thackeray's comic +verses appeared originally in "Punch" They have recently been collected +and published in a volume with other and more serious pieces. This +collection contains nothing more mirth-provoking than the "Ballads of +Pleaceman X," by Mr. Thackeray. + +WAKE, WILLIAM BASIL--An English writer, contributor to "Hone's Every +Day Book." + +WALLER, EDMUND--Born in Warwickshire, England, in 1608. Poet, man of +fortune, member of the Long Parliament, and traitor to the People's +Cause. He was fined ten thousand pounds and banished, but Cromwell +permitted his return, and the poet rewarded his clemency by a +panegyric. + +WESLEY, REV. SAMUEL--A clergyman of the Church of England; father of +the celebrated John Wesley; author of a volume of poems, entitled +"Maggots;" born in 1662; died in 1785. + +WILLIAMS, SIR CHARLES HANBURY--A noted wit of George the Second's time; +born in 1709; died, 1759. He was a friend of Walpole, sat in parliament +for Monmouth, and rose to some distinction in the diplomatic service. +An edition of his writings in three volumes was published in London in +1822. Time has robbed his satires of their point, by burying in +oblivion the circumstances that gave rise to them. A single specimen of +his writings is all that was deemed worthy of place in this volume. + +WILLIS, N. P.--The well-known American poet and journalist, Mr. Willis +has written many humorous poems, but only a few have escaped the usual +fate of newspaper verses. Born at Portland, Maine, 1807. + +WOLCOTT, JOHN (Peter Pindar), the most voluminous, and one of the best +of the humorous poets who have written in the English language. He was +born in Devonshire, England, and flourished in the reign of George III, +whose peculiarities it was his delight to ridicule. No king was ever so +mercilessly and so successfully lampooned by a poet as George III by +Peter Pindar. Wolcott was by profession a Doctor of Medicine. In 1766, +we find him accompanying his relative, Sir William Trelawney, to +Jamaica, of which island Sir William had been appointed governor. While +there, the rector of a valuable living died, and Dr. Wolcott conceived +the idea of entering the church and applying for the vacant rectorship. +To this end he began actually to perform the duties of the parish, +reading prayers and preaching, and soon after returned to England to +take orders, provideed with powerful recommendations. To his great +disappointment, the Bishop of London refused him ordination, and the +reader of Peter Pindar will not be at a loss to guess the reason of the +refusal. Wolcott now established himself in Truro, and continued in the +successful practice of medicine there for several years. + +At Truro, he met the youthful Opie. "It is much to his honor," says one +who wrote in Wolcott's own lifetime, "that during his residence in +Cornwall, he discovered, and encouraged, the fine talents of the late +Opie, the artist; a man of such modesty, simplicity of manners, and +ignorance of the world, that it is probable his genius would have lain +obscure and useless, had he not met, in Dr. Wolcott, with a judicious +friend, who knew how to appreciate his worth, and to recommend it tothe +admiration of the world. The Doctor's taste in painting has already +been noticed; and it may now be added, that perhaps few men have +attained more correct notions on the subject, and the fluency with +which he expatiates on the beauties or defects of the productions of +the ancient or modern school, has been amply acknowledged by all who +have shared in his company. The same taste appears to have directed him +to some of the first subjects of his poetical satire, when he began to +treat the public with the pieces which compose these volumes. The +effect of these poems on the public mind will not be soon forgot. +Here appeared a new poet and a new critic, a man of unquestionable +taste and luxuriant fancy, combined with such powers of satire, as +became tremendously formidable to all who had the misfortune to fall +under his displeasure. It was acknowledged at the same time, that amid +some personal acrimony, and some affectionate preferences, not far +removed, perhaps, from downright prejudice, he in general grounded his +praise and censure upon solid principles, and carried the public mind +along with him, although sometimes at the heavy expense of +individuals." + +Later in life Dr. Wolcott removed to London, where he died at an +advanced age. His writings were, as may be supposed, eagerly read at +the time of their publication, but since the poet's death, they have +scarcely received the attention which their merits deserve. The present +collection contains all of his best poems which are not of a character +too local and cotemporary, or too coarse in expression, to be enjoyed +by the modern reader. + +YRIARTE, DON TOMAS DE--An eminent Spanish poet, born at Teneriffe about +1760. He is known to English readers chiefly through his "Literary +Fables," of which, specimens, translated by Mr. Devereaux, are given in +this volume, Yriarte also wrote comedies and essays. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE HUMOUROUS POETRY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE *** + +This file should be named 6652.txt or 6652.zip + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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