Page images
PDF
EPUB

"Hold, not so fast," cries he;

me:

66 pray pardon

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

THERE was a lad, th' unluckiest of his crew,
Was still contriving something bad, but new.
His comrades all obedience to him paid,
In executing what designs he laid:

'Twas they should rob the orchard, he'd retire,
His foot was safe whilst theirs was in the fire.
He kept them in the dark to that degree,
None should presume to be so wise as he;
But, being at the top of all affairs,
The profit was his own, the mischief theirs.
There fell some words made him begin to doubt,
The rogues would grow so wise to find him out;
He was not pleas'd with this, and so next day
He cries to them, as going just to play,
"What a rare jack-daw's nest is there! look up,
You see 'tis almost at the steeple's top."

[ocr errors]

"Ah," says another, "we can have no hope
Of getting thither to 't without a rope."
Says then the fleering spark, with courteous grin,
By which he drew his infant cullies in ;

[ocr errors]

Nothing more easy; did you never see
How, in a swarm, bees, hanging bee by bee,
Make a long sort of rope below the tree.
Why mayn't we do the same, good Mr. John?
For that contrivance pray let me alone.
Tom shall hold Will, you Will, and I'll hold you;
And then I warrant you the thing will do.
But, if there's any does not care to try,
Let us have no jack-daws, and what care I!"

That touch'd the quick, and so they soon com-
No argument like that was e'er denied, [plied,
And therefore instantly the thing was tried.
They hanging down on strength above depend;
Then to himself mutters their trusty friend,
"The dogs are almost useless grown to me,
I ne'er shall have such opportunity

To part with them; and so e'en let them go."
Then cries aloud, "So ho! my lads! so ho!
You're gone, unless ye all hold fast below.
They've serv'd my turn, so 'tis fit time to drop

them;

The Devil, if he wants them, let him stop them."

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]

299

She needed not much courtship to be kind,
For little Bobby, to her shoulders bound,
He ambles on before, she trots behind;
Hinders the gentle dame from ridding ground.
He often ask'd her to expose; but she
Still fear'd the coming of his company.
Says she, "I know an unfrequented place,
To the left hand, where we our time may pass,
And the mean while your horse may find some
grass."

Thither they come, and both the horse secure;
Then thinks the squire, I have the matter sure.
She's ask'd to sit : but then excuse is made,
"Sitting," says she, "'s not usual in my trade:
Should you be rude, and then should throw me

down,

I might perhaps break more backs than my own."
He smiling cries, "Come, I'll the knot untie,
And, if you mean the child's, we'll lay it by."
Says she, "That can't be done, for then 'twill cry.
I'd not have us, but chiefly for your sake,
Discover'd by the hideous noise 'twould make.
Use is another nature, and 'twould lack,
More than the breast, its custom to the back."
"Then," says the gentleman, "I should be loth
To come so far and disoblige you both:
[do?"
Were the child tied to me, d'ye think, 'twould
"Mighty well, sir! Oh, Lord! if tied to you!"

With speed incredible to work she goes,
And from her shoulder soon the burthen throws;
Then mounts the infant with a gentle toss
Upon her generous friend, and, like a cross,
The sheet she with a dextrous motion winds,
Till a firm knot the wandering fabric binds.

The gentleman had scarce got time to know
What she was doing; she, about to go,
Cries," Sir, good b'ye; ben't angry that we part,
I trust the child to you with all my heart:
But, ere you get another, 't'en't amiss
To try a year or two how you'll keep this."

THE VESTRY.

WITHIN the shire of Nottingham there lies
A parish fam'd, because the men were wise :
Of their own strain they had a teacher sought,
Who all his life was better fed than taught.
It was about a quarter of a year
Since he had snor'd, and eat, and fatten'd there;
When he the house-keepers, their wives, and all,
Did to a sort of parish-meeting call;
In little time would turn to all their good. [find,
Promising something, which, well understood,
When met, he thus harangues: "Neighbours, I
That in your principles you're well inclin'd:
But then you're all solicitous for Sunday;
None seem to have a due regard for Monday,
Most people then their dinners have to seek,
As if 'twere not the first day of the week;

But, when you have hash'd meat and nothing more,
You only curse the day that went before.
On Tuesday all folks dine by one consent,
And Wednesdays only fast by parliament,
But fasting sure by Nature ne'er was meant.
The market will for Thursday find a dish,
And Friday is a proper day for fish;
After fish, Saturday requires some meat;
On Sunday you're obliged by law to treat;

And the same law ordains a pudding then,
To children grateful, nor unfit for men.
Take hens, geese, turkies, then, or something light,
Because their legs, if broil'd, will serve at night,
And, since I find that roast beef makes you sleep,
Corn it a little more, and so 'twill keep.
Roast it on Monday, pity it should be spoil'd;
On Tuesday mutton either roast or boil'd.
On Wednesday should be some variety,
A loin or breast of veal, and pigeon-pye.
On Thursday each man of his dish make choice,
"Tis fit on market-days we all rejoice.
And then on Friday, as I said before,
We'll have a dish of fish, and one dish more.
On Saturday stew'd beef, with something nice,
Provided quick, and toss'd up in a trice,
Because that in the afternoon, you know,
By custom, we must to the ale-house go;
For else how should our houses e'er be clean,
Except we gave some time to do it then?
From whence, unless we value not our lives,
None part without rememb'ring first our wives.
But these are standing rules for every day,
And very good ones, as I so may say:
After each meal, let's take a hearty cup;
And where we dine, 'tis fitting that we sup.
"Now for the application, and the use:
I found your care for Sunday an abuse:
All would be asking, Pray, sir, where d'you dine?
I have roast beef, choice venison, turkey, chine:
Every one's hawling me. Then say poor I,
It is a bitter business to deny;

But, who is't cares for fourteen meals a day,
As for my own part, I had rather stay,

And take them now and then,-and here and
According to my present bill of fare. [there,
You know I'm single: if you all agree
To treat by turns, each will be sure of me."
The vestry all applauded with a hum,
And the seven wisest of them bade him come.

THE MONARCH.

WHEN the young people ride the Skimmington,
There is a general trembling in a town:
Not only he for whom the person rides
Suffers, but they sweep other doors besides;
And by that hieroglyphic does appear
That the good woman is the master there.
At Jenny's door the barbarous heathens swept,
And his poor wife scolded until she wept;
The mob swept on, whilst she sent forth in vain
Her vocal thunder and her briny rain.
Some few days after, two young sparks came there,
And whilst she does her coffee fresh prepare,
One for discourse of news the master calls,
T'other on this ungrateful subject falls.
"Pray, Mrs. Jenny, whence came this report,
For I believe there's no great reason for't,
As if the folks t'other day swept your door,
And half a dozen of your neighbours more?"
"There's nothing in't," says Jenny; "that is done
Where the wife rules, but here I rule alone,
And, gentlemen, you'd much mistaken be,
If any one should not think that of me.
Within these walls, my suppliant vassals know
What due obedience to their prince they owe,
And kiss the shadow of my papal toe.

My word's a law; when I my power advance,
There's not a greater monarch ev'n in France.
Not the mogul or czar of Muscovy,
Not Prester John, or cham of Tartary,
Are in their houses monarch more than I.
My house my castle is, and here I'm king,
I'm pope, I'm emperor, monarch, every thing.
What though my wife be partner of my bed,
The monarch's crown sits only on this head."

His wife had plaguy ears, as well as tongue, And, hearing all, thought his discoure too long: Her conscience said, he should not tell such lies, And to her knowledge such; she therefore cries, "D'ye hear-you-Sirrah-Monarch-there?

come down

And grind the coffee-or I'll crack your crown."

JUST AS YOU PLEASE; OR,

THE INCURIOUS.

A VIRTUOSO had a mind to sce
One that would never discontented be,
But in a careless way to all agree.
He had a servant, much of Esop's kind,
Of personage uncouth, but sprightly mind:
"Humpus," says he, "I order that you find
Out such a man, with such a character,
As in this paper now I give you here;
Or I will lug your ears, or crack your pate,
Or rather you shall meet with a worse fate,
For I will break your back, and set you strait.
Bring him to dinner." Humpus soon withdrew,
Was safe, as having such a one in view
At Covent Garden dial, whom he found
Sitting with thoughtless air and look profound,
Who, solitary gaping without care,
Seem'd to say, "Who is't? wilt go any where?"
Says Humpus, "Sir, my master bade me pray
Your company to dine with him to-day."
He snuffs; then follows; up the stairs he goes,
Never pulls off his hat, nor cleans his shoes,
But, looking round him, saw a handsome room,
And did not much repent that he was come;
Close to the fire he draws an elbow-chair,
And, lolling easy, doth for sleep prepare.
In comes the family, but he sits still,
Thinks, "Let them take the other chairs that
will!"

The master thus accosts him, "Sir, you're wet,
Pray have a cushion underneath your feet."
Thinks he, "If I do spoil it, need I care?
I see he has eleven more to spare."

Dinner's brought up; the wife is bid retreat, And at the upper end must be his seat. "This is not very usual," thinks the clown: But is not all the family his own? And why should I, for contradiction's sake, Lose a good dinner, which he bids me take? If from this table she discarded be, What need I care! there is the more for me."

After a while, the daughter's bid to stand, And bring him whatsoever he'll command. Thinks he, "The better from the fairer hand!" Young master next must rise, to fill him wine, And starve himself, to see the booby dine:

He does. The father asks, "What have you there?

How dare you give a stranger vinegar?"
Sir, 'twas Champagne I gave him."-" Sir, indeed!
Take him and scourge him till the rascal bleed;
Don't spare him for his tears or age: I'll try
If cat-of-nine-tails can excuse a lie."

[lieve;
Thinks the clown, "That 'twas wine I do be-
But such young rogues are aptest to deceive:
He's none of mine, but his own flesh and blood,
And how know I but 't may be for his good?”

When the desert came on, and jellies brought, Then was the dismal scene of finding fault: They were such hideous, filthy, poisonous stuff, Could not be rail'd at, nor reveng'd enough. Humpus was ask'd who made them. Trembling he Said, "Sir, it was my lady gave them me."— No more such poison shall she ever give, I'll burn the witch; 't'ent fitting she should live : Set faggots in the court, I'll make her fry; And pray, good sir, may't please you to be by?" Then, smiling, says the clown, Upon my life, A pretty fancy this, to burn one's wife! And, since I find 'tis really your design, [mine." Pray let me just step home, and fetch you

OF DREAMS.

| For, if burnt milk should to the bottom stick,
Like over-heated zeal, 'twould make folks sick.
Into the milk her flour she gently throws,
As valets now would powder tender beaux :
The liquid forms in hasty mass unite
Forms equally delicious, as they're white,
In shining dish the hasty mass is thrown,
And seems to want no graces but its own.
Yet still the housewife brings in fresh supplies,
To gratify the taste, and please the eyes.
She on the surface lumps of butter lays,
Which, melting with the heat, its beams displays;
From whence it causes, wondrous to behold,
A silver soil bedeck'd with streams of gold!

II. A HEDGE-HOG AFTER A QUAKING-PUDding.

As Neptune, when the three-tongu'd fork he
takes,

With strength divine the globe terrestrial shakes,
The highest hills, Nature's stupendous piles,
Break with the force, and quiver into isles;
Yet on the ruins grow the lofty pines,
And snow unmelted in the vallies shines:
Thus when the dame her hedge-hog-pudding
Her fork indents irreparable streaks. [breaks,
The trembling lump, with butter all around,
Seems to perceive its fall, and then be drown'd;
And yet the tops appear, whilst almonds thick
With bright loaf-sugar on the surface stick.

For a dream cometh through the multitude of III. PUDDINGS OF VARIOUS COLOURS in a dish.

business.

ECCLES. v. 4.

Somnia, quæ ludunt mente volitantibus umbris, Non delubra deûm nec ab æthere numina mittunt, Sed sibi quisque facit, &c.

PETRONIUS.

THE flitting dreams, that play before the wind,
Are not by Heaven for prophesies design'd;
Nor by ethereal beings sent us down,
But each man is creator of his own:
For, when their weary limbs are sunk in ease,
The souls essay to wander where they please;
The scatter'd images have space to play,
And night repeats the labours of the day.

THE ART OF MAKING PUDDINGS.

I. HASTY PUDDING.

I SING of food, by British nurse design'd,
To make the stripling brave, and maiden kind.
Delay not, Muse, in numbers to rehearse

The pleasures of our life, and sinews of our verse.
Let pudding's dish, most wholesome, be thy theme,
And dip thy swelling plumes in fragrant cream.
Sing then that dish so fitting to improve
A tender modesty and trembling love;
Swimming in butter of a golden hue,
Garnish'd with drops of rose's spicy dew.
Sometimes the frugal matron seems in haste,
Nor cares to beat her pudding into paste:
Yet milk in proper skillet she will place,
And gently spice it with a blade of mace;
Then set some careful damsel to look to't,
And still to stir away the bishop's-foot;

You, painter-like, now variegate the shade, And thus from puddings there's a landscape made. And Wise and London', when they would dispose Their ever-greens into well-order'd rows, So mix their colours, that each different plant Gives light and shadow as the others want.

IV. MAKING OF A GOOD PUDDING GETS A GOOD HUSBAND.

YE virgins, as these lines you kindly take, So may you still such glorious pudding make, That crouds of youth may ever be at strife, To gain the sweet-composer for his wife!

V. SACK AND SUGAR TO QUAKING-PUDDING.

"OH, delicious!"

But where must our confession first begin, If sack and sugar once be thought a sin?

VI. BROILED PUDDING.

HID in the dark, we mortals seldom know From whence the source of happiness may flow: Who to broil'd pudding would their thoughts have bent

From bright Pewteria's love-sick discontent?
Yet so it was, Pewteria felt love's heat
In fiercer flames than those which roast her meat.
No pudding's lost, but may with fresh delight
Be either fried next day, or broil'd at night.

VII. MUTTON pudding.

BUT mutton, thou most nourishing of meat, Whose single joint may constitute a treat; When made a pudding, you excel the rest As much as that of other food is best!

The two royal gardeners. KING. A loin. KING.

[ocr errors]

reader with one, delivered by the first founder of | mythology, Æsop himself. Maximus Planudes takes notice of it, as a very excellent part of his production; and Phædrus, Camerarius, and others, seem to agree, that his Eagle, and five others not yet translated, are equal to any of his that are handed down to us. Though Mr. Ogleby and sir Roger L'Estrange had the unhappiness to be unacquainted with them, yet I had the good fortune to discover them by the removal of my old library, which has made me amends for the trouble of getting to where I now teach. They were written, or dictated at least, by Æsop, in the fifty-fourth Olympiad: and though I designed them chiefly for the use of my school, (this being translated by a youth designed for a Greek professor) yet no man is so wise as not to need instruction, aye, and by the way of fable too; since the holy scriptures themselves, the best instructors, teach us by way of parable, symbol, image, and figure; and David was more moved with Nathan's "Thou art the man," than all the most rigid lectures in the world would have done. Whoever will be at the trouble of comparing this version with the original, let them begin at the tenth line, and they will find it metaphrastically done, verbum verbo, as the best way of justice to the author. Those that are mere adorers of í hóyos will not be angry that it is in this sort of metre, for which I gave leave, the lad having a turn to this sort of measure, which is pleasant and agreeable, though not lofty. For my own part, I concur with my master Aristotle, that ῥυθμὸς καὶ ἁρμονία are very far from being unneces sary or unpleasant. May this be of use to thee; and it will please thine in all good wishes.

HORAT. GRAM.

THE EAGLE AND THE ROBIN.

A LADY liv'd in former days,
That well deserv'd the utmost praise;
For greatness, birth, and justice fam'd,
And every virtue could be nam'd;
Which made her course of life so even,
That she's a saint (if dead) in Heaven,
This lady had a little seat
Just like a palace, 'twas so neat,
From aught (but goodness) her retreat.
One morning, in her giving way,
As was her custom every day,

To cheer the poor, the sick, and cold,
Or with apparel, food, or gold,
There came a gazing stranger by,
On whom she quickly cast an eye.

The man, admiring, made a stand;
He had a bird upon his hand :

"What's that," says she, "that hangs its head, Sinking and faint? "Tis almost dead." "Madam, a red-breast that I found, By this wet season almost drown'd." "Oh! bring him in, and keep him warm; Robins do never any harm."

ing the reader to recollect the change which she made in her ministry in 1709, the year in which this poem was written; and referring to Rufinus. N.

They soon obey'd, and chopt him meat,
Gave him whatever he would eat;
The lady care herself did take,
And made a nest for Robin's sake:
But he perkt up into her chair,
In which he plenteously did fare,
Assuming quite another air.

The neighbours thought, when this they spy'd,
The world well mended on his side.

With well-tun'd throat he whistled long,
And every body lik'd his song.
"At last," said they, "this little thing
Will kill itself, so long to sing;
We'll closet him among the rest
Of those my lady loves the best."
They little thought, that saw him come,
That Robins were so quarrelsome:
The door they open'd, in he pops,
And to the highest perch he hops;
The party-colour'd birds he chose,
The gold-finches, and such as those;
With them he'd peck, and bill, and feed,
And very well (at times) agreed:
Canary-birds were his delight,
With them he'd tête-à-tête all night;
But the brown linnets went to pot,
He kill'd them all upon the spot.

The servants were employ'd each day,
Instead of work, to part some fray,
And wish'd the aukward fellow curst
That brought him to my lady first.
At last they all resolv'd upon't,
Some way to tell my lady on't.

Meanwhile he'ad had a noble swing,
And rul'd just like the Gallic king;
Having kill'd or wounded all,
Unless the Eagle in the hall;
With whom he durst but only jar,
He being the very soul of war,
But hated him for his desert,
And bore him malice at his heart.

This Eagle was my lady's pride,
The guardian safety of her side:
He often brought home foreign prey,
Which humbly at her feet he lay.
For colour, pinions, and stature,
The fairest workmanship of Nature;
'Twould do one good to see him move,
So full of grandeur, grace, and love:
He was indeed a bird for Jove.
He soar'd aloft in Brucum's field,
And thousand kites and vultures kill'd;
Which made him dear to all that flew,
Unless to Robin and his crew.

One day poor Bob, puff'd up with pride,
Thinking the combat to abide,
A goose-quill on for weapon ty'd,
Knowing by use, that, now and then,
A sword less hurt does than a pen.

As for example-What at home
You've well contriv'd to do at Rome,
A pen blows up-before you come.
You are suppos'd to undermine
The foe-in some immense design.
A pen can bite you with a line;
There's forty ways to give a sign.
Well-all on fire away he stalk'd,
Till come to where the Eagle walk'd.
Bob did not shill-I shall-I go,
Nor said one word of friend or foe;

But flirting at him made a blow,
As game-cocks with their gauntlets do.
At which the eagle gracefully
Cast a disdaining, sparkling eye;
As who should say-What's this, a fly?
But no revenge at all did take,
He spar'd him for their lady's sake,
Who ponder'd these things in her mind,
And took the conduct of the eagle kind.
Upon reflection now-to show
What harm the least of things may do,
Mad Robin, with his cursed flirt,
One of the eagle's eyes had hurt;
Inflam'd it, made it red and sore:
But the affront inflam'd it more.
Oh, how the family did tear!

To fire the house, could scarce forbear:
With scoru, not pain, the eagle fir'd,
Murmur'd disdain, and so retir'd.

Robin, to offer some relief,

In words like these would heal their grief:
"Should th' Eagle die (which Heaven
forbid !)

We ought some other to provide.
I do not say that any now

Are fit, but in a year or two:

And should this mighty warrior fall,
They should not want a general."

As men have long observ'd, that one
Misfortune seldom comes alone;
Just in the moment this was done,
Ten thousand foes in sight were come:
Vultures, and kites, and birds of prey,
In flocks so thick-they darken'd day.
A long-concerted force and strong,
Vermin of all kinds made the throng;
Foxes were in the faction join'd,
Who waited their approach to ground.

By every hand, from common fame,
The frightful face of danger came.
One cries, "What help now-who can tell?
I'm glad the Eagle's here, and well!"
Another out of breath with fear,
Says, "Thousands more near sea appear;
They'll swop our chicken from the door;
We never were so set before:
We're glad the Eagle will forget,
And the invaders kill or beat."

Reserv'd and great, his noble mind,
Above all pretty things inclin'd,
Abhorr'd the thoughts of any thing,
But what his lady's peace could bring:
Who bless'd him first, and bade him do
As he was wont, and beat the foe.

Burning and restless as the Sun,
Until this willing work was done;
He whets his talons, stretch'd his wings,
His lightning darts, and terrour flings;
Towers with a flight into the sky,
These million monsters to descry,
Prepar'd to conquer, or to die.

The party, that so far was come,
Thought not the eagle was at home:
To fame and danger us'd in field,

They knew he'd quickly make them yield:
But, on assurance he was near,
Incumber'd, faint, and dead with fear,

3 Opuu, amongst the Greeks, signifies "Honour as tender as the eye." KING.

They made with hurry towards the lakes;
And he his pinions o'er them shakes.
They had not (with such horrour fill'd)
The courage to let one be kill'd:
They fled, and left no foe behind,
Unless it were the fleeting wind:
Only a man by water took
Two fine young merlins and a rook.
The family had now repose:
But with the Sun the Eagle rose;
Th' imperial bird pursu'd the foe,
More toil than rest inur'd to know.
He wing'd his way to Latian land,
Where first was hatch'd this murdering band;
He darted death where'er he came,
Some of them dying at his name.

Their mighty foe-a fatal pledge,
Their bowels tore through every hedge:
They flutter, shriek, and caw, and hiss,
Their strength decays, and fears increase :
But most the chevaliers the geese.

So many slaughter'd fowl there was,
Their carcases block'd-up the ways;
The rest he drove, half spent, pell-mell,
Quite to the walls of Pontifell.

Robin at home, though mad to hear
He should so conquer every where,
Expostulated thus with fear:
"Ungrateful I, that so have stirr'd
Against this generous, noble bird,
Wast thou not first by him preferr'd?"
Let's leave him in his gall to burn,
And back to Pontifell return.

There some to chimney-tops aspire,
To turrets some that could fly higher;
Some 'bove a hundred miles were gone,
To roost them at Byzantium.

Alas! in vain was their pretence,
He broke through all their strong defence:
Down went their fences, wires, and all;
Perches and birds together fall.

None hop'd his power to withstand,
But gave the nest to his command:
They told him of ten thousand more,
In flocks along the Ganges' shore,
Safe in their furrows, free from trouble,
Like partridges among the stubble.
He spreads himself, and cuts the air,
And steady flight soon brought him there,
Lord, how deceiv'd and vex'd he was!
To find they were but meer jackdaws.
A hundred thousand all in light,
They all could chatter, not one fight.
"I'll deal by them as is their due:
Shough!" cry'd the eagle; off they flew.
His flashing eye their hearts confounds,
Though by their flight secure from wounds,
Which was a signal, fatal baulk
To a late swift Italian hawk.

The Eagle would no rest afford,
Till he had sent my lady word;
Who when she heard the dear surprise,
Wonder and joy stood in her eyes.
"My faithful Eagle, hast thou then
My mortal foes destroy'd again?
Return, return, and on me wait;
Be thou the guardian of my gate;
Thee and thy friends are worth my care,
Thy foes (if any such there are)
Shall my avenging anger share,"

« PreviousContinue »