Class. Book_ PRotiwelldel et sculp : is' ) W^^//?^Mt/^) Zubluhed J>v Z$7nkh,193;ffiah,ffrru C€«F«¥W Repository^ tothweJl sculp: /fv/s/yy//, IJieTu'L ^iM«;//y S^wd, m-^yA^/^». THE # OR, THEATRICAL SPEAKER'S ENTERTAINING REPOSITORY: COMPRISING & CToUection OF THE MOST ADMIRED PIECES, In Prose and Verse, WHICH ARE OCCASIONALLY RECITED AT THE THEATRES, SPOUTING CLUBS, And other Places of rational Amusement ; WITH CHARACTERISTIC ENGRAVINGS, itonnott : Published by J. Smith, Bookseller, Ko. 193, High Holborn. 1828. ^ INDEX. PAGE The Miller's Maid 1 The great Lie and the little Lie 11 Female Oratory 16 Bullum versus Boatum 20 The Bumpkin and Sta- ble-keeper 24 The Converted Native... 25 A Devil of a Waistcoat 25 Ode on the Passions ... 29 The Orphau Boy 33 Hassan, or the Camel Driver . 35 The Drum 38 Oration of Mark An- tony 39 Cato's Soliloquy 41 The Pious Painter 42 We are Seven 45 Mary, the Maid of the Inn 47 The Drunken Sailors ...... 51 The Batchelor's reasons for taking a Wife 53 The Seven Ages of Wo- man?.. 55 Speculation 57 Hodge and the Razor Seller . 6i Giles and his Guinea.... 63 The Frenchman and the Rats 65 Epilogue to Folly as it flies 67 Richard and Betty, at Hickleton Fair 69 The Whiskers.. 72 The Two Stammerers .. .. 75 The Pilgrims and the Peas .»„.,...«,,,.,,.,..,.. 78 PAGE Fashionable Blindness... 80 Cunning Isaac's escape 81 Extract from speed the Plough. 85 AMedicine f'ortheLadies 88 The Shepherd and his Dog 91 Richard the Third's So- liloquy 93 My Wife and the pair of Shoes 94 Falstaff's description of his ragged Regiment... 97 Prologue to Mr. H 98 The Tinker and Glazier 100 Epilogue to the Rivals... 103 The Three Warnings 105 The Country School- master... ,.. 109 TheKnights,or both right and both wrong 110 Goody Blake and Harry Gill 113 An Irish blunder, with- out a bull 117 The Fakenham Ghost ... 118 Lubin and his dog Tray 121 Logic, or the Chestnut Horse 126 The Felon , 128 Frank Hayman 130 The AY ell of St. Keyne.. 134 Digression on the Study of the Law 137 John Gilpin 141 The Spectacles.. 150 Prologue to the Curfew. 151 The Bashful Man 153 Daniel versus Dishclout. 160 Douglas to LordRandolph 163 IV. PAGE Miss Phillis and her man John 165 The Married Musician... 168 The Newcastle Apothe- cary *. 169 Epsom Races., 172 The Flax-dresser's Wife 176 The choice of a Wife by Cheese 179 The Thorny Bush .... 181 The Doctor and Captain 184 Prologue to the Mask of Britannia . 185 The Prudent Wife ...... 186 The Remedy as bad as the Disease 188 The Pilgrim 189 The Irish Drummer 191 Parsons the Actor and the Lion 193 The Castle Builder ...... 195 The Elder Brother 197 The Pig in a Poke 206 Monsieur Tonson 209 Eliza 214 Lodgings for Single Gen- tlemen .... 217 PAGE Humourous Letter 218 Epilogue to the Comedy of Management 221 The Spirit of Contradic- tion 222 A Tale of a Tankard 225 Rolla's Address to the Peruvians 227 The Strolling Player 228 Black Sally and one-eyed Joe 232 The Water-Fiends 233 Timothy Whipstich 238 Brutus on the death of Caesar 241 The Cat-eater 242 The Doublet of Grey 243 Edwin and Angelina .... 249 Alonzo the Brave 254 The Magdalen 257 Good Wives ... , 260 The Doctor and his Pupil 261 The Devil . 263 The Yorkshireman and his Family 264 The Farmer's Blunder... 266 The Scullion Sprite 270 THE THE MILLER'S MAID, A TALE, Near the High road, upon a winding stream* An honest Miller rose to Wealth and Fame ; The noblest Virtues cheer'd his lengthened days, And all the Country echo'd with his praise : His Wife, the Doctress of the neighboring Poor, Drew constant pray'rs and blessings round his door* One Summer's night, (the hour of rest was come) Darkness unusual overspread their home ; A chilling blast was felt : the foremost cloud Sprinkl'd the bubbling Pool ; and thunder loud* Though distant yet, menac'd the country round, And fill'd the Heavens with its solemn sound. Who can retire to rest when tempests lour ? Nor wait the issue of the coming hour ? Meekly resign'd she sat, in anxious pain ; He fill'd his pipe, and listen' d to the raiu: a THE GALLIMAUFRY. That batter'd furiously their strong abode, Roar'd in the Dam, and lash'd the pebbled road : When, mingling with the storm, confus'd and wild, They heard, or thought they heard, a screaming Child : The voice approached and'raidst the thunder's roar, Now loudly begg'd for Mercy at the door. Mercy was there ; the Miller heard the call ; His door he open'd ; when a sudden squall Drove in a wretched Girl ; who weeping stood, Whilst the cold rain dripp'd from her in a flood- With kind officiousness the tender Dame Rous'd up the dying embers to a flame ; Dry cloaths procured, and -cheer* d her shiv'rmg guest, And sooth'd the sorrows of her infant breast. But as she stript her shoulders, lily-white, What marks of cruel usage shocked their sight ! Weals, and blue wounds, most piteous to behold Upon a Child yet scarcely ten years old. The Miller felt his indignation rise, Yet, as the weary stranger clos'd her eyes, And seem'd fatigu'd beyond her strength and years, " Sleep, Child, (he said,) and wipe away your tears/* They watch' d her slumbers till the storm was done ; When thus the generous Man again begun : * See fluttering sighs that rise against her will, ' And agitating dreams disturb her still i * Dame, we should know before we go to rest, c Whence €omes this girl and how she came distress * Wake her, and ask ; for she is sorely bruis'd : « I long" to know by whom she's thus misus'd— THE GALLIMAUFRY. Child, what's your name ? how came you ill the storm > 1 Have you no home to keep you dry and warm ? * Who gave you all those wounds your shoulders show } \ Where are your parents ? Whither would you g&i' The Stranger bursting into tears, look'd pale, And this the purport of her artless tale. ' I have no Parents ; and no friends beside : ' 1 well remember when my Mother died :• * My Brother cried ; and so did I that day ; * We had no Father ; — he was gone away ; * That night we left our home new cloaths to wear : * The Work-house found them ; we were carried there. ' We lov'd each other dearly ; when we met ■ We always shar'd what trifles we could get. ' But George was older by a year than me : — * He parted from me and was sent to Sea. M Good-bye, dear Phoabe," the poor fellow said! 4 Perhaps he'll come again ; perhaps he's dead* * When I grew strong enough I went to place r * My Mistress had a sour ill-natur'd face; * And though I've been so often beat and chid, * I strove to please her, Sir ; indeed, I did. * Weary and spiritless to bed I crept, * And always cried at night before I slept. * This morning I offended ; and I bore 1 A cruel beating, worse than all before. 1 Unknown to all the House I ran away; * And thus far travelled through the sultry day ; * And, don't send me back I'd dare not go — * * I send you back !' the Miller cried, * no, no.* a t TT1 E CALL! MA U F RY. Th ? appeals of wretchedness had weight with him, And Sympathy would warm him every limb ; He mutter'd, glorying in the work begun, * Well done, my little Wench ; 'twas nobly done !*' Then said, with looks more cheering than the fire, And feelings such as Pity can inspire, * My house has childless been this- many a year ; 6 While you deserve it you shall tarry here.' The Orphan marked 1 the ardor of his eye, Blest his kind words, and thank'd him with a sigh,. Thus was the sacred compact doubly seaPd;: Thus was her spirits rais'd, her brukes heaTd^- Thankful, and cheerful too, no more afraid;, Thus little Phcebe was the Miller's Maid. Grateful they found her ; patient of eontroul ;.; A most bewitching gentleness of soul Made pleasure of what work she had to do: She grew in stature, and in beauty too. Five years she pass* din this delightful home ; Five happy years : but, when the sixth was come,, The Miller from a Market Town hard by, Brought home a sturdy Youth,, his strength to try,. To raise the sluice-gates early every morn, To heave his powder'd sacks and grind his corn : And meeting Phcebe, whom he lov'd so dear, * Pve brought you home a Husband, Girl ; D'ye hear ?; ' He begg'dfor work.;- his money seem'd but scant:.- * Those that will work' tis pity they should want. ^ So use him well, and we shall shortly see, * Whether he merits what I've done, like theej THE GALLIMAUFRY. Now throbb ! d her heart,— a new sensation qui te,- Whene'er the comely Stranger was in- sight: For he at once assiduously strove To please so sweet a Maid and win her love.- At ev'ry corner stopped her inner way ; And saw fresh beauties opening ev'ry day. He took delight in tracing in her face The mantling blush, and ev'ry nameless grace, That Sensibility would bring to view, "When love hemeution'd ; — Love, and Honour true. Bat Phoebe still was shy ; and wish'd to know More of the honest Youth, whose manly brow She verily believ'd was Truth's own throne, And all his words as artless as her own : Most true she judg r d"; yet, long the Youth forbore Divulging where, and how, he liv'd before'; And seem'cl to strive his History to hide, Till fair Esteem enlisted on his side. The Miller saw, and mention'd, in his praise, The prompt fidelity of all his ways : Till in a vacant hour, the Dinner done, One day he joking cried, ' Come here, my Son ! ' 'Tis pity that so good a Lad as you * Beneath my roof should bring disorders new ! * But here's my Phcebe, — once so light and airy ' She'd trip along the passage like a Fairy,— * Has lost her swiftness quite, since here you eame * And yet ; — I can't perceive the Girl is lame ! '-The obstacles she meets with still fall thicker : '•■Old as I am I'd turn a corner quicker.' — a a THE GALLIMAUFRY. The Youth blush'd deep ; and Phoebe hung her head : The good Man smil'd* and thus again he said ; * Not that I deem it matter of surprise, * That you should love to gaze at Phoebe's eyes ; ' But be explicit, Boy ; and deal with honour : * I feel my happiness depend upon her. * When here you eame you'd sorrow on your brow ; * And Pve forborne to question you till now. * First, then, say what thou art.' He instant bow'd y And thu?, in Phoebe's hearing, spoke aloud ; ' Thus far experienc'd, Sir, in you I find * All that is generous, fatherly, and kind ; * And while you look for proofs of real worth,. * You'll not regard the meanness of my birth, * When, pennyless and sad, you met with me, * Pd just escap'd the dangers of the Sea ; ' Resolved to try my fortune on the shore : 1 To get my bread ; and trust the waves no more r 1 Having no Home, nor Parents, left behind, * Pd all my fortune, all my Friends, to find. * Keen disappointment wounded me that morn : ? 4 For, travelling near the spot where I was bom* * I at the well-known door where I was bred, 1 Inquir'd who still was living, who was dead : * But first and most, I sought with anxious fear * Tidings to gain of her who once was dear ; ' A Girl, with all the meekness of the dove, 1 The constant sharer of my childhood's love ; g She call'd me, Brother : — which I heard with pride, * Though now suspect we are not so allied. THE GALLIMAUFRY. * Thus much I learnt ; (no more the churls, would say ;) 1 She went to service, and she ran away, * And scandal added' — ' Hold [} the Miller cried, And, iti an instant, stood at Phcebe's side ; For he observ'd, while listening- to the tale, Her spirits faulter'd, and her cheeks turn'd pale; Whilst her clasp'd hands descended to her knee, She sinking whisper' d forth, " O God, 'tis he /" The good Man, though he guess' d the pleasing truth, Was far too busy to inform the Youth ; But stirr'd himself amain to aid his Wife, W T ho soon restor'd the trembler back to life* Awhile insensible she still appear'd ; But, " my Brother," was distinctly heard; Th' astonish' d Youth now held her to his breast ; And tears and kisses soon explain' d the rest. Past deeds now from each tongue alternate fell : For news of dearest import both could tell. Fondly, from childhood's tears to youth's full prime, They match'd the incidents of jogging time; And piov'd that, when with Tyranny opprest, Poor Phcebe groan'dwith wounds and broken rest, George felt no less : was harrass'd and forlorn ; A rope's end follow' d him both night and morn. And in that very storm when Phcebe fled, W r hen the rain drench'd her yet unshelter'd head ; That very Storm he on the Ocean brav'd, The Vessel found er'd, and the Boy was sav'd ! Mysterious Heaven ! — and O with what delight— She told the happy issue of her flight : 8 the gallimaufry; To. his charni'd heart a living picture drew ;'. And gave to hospitality its due ! The list'ning Host observed the gentle Pair ; And ponder' d on tile means that brought them there : Convinced, while ummpeaeh'd their Virtue stood, 'Twas Heav'n's high Will that he should do them good. But now the anxious Dame, impatient grown, Demanded what the Youth had heard or known, Whereon to ground those doubts but just exprest ; — Doubts, which must interest the feeling breast ; ' Her brother we it thou, George ? — how; prithee sap: 4 Canst thou forego, or cast that name away ?* ' No living proofs have I,' the Youth reply'd, * That we by closest ties are not allied ; * But in my memory live, and ever will, * A mother's dying words — I hear them still : * Shesaid, to one who wateh'd her parting breathy '* Don't separate the Children at my death, " They're not both mine : but" — here the soene was *. clos'd; * ►She died ; and left us helpless andexpos'd ; c Nor Time hath thrown, nor Reason's opening pow*r, -, 6 One friendly ray on that benighted hour.' Ne'er did the Chieftains of a Waning State Hear from the Oracle their half-told fate With more religious fear, or more suspense, Than Phcebe now endur'd : — for every sense, . Became absorb' d in^this unwelcome theme ; Nay, every, meditation, every dream; Th' inexplicable sentence held to view, M They're not both mine/' was every morning new : THE GALLIMAUFRY. 9 For, till this hour, the Maid had never pro'/'d How far she was enthralled, how much she lov'd : In that fond character he first appear' d ; His kindness charm' d her, and his smiles endear' d :. This dubious mystery the passion crost ; Her peace was wounded, and Iier Lover lost. For George, with all his resolution strove To check- the progress of his growing love ;-■-- Or, if he e ? er indulged a tender kiss, TV unravelPd secret robb'd him of his bliss. Health's foe, Suspense, so. irksome to be borne,. An ever-piercing and retreating thorn, Hung, on tb"ir Hearts, when Nature bade them rise,. And stole Content's bright ensign from their eyes. The good folks saw. the change, and griev'd to find: These troubles labouring in Phoebe's mind ; They lov'd them both-; and with one voice propos'd The only means whence Truth might be disclos'd ;, That, when the Summer months should shrink the rill,. And scarce its languid stream would turn the Mill, When the Spring broods, and Pigs, and Lambs were reared, (A time when George and Phoebe might be spar'd,) Their birth-place they should visit once again, To try with joint endeavours to obtain From Record, or Tradition, what might be To chain,, or set their chain' d affections free :: Affinity beyond all doubts to prove ; Or clear the road for Nature and for Love. Never, till now, did Phoebe count-the hours,. Ox think May long, or wish away its flowers ; 5 10 THE GALLIMAUFRY. With mutual sighs both fann'd the wings of Time ; As we climb Hills and gladden as we climb, And reach at last the distant promised seat, Casting the glowing landscape at our feet. Oft had the morning Rose with dew been wet, And oft the journeying Sun in glory set, Beyond the willow'd meads of vigorous grass, The steep green hill, and woods they were to pass ^ When now the day arriv'd : Impatience reign 1 d ; And George, — by trifling obstacles detain' d, — His bending Blackthorn on the threshold presf, Survey'd the windward clouds, and hop 'd the best. Phoebe, attir'dwiih every modest grace, While Health and Beauty revell'd in her face, Came forth ; but soon evinc'd an absent mind, For, back she turn'd for something left behind ; Again the same, till George grew tir'd of home, And peevishly exclaim'd, " Come, Phoebe, come.'* Another hindrance yet he had to feel : As from the door they tripp'd with nimble heel, A poor old Man, foot- founder 'd and alone, Thus urgent spoke, in Trouble's genuine tone : " My pretty Maid, if happiness you seek, " May disappointment never fade your cheek !— " Yours be the joy ; — yet, feel another's woe : " O leave some little gift before you go." His words struck home ; and back she turn'd again, (The ready friend of indigence and pain,) To banish hunger from his shatter' d frame ; And close behind her,. Lo, the Miller came, THE GALLIMAUFRY. -11 With jug- in hand, and cried, " George, why such haste ? u Rere; take a draught ; and let that Soldier taste." *' Thanks for your bounty, Sir;" the Veteran said; Threw down his Wallet, and made bare his head ; And straight began, tho' mixed with doubts and fears, Th' unprefaced History of his latter years. f* I crossed th' Atlantic with our Regiment brave, ** Where sickness sweeps whole regiments to the grave ; " Yet IVe escap'd ; and bear my arms no more ; n My age discharged me when I came on shore. *' My Wife, I've heard/' — and here he wip'd his eyes, — " In the cold corner of the Church-yard lies. ** By her consent it was I left my home : 4i Employment failM, and poverty was come ; ** The Bounty tempted me; — she had it all : *' We parted ; and I've seen my betters fall. ?' Yet, as I'm spar'd though in this piteous case, cc Fm travelling homeward to my native place; " Though should I reach that dear remember' d spot, " Perhaps Old Grainger will be quite forgot." All eyes beheld young George with wonder start: Strong were the secret bodings of his heart ; Yet not indulg'd : for he with doubts survey'd By turns the Stranger, and the lovely Maid. " Had you no Children ?" — " Yes, young Man I'd two I xc A Boy, if still he lives, as old as you : " Yet not my own ; but likely so to prove ; ** TTiough but the pledge of an unlawful Love : *' I cherish' d him, to hide a Sister's shame : ** He skar'd my beet affections, and my name. , 12 THE GALLIMAUFRY. iC But why, young" folks, should I detain you here ? " Go : and may blessings wait upon your cheer, " I too will travel on ; — perhaps to find " The only treasure that I left behind. " Such kindly thoughts my fainting hopes revive. Xi Phoebe, my Cherub, art thou still alive ? Could Nature hold ! — Could youthful Love forbear! 'George clasp' d thewond'ring Maid, and whisper'd* There * 4 You're mine for ever ! — 0, sustain the rest ; * And hush the tumult of your throbbing breast.' Then to the Soldier turn'd, with manly pride, And fondly Jed his long intended Bride. * Here, see your Child ; nor wish a sweeter flow'r. * 'Tis George that speaks ; thou'lt bless the happy 'hour J 4 - Nay, be compos'd ; for all will yet be well, * Though here our history's too long to tell.' — A long-lost Father found, the mystery clear'd, What mingled transports in her face appear'd ! The gazing Veteran stood with hands uprais'd — * Art thou indeed my Child ! then, God be prais'd.* O'er his rough cheeks the tears profusely spread : Such as fools say become not men to shed ; Past hours of bliss, regenerated charms, Rose, when he felt his Daughter in his arms : So tender was the scene, the generous Dame Wept, as she told of Phoebe's virtuous fame, And the good Host, with gestures passing strange, Abstracted seem'd through fields of joy to range ; Rejoicing that his favour'd Roof shonld prove Virtue's asylum, and the nurse of Love ; THE GALLIMAUFRY. IS Rejoicing- that to him the task was .given, While his full Soul was mounting up to Heav'n, But now, as from a dream his Reason sprung, And heartiest greetings dwelt upon his tongue 4 The sounding Kitchen floor at once receiv'd The happy group, with all their fears reliev'd; "Soldier," he cried, " you' ye found your Girl ; 'tas ** true : "But suffer me to be a Farrier too ; " For, never Child that blest a Parent's knee, " Could show more duty than she has to me, " Strangely she came ; Affliction ^has'd her hard:: "I pitied her; — and this is my reward I " Here sit you down ; recount your perils o'er : " Henceforth be this your home ; and grieye no more:: "Plenty hath showered her dewdrops on my bead 5 "-Care visits not my Table, nor my Bed. " My heart's warm wishes thus then I fulfil t " My Dame and I can live without the Mill : " George, take the wholo ; I'll near you still r^mam, " To guide your judgment in the choice of grain ; " In Virtue's path commence your prosperous life; " And from my hand receive your worthy Wife. " Rise, Phoebe; rise, my Girl ! — kneel not to me^ " But to that Poitfr who interpos'd for tbee. " Integrity hath mark'd your favourite Youth ; " Fair budding Honour, Constancy, and Truth; M Go to his arms ; — and may unsullied j oys 4 ( Bring smiling round me, rosy Girls and Boys? " I'll love them for thy sake. And may your days 44 Glide on, asglid.es the Stream that aeyer stays ^ A 14 THE GALLIMAUFRY. " Bright as whose shingled bed, till life's decline, *' May all your Worth, and all your Virtues shine!" THE CHEAT LIE AND THE LITTLE LIE. A merchant was going through a slave market, and happened to see a broker holding a boy by the ear for sale, and calling out, ' Who will purchase a sen- sible well-taught youth, for a 100 dirhums ?' - * Why, my good Sir,' . *aid the merchant, ' 1 suspect you must be crazy ; for, if your boy possesses the qualities you mention, he is worth 1000 dirhums.' * Oh !' said the broker, *you see him shining, and take trim . for silver ; but if you were acquainted with his failing, you would probably find him copper. ' * Pray what is his failing?' said the merchant. ' He tells every year,' said the broker, 'a great lie and a little lie; and each of these I consider as a very seiious evil.' 'Poh, poh !' said the merchant, < I look upon this as a mere trifle;* He accordingly purchased the boy; and finding tiira expert and skilful in his duty placed him at the head of all his servants. It happened some time after, that the merchant, with some friends, went out to his gar- den, and sent the boy home, about sun-set, to bring him his ass; but fhe%oy, as soon as he approached his mas- ler'shouse, rent hisclothes, and threw dust upon his head, &ad reclaimed, * Oh ! alas,, my master ! mj bountiful lor4i* THE GALLIMAUFRT, 15* The merchant's wife concluded from his appearance some misfortune had happened to her husband;, and said, * Alas, hoy, what is the meaning of this outcry ?* • Ah,' replied he, 'the roof of the house has fallen in upon my master, and crushed him to pieces, with all the other merchants.' The wives of the merchants, who happened to-be invited by the lady of the house, as soon as they heard the report, smote their faces in despair, and began to run towards the garden ; but the boy got before them, and entered it, tearing his clothes like a frantic person, in the same manner as he had done before the women. The merchants asked the cause of his distress. « Ah !' he replied, ' I believe a spark of fire escaped from the hands of one of the maid servants, and has set fire to your house, and T do not think there is a single child that bs& noi been burned to death ; nay^ not one even of the maid-servants, nor one of your wives.' The merchants hearing this ran out, one weeping for his sister, or wife, others for their daughters; but when they got about half way home, both parties met on the road, and discovered that the whole was a trick played upon them by the lying servant. < What has tempted you/ said his master, ' to this act?' ? Do you not know,' replied the boy, < that I was bound to tell you every year a great lie and a little one ?' < Well,' said the merchant, < is this the great lie, or the little one?' roved that they were carried away neither by the tide of flood, nor by the tide of ebb, but exactly upon the top of high water, they were nonsuited ; but such was the lenity of the court, upon their paying all costs, they •were allowed ,to begin again, de no via* 124 THE GALLIMAUFRY. THE BUMPKIN AND THE STABLE KEEPER. A TALE. Young Ned, a sort of clownish beau, one day, Quick to a livery stable hied away, To look among the nags ; A journey in the country he was going, And wanted to be mounted well, and knowings And make among his bumpkin kin his brags. The rogue in Tiorses shewM him many a hack, And swore that better never could be mounted; But still young Ned at hiring one was slack, And more or less their shape and make he scouted* ' A gentlemanly steed I want, to cut a shin«, So that I may be clashing call'd, and fine, And set relations, friends, acquaintance, staring — from London tolook vulgar, there's no bearing.' c True, quoth the jockey, with attentive bow, And look'd his customer quite through and through * I see the case indeed exactly now And have a horse that to a T will do;' He found the cash was plenty, and all ready, And mounted to his utmost wishesTVeck/y, Sarcastically muttering as he rode cff, * At thee the natives cannot fail to scoff; So far, most proper *tis indeed, That tliou should'st have a handsome N steed; For where two animals a travelling hie, &ne diould be gentlemanly by the bye,' THE GALLIMAUFRY. 25 THE CONVERTED NATIVE. On heathen shores to kindle Christian flame, To India once a Missionary came. A pious man, replete with holy zeal, And really anxious for the public weal The sweets of Christianity displayed. Full many a convert had our hero made, And many a native who damnation feared, Heathen no more, a catholic appeared. To put the Padree's patience to the test, Washee, (a sly old rogue) among the rest To chapel went ; — and so the story saith, Embraced the doctrine of the christain faith ; The Priest, as usual, with a pious grace, " Sprinkling pure water o'er his sable face," Exclaimed, " with change of faith you alter names, So he who Washee went, returned as— James." The native listened with a mute surprize, But thought, while on the Priest he fixed his Syes, Altho' me kndw, that you would change my God, To change my name is very— very odd. Me forty years of age, and all my life, Sweet thick lipped Balshabam, my lovely wife, Has called me " Washee" — -Washee was my name. Until this Massa White man — Parson came ;— Water he put upon my face — that devilish strange ; And then he telle me, my name be change, He call me James — well — Jamfes is now my name ; Washee or James to me is all the same. But then the Parson say, I no must eat, On what he call the "saint-days," any meat. Nor, if I hope for mercy on the last day, Must I touch flesh on Friday or on fast-day ; You will be damned, he bellowed, if you do, But massa Parson, let me telle you, Dam or no dam, my belly I will treat ; %Q f HE GALLIMAUFRY. And cursee me if I don't still eat meat." Well, Washee, James I mean — James kept his word, Which the good Priest with indignation heard ; To be convinced, howe'er, and shun mistakes, He to the Native's dwelling hied, And there "upon a Friday" spied The white- washed James dining on beef-steaks* « Ah sinful wretch, what is it I behold 2 I grieve to find 'tis truth, that I've been told ; Eating i beef-steaks' to day, I wish to know Where yon expect your precious soul to go?" u What, Massa, me eat meat I No, Massa, no;" Then while a mouthful large, the fellow takes, He adds, u what for you callee this beef-steaks ? This, Massa, that you see upon this dish, Is no c Beef-steaks, 9 indeed — but dam good *Jish? " " Fish/ 9 the astonished priest with fury cried, For very clear it was, the rascal lied, iC Why, wretched man, can't I believe mine eyes ? Tb#y are beef-steaks."— « Fish, jfeft," the Native cries ! ** And now, good massa, to relieve all doubt, I telle you which way /make it out. Oxie $ay you take poor Washee by the hand, You spake fine words he no can understand, Water you put upon my face— that change my name, And so this morning u me" have done the same ; Me lake beef-steaks— make talkee over dish, And "putting water on them" called them u Fish*" A DEVIL OF A WAISTCOAT. Written by Mn John Kerr, and Recited by Mr. Mortimer, at ths Regency Theatre, Are you a man of fashion? no matter whatsoever your quality, whether noble or simple, merchant or THE GALLIMAUFRY. 27 manufacturer, shopkeeper, mechanic, or of no pro- fession, you must undoubtedly have heard of Mr. Je- remy Stitchclose, the celebrated tailor, who resides near the court-end of the town. He fits the human body on anatomical principles, with those garments that give so much grace and elegance to the person, and are the universal admiration of the fashionable loungers of Bond Street and Rotten Row. Had Richard the Third come under the hands of this skil- ful artist he would have made him look like a perfect Adonis, in spite of a crook'd back, withered arm, and bow legs ; for it is a well known fact, that when the famed Hottentot Venus visited the gallery of this House of Commons, disguised in male attire, that every article of her apparel was the production of this man of genius, and notwithstanding the enormous bulk and rotundity of her nether part, the lady^a breeches were so artfully fashioned, that sh& wad universally received as a delicate young gentleman 1 Mr. Stitch- close was one day seated in his parlour, taking his wine after dinner, when Tim Measurewell hfe fore- man,— vulgo, the cutter,«^-U9hered in a French gen- tleman, who appeared to be in want of some of their commodities, but had vainly endeavoured to make him- self understood. He says something about his waist, whispered the foreman. Yes • vest, t'est ca, veste. Oh, I comprehend ; a waistcoat is the article the gen- tleman is in want of. Oui ; yes, sar, waiste-cottes ; and de coloure— de coloure, bianc— dat is— vite. White ? yes sir ; and of what material would you be pleased to have it ? Ah, de material ; dites moi— tell 28 THE GALLIMAUFRY. me de name of de different fabriques done vouse faites vos waiste-cottes ? Marseilla ;— Non. Cassimere ;— Non. Cloth;— Non. Toilinette ;---Non. Dimity; -Non. Jean ;— Non. Sarsnet ;— Non. Silk ;— Non. Shag ;— Non. Plush ;— Non. Corduroy ;— Non. Patent cord ;— Non. Flannel ;.— Non. Still it was-— Dat is no dat; non, non, non. Mr. Stitch- close shrugged up his shoulders ; Tim scratched his pole ; Monsieur was all animation, the Strasburgh paid frequent visits to his nostrils, Diable aidez moi — ah, oui, e'est bien — Vat you call de diable — de devil, in your tongue ? The devilj sir, is the general appellation we give him. Ah, oui, vraiment ; but you have many more names for de devil, comme nolis ? Oh, yes, sir, he's a character well known in London ; we call him Beelzebub : — Non. Lucifer : — a shake of the head. Old Nick : — the same. Infernal Spirit : — Enfer — dat is de devil's iocaitaire— non, non. Serpent; — dat did seduce Eve — non. Appolyon, Davy Jones, Dragon, Babel, Satan, Demon, Monster of the Bot- tomless Pit, Asmodeus Oui, oui, oui, e'est dat — e'est Satan, fabriques de Satan, dat I require for my waistcottes. — A satin waistcoat, sir ; I shall be proud to serve you. My friends, when you see a courtier adorned with a waistcoat of the devil's name, do not ungraciously presume to think that, although the wearer may be hankering after the loaves and fishes, and the candle ends and cheese-parings of office, that he is in the slightest degree a worshipper of his Satannic Majesty, even though he wears hi* court livery. THE 8AT.LTMAUFRT. 29 ON THE PASSIONS. AN ODE FOR MUSIC BY COLLLIJS* When Music, heavenly Maid! was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft\ to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possessed beyond the Muse's painting; By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refined; Till once, 'tis said, when ail were fiVd, FilTd with fury, rapt, inspired, From the supporting my rtles, round They snatch'd her instruments of sound; And as they oft' had heard apart Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each, for Madness rul'd the hour, Would prove his own expressive pow*r c First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewilder' d laid, And back recoil'd, he knew not why, Ev'n at the sound himself had made. Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire In lightnings own'd his secret stings ; In oue rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurry' d hand the strings B 30 THE GALLIMAUFRY. With woeful measures wan Despair — « Low sullen sounds his grief beguil'd ; A solemn strange and mingled air ! *Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wildo But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure ? Still it whisper'd promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! ■Still would her touch the strain prolong, And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call d on Echo still thro' all the song ; And where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at ev 7 ry close, _And Hope enchanted smiPd, and wav'd her golden hair. And longer had she sung — but with a frown Revenge impatient rose ; He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down, And with a withering look The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe; And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat ; And tho* sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his ^ide Her soul-subduing voice apply'd, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting- from his head* THE GALLIMAUFRY. 3T Thy numbers, Jealousy ! to nought were fix'd; Sad proof of thy distressful state ; Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd, And now it courted Love, now raving calPd on Hate, With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd, Paie Melancholy sat retired, And from her wild sequester' d seat, In notes of distance made more sweet. Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul ; And dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Thro' glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or o'er some haunted stream with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But'O ! how alter 1 d was its sprightlier tone ! When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known; The oak-crown'd sisters, and their ehaste-ey'd queen** Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen Peeping from forth their alleys green * Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear, And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : He, with viny crown advancing, B 2:_ 22 THE GALLIMAUFRY. First to the lively pipe his hand addrest, But soon he saw the brisk-awak'ning viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he lovd the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native Maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unweary'd minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round ; Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound, And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings>, G Music ! sphere-descended maid, Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid, Why, Goddess ! why to us deny'd ? Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? As in that lov'd Athenian bow r You learned an all-commanding pow'r, Thy mimic. soul, Nymph endear' d! Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy nati e simple heart, Devote to virtue, fancy, art ? Arise, as in that elder time, Warm, energic, chaste, sublime, Thy wonders in that god-like age Fill thy recording sister's page — 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, Thy humblest reed could more prevail^ THE GALTlMAUFim 3tF Had more of strength, diviner rage, Than all which charms this laggard age £ Ev'n all at once together found Cecilia's mingled world of sound — O bid our vain endeavours cease. Revive the just designs of Greece;, Return in all thy simple state ! Confirm the tales her sons relate I THE ORPHAN BOY. BYOPIE, Stay, Lady, stay, for mercy's sake, And hear a helpless Orphan's tale ; Ah ! sure my looks must pity wake, 'Tis want that makes my cheeks so pale t Yet I was once a mother's pride, And my brave father's hope and joy ; But in the Nile's proud fight he died, And I am now an Orphan Boy ! Poor foolish child — how pleas'd was I, When news of Nelson's victory came ; Along the crowded streets to fly, And see the lighted windows flame ! To force me home my mother sought, She could not bear to see my joy : For with my father's life 'twas bough t, And made me a poor Orphan Boy 1 b 3 34 THE GALLIMAUFRY. The people's shouts were long and loud, My mother, shuddering, closed her ears ; Rejoice ! rejoice ! still cried the crowd. My mother answer'd with her tears ! Why are you crying thus, said I, While others laugh and shout with joy ? She kiss'd me, and with such a sigh, She call'd me her poor Orphan Boy ! What is an Orphan Boy ? I said, When suddenly she gasp'd for breath, And her eyes clos'd — I shriek'd for aid,, But, ah ! her eyes were clos'd in death I My hardships since I will not tell ; But now no more a parent's joy : Ah ! Lady, I have learn' d too well What 'tis to be an Orphan Boy ! Oh ! were I by your bounty fed, !^ay, gentle Lady, do not chide ; Trust me — I mean to earn my bread,. The Sailor's Orphan Boy has pride. Lady ! you weep— -ah ! this to me ! You'll give me clothing, food, employ ; Look down, dear parents, look and see Your happy — happy Orphan Bey 1 THE GALLIMAUFOX. 3& HASSAN r OR, THE CAMEL DRIVER, BY COLLINS. In silent horror o'er the boundless waste The driver Hassan with his camels past. : One cruse of water on his back he bore, And his light scrip contained a scanty store ; A fan of painted feathers in his hand, To guard his shaded face from scorching sand, The sultry sun had gain'd the middle sky, And not a tree, and not an herb, was nigh : The beasts, with pain, their dusty way pursue, Shrill roar'd the winds, and dreary was the view ! With desp 'rate sorrow wild, th' affrighted man Thrice sigh'd, thrice struck his breast, and thus began ** Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way ! u Ah ! little thought I of the blasting wind, The thirst, or pinching hunger, that I hnd ! Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage,. When fails this cruse, his unrelenting rage ? Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign, Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine ? " Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear In all my griefs a more than equal share ' 36 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Here, where no springs in murmurs break away, Or moss-crown' d fountains mitigate the day ; In vain ye hope the green delights to know Which plains more blest, or verdant vales, bestow : Here rocks alone, and tasteless sands, are found, And faint and sickly windls for ever howl around, Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way ! 44 Curst be the gold and silver that persuade Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade ! The lily peace outshines the silver store, And life is dearer than the golden ore : Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown*. Te every distant mart and wealthy town. Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the sea^: And are we only yet repaid by thee ? Ah ! why was rain so attractive made,, Or why fond mai so easily betray 'd ? Why heed, we not, while mad we haste along, The gentle voice of Peace, or Pleasure's song ? Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's side, The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride*, Why think we these less pleasing to behold, Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold ? Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way ! " cease, my fears ! — all frantic as I go, When thought creates unnumber'd scenes of woe j What if the lion in his rage I meet ? — Oft in the dust I view his printed feet: THE GALLIMAUFRY. 37 And, fearful ! oft when Day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner Nighty By hunger rous'd, he scours the groaning plain, Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train : Before them Death with shrieks directs their way ? Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey. Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way ! " At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep,, If aught of rest I find upon my sleep ; Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around, And wake to anguish with a burning wound* Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor, From lust of wealth, and dread of death, secure ! They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find ; Peace rules the day, where Reason rules the mincL Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way ! " O hapless youth ! for she thy love hath won, The tender Zara 5 will be most undone ! Big swell'd my heart, and own'd the powerful maid* Wast fast she dropt her tears, as thus she said : * Farewell the youth whom sighs could not detain, * Whom Zara's breaking heart implor'd in vain 1 1 Yet as thou go'st, may every blast arise * Weak and unfeit as these rejected sighs ! ' Safe o'er the wild, no perils may'st thou see, * No griefs endure, nor Weep, false youth, like me/ O, let me safely to the fair return, Say, with a kiss,, she must not, shall not mourn ; 38 THE GALLIMAUFRY. O ! let me teach my heart to lose its fears, Recall'd by Wisdom's voice, and Zara's tears. n He said, and call'd on Heaven to bless the day When back to Schiraz.' walls he bent his way. THE DRUM. BY SCOTT. I hate the Drum's discording- sound, Parading round, and round, and round : To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields, And lures from cities and from fields^ To sell their liberty for charms Of tawdry lace and glitt'ring arms ; And when Ambition's voice commands, To march, and fight, and fail, in foreign lands* I hate that drum's discording sound, Parading round, and round, and round : To me it talks of ravag'd plains, And burning towns, and ruin'd swains. And mangled limbs, and dying groans, And widows' tears, and orphans' moans ;. And all that Misery's hand bestows To fill the catalogue of human woes. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 39 ORATION OF MARK ANTHONY OVER THE BODY OF CAESAR, BY SHAKSFEARE. "Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears I come to huij Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them ; The good is often interred with their bones : So let it be with Caesar ! The noble Brutus Hcith told you, Caesar was ambitious r ■If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; And grievously hath Caesar answer' d it. Here, under the leave of Brutus, and the rest, (For Brutus is an honourable man ; So are they all, all honourable men) Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful, and just to me; But. Brutus says, he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept ; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown. Which he did thrice refuse* Was this ambition ? 40 THE GALLIMAUFRY* Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause ; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it comes back to me. ******** But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world : now lies he there, And none so poor to do him' reverence. masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong", Who, you all know, are honourable men : 1 will not do them wrong ; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, Than I will wrong such honourable men. But here's a parchment with the seal of Ceesar ; I found it in his closet, '£is his will ; Let but the commons hear this testament (Which, pardom me, I do not mean to read), And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; Yea, beg a hair of him, for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue* THE GALLIMAUFRY. 41 CATO'S SOLILOQUY. BY ADDISON. It must be so — Plato, thou reason'st wel! — Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality ? Or whence this sacred dread and inward horror, Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us ; *Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. Eternity ! thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! Through what variety of untried being, Thro' what new scenes and changes must we pass I The wide, th' unbounded prospect, lies before me ; But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. Here will I hold. If there's a power above us, (And that there is all nature cries aloud, Through all her works), he must delight in virtue; And that which he delights in must be happy. But when, or where ?— this world was made for Csesar. I'm weary of conjectures— this must end 'em. [Laying his hand on his sword. Thus am I doubly arm'd ; my death and life, My bane and antidote, are both before me. This in a moment brings me to an end ; But this informs me I shall never die. 42 THE GALLIMAUFRY. The soul, secured in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies it point. The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. What means this heaviness that, hangs upon me ? This lethargy that creeps through all my senses ? Nature oppress'd, and h rass'd out with care, Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her, That my awaken' d soul may take her flight, Renewed in all her strength, and fresh with life, An otT'ring fit for Heaven. Let guilt or fear Disturb man's rest ; Cato knows neither of 'em, IndifPrent in his choice, to sleep or die. THE PIOUS PAINTER. A COMIC RECITATION. There once was a Painter in Catholic day», Like Job, who eschewed all e#il ; Still on his Madonas the curious may gaze With applause and with pleasure, but chiefly his praise And delight was in painting the Devil. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 43 There were angels (compared to the devils he drew) Who besieg'd poor St. Anthony's cell; Such burning hot eyes, such a damnable hue ! You could even smell brimstone, their breath was so blue, He painted the Devil so well. And now had the artist a picture begun, 'Twas over the Virgin's church door; She stood on the Dragon, embracing her Son, — Many Devils already the artist had done, But this must outdo all before. The old dragon's imps, as they fled thro' the air, At seeing it, paus'd on the wing; For he had the likeness so just to a hair, That they came as Apollyon himself had been there, To pay their respeets to their king. Every child at beholding it, shivei'd with dread, Aud scream'd as he turn 'd away quick; Not an old woman saw it, but raising her head, Dropp'd abead,madea cross on her wrinkles, and said — Oh ! save me from ugly Old Nick ! What the Painter so earnestly thought on by day, He sometimes would dream of by night; But once he was startled as sleeping he lay, 'Twas no fancy, no dream, he could plainly survey, That the devil himself was in sight r " You rascally dauber!" old Belzeebub cries, " Take heed how T you wrong me again : "Though your caricatures myself I despise, "Make me handsomer now in the multitude's eyes, 4< Or see if I threaten in vain !" c 2 44 THE GAtLIMAUFRY, Now the Painter was bold, and religious beside, And on faith he had certain reliance : So earnestly he all his countenance eyed, Aad thank' d him for sitting, with catholic pride* And sturdily bade him defiance. Betimes in the morning 1 the Painter arose, He is ready as soon as 'tis light; Ev'ry look, ev'ry line, ev'ry feature he knows, > Tis fresh in his eye — to his labour he goes, And he has the old wicked one quite. Happy man ! he is sure the resemblance can't fail, The tip of his nose is red hot, There'shis grin and his fangs, hisskin cover' d with seal e P And that identical curl of his tail- Not a mark, not a claw is forgot * He looks, and retouches again with delight, 'Tis a portrait complete to his mind. He touches again, and again feeds his sight: He looks round for applause, and he sees with affrigM The original standing behind ! "Fool ! idiot !"- — old Belzeebub grinnM as he spoke* And stanxp'd on the scaffold in ire: The painter grew pale, for he knew it no joke, *Twas a terrible hight, and the scaffolding broke, The Devil could wish it no higher. f ' Help, help me ! O Mary !" he cried in alarm,. As the scaffold sunk under his feet ; From the canvas the Virgin extended her arm, She caught the. good Painter, she sav'd hirn from harm,. There were hundreds who saw in the street. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 45 The old Dragon fled when the wonder he spied, And curs'd his own fruitless endeavour; While t{ie Painter call'd after, his rage to deride, Shook his pallet and brushes in triumph, and cried, "I'll paint thee more ugly than ever!" "WE ARE SEVEN." A simple child, dear brother Jem, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What can it know of death ? I met a little cottage girl, Of eight years old, she said, Her hair was thick with many a curl* That cluster' d round her head: She had a rustic woodland air„ And she was wildly clad, Her eyes were blue, and she was fair* Her beauty made me glad : Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be ? " How many ? seven in all,'* she said,, And wondering Iook'd at me : And where are they ? I pray you tell,. She answered " seven are we, "Two of us at Conway dwell, "And two are gone to sea ; c 5 46 THE GALLIMAUFRY. "Two of us in the church-yard lie, " My sister, and my brother, " And in the church-yard cottage, I "Dwell near them, with my mother*" You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea; Yet you are seven, I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this can be* Then did the little maid reply, " Seven boys and girls are we, "Two of us in the church-yard lie, " Beneath the church-yard tree.'* You run about my little maid, All sprightly and alive, If two are in the' church-yard laid, Then ye are only five. " Their graves are green, they may be seen, 1 * The little maid replied ; " Twelve steps or more, from mother's door, " And there they are side by side ; ! " My' stockings there, I often knit, " My 'kerchief there, I hem, " And there, upon the ground I sit, "I sit and sing to them* " And often, after sunset, Sir, " When it is light and fair, " I take my little porringer, "And eat my supper there ; THE GALLIMAUFRY. 47 "The first that died was little Jane, " In bed she moaning lay, "- 'Till God releas'd her from her pain, 46 And then she went away : " So then in the church-yard she was laid, "And all the summer dry, "Together round her grave we play'd, " My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow, " And I could run and slide, "My brother John was forc'd to go, " And he lies by her side." How many are you ? then, said I, If those two are in Heaven? The little maid did reply, "Oh master, we are seven. But two are dead, their spirits fled, And now at rest in heaven; *Twas throwing words away, for still The little maid would have her will, And said, "nay, we are seven/' MARY THE MAID OF THE INN. Who is she, the poor maniac, whose widely -fixed eyes Seem a heart overcharged to express ? — She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs ; She never complains— but her silence implies The composure of settled distress. 48 THE GALLIMAUFRY. No aid, no compassion, the maniac will seek, Cold and hunger awake not her care ; Thro' the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak On her poor wither' d bosom, half bare, and her cheek Has the deadly pale hue of despair. Yet cheerful and happy (nor distant the day) Poor Mary the maniac has b een ; The traveler remembers, who journey' d this way, No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay, As Mary, the Maid of the Inn. Her cheerful address fill'd the guests with delight, As she welcom'd them in with a smile; Her heart was a stranger to childish affright, And Mary would walk by the Abbey at night, When the wind whistled down the dark aisle. She lov'd — and young Richard had settled the day — And she hop'd to be happy for life : But Richard was idle and worthless ; and they Who knew him would pity poor Mary, and say, That she was too good for his wife. 'Twas in Autumn, and stormy and dark was the night, And fast were the windows and door ; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright, And smoking in silence, with tranquil delight, They listen'd to hear the wind roar. * 'Tis pleasant,' cried one, ' seated by the fire-side, 6 To hear the wind whistle without/ * A fine night for the Abbey,' his comrade reply'd: 'Methiuks a man's courage would now be well try'd, * Who should wander the ruins about. THE GALLIMAUFRY* 49 'I myself, like a school-boy should tremble to hear * The hoarse ivy shake over my head ; I And could fancy 1 saw, half persuaded by fear, * Some ugly old abbot's white spirit appear, < For this wind might awaken the dead.' Til wager a dinner,' the other one cry'd, 'That Mary would venture there now :' * Then wager and lose,' with a sneer he reply' d, 1 I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side, * And faint if she saw a white cow.' * Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ?* His companion exclaim'd, with a smile; * I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, 1 And earn a new bonnet, by bringing a bough * From the alder that grows in the aisle*' With fearless good humour did Mary comply, And the way to the Abbey she bent, The night it was gloomy, the wind it was high, And, as hollowly howling it swept through the sky, She shiver' d with cold as she went. O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid, Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight ; Through the gateway she enter' d, she felt not afraid, Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Howl'd dismally round the old pile; Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she pass'd And arrived at the innermost ruin at last, Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle. 50 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Well pleas' d did she reach it, arid quickly drew near, And hastily gathered the bough ; When the sound of a voice seem'd to rise on her ear — She paus'd, and she listened, all eager to hear, And her heart panted fearfully now. The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head ;— She listened ; nought else could she hear. The wind ceas'd, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread Of footsteps approaching her near. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear She crept to conceal herself there ; That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear, And between them a corpse did they bear. Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdl'd cold : Again the rough wind hurried by — It blew off the hat of the one, and behold ! Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll'd: She fell — and expected to die. ' Curse thehat!-- he exclaims— 'nay, comeon, andfirsthide ' The dead body,* his comrade replies. She beheld them in safety pass on by her side, She seizes the hat, fear her courage supply' d, And fast through the Abbey she flies. She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door, She cast her eyes horribly round : Her limbs could support their faint burden no more ; But, exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor, Unable to utter a sound. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 51 Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, For a moment the hat met her view ; Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, oh God ! what cold horror thrill'd thro' her heart When the name of her Richard she knew ! Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by, His gibbet is now to be seen ; Not far from the inn it engages the eye, The traveller beholds it, and thinks with a sigh, Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn. THE DRUNKEN SAILORS. A parson once, of Methodistic race, With band new stiffen'd, and with lengthen 1 d face, In rostrum mounted, high above the rest, In long-drawn tones, his friends below address'd ; And while he made the Chapel roof to roar, Three drunken sailors reel'd in at the door ; His reverence twigg'd them — baited fresh his trap— f New converts for old Nick and Co. to nap I 1 The poor pew-opener, too, a grave old woman, Poor ! did I say ? Oh ! how 1 wrong 1 d the race — His honour told m£ she was rich — ah, rich in grace. This poor pew-opener though, thinking right, As soon as Neptune's sons appear 1 d in sight, With a preface of three dismal groans composed. Her lips thus open'd, and her mind disclos'd; 52 THE GALLIMAUFRY. ' Ye vicked men, conceiv'd and born in sin, The gospel gates are open — enter in ; Come and be sav'd, ye fallen sons of Adam: At which they all roar'd out — 6 Oh danTnre, madam, Your jawing tackle's at it's proper pitch, Come out you swab-fac'd noisy witch, Go hang yourself you squalling cat — What humbug rig is this that now you're at ? Words like these, utter'd in a sailor's note, Soon reach' d the man in black, who p reach 'd by rote ; And he — tho' a dissenter, is what 1 would remark — Being no novice, beckon'd to his clerk, Told the amen-man what to say and do — Immediately he leaves his pew, Goes to the sailors to do as he was bid ; Out hauls his 'bacco-box, with — 6 Dam'me, take a quid ? * What cheer my thundering bucks ! how are ye all ? Come in my lads, and give your sins an overhaul !' The sailors roll'd their quids, and turn'd their eyes, And view their benefactor with surpise ; Swore he was a hearty fellow — c D — n their souls P So in they staggering went — cheek by jowl, Found a snug birth, and stow'd themselves away, To hear what Master Blackey had to say. His reverence preach' d, and groan'd, and preach'd again ! And, says my story, it was not in vain ; The plan succeeding, which they had concerted, They went in sinners, and came out converted. Gr THE GALLIMAUFRY. 53 THE BATCHELOR'S REASONS FOR TAKING A WIFE. rave authors say, and witty poets sing, That honest wedlock is a glorious thing ; But depth of judgment most in him appears, Who wisely weds in his maturer years. Then let him chuse a damsel young and fair, To bless his age, and bring a worthy heir ; To sooth his cares, and free from noise and strife^ Conduct him gently to the verge of life ; Let sinful batehelor's their woes deplore, Full well they merit all they feel, and more; Unawd by precepts, human and divine, Like birds and beasts, promiscuously they join : Nor know to make the present blessing last, To hope the future, or esteem the past ; But vainly boast the joys they uever try'd, And find divulg'd the secrets they would hide. The marry'd man may bear his yoke with ease, Secure at once himself and heaven to please ; And pass his inoffensive hours away, In bliss all night, and innocence all day : Tho' fortune change, his constant spouse remains, Augments his joys, or mitigates his pains. But what so pure, which envious tongues will spare I Some wicked wits have libell'd all the fair. With matchless impudence they style a wife The dear-bought curse, and lawful plague of life ; A bosom serpent, a domestic evil, A night invasion, and a mid-day devil. 54 GALLIMAUFRY. Let not the wise these sland'rous words regard, But curse the bones of ev'ry lying bard. All other goods by Fortune's hand are given ; A wife is the peculiar gift of heaven : Vain Fortune's favours, never at a stay, Like empty shadows glide and pass away ; One solid comfort, our eternal wife, Abundantly supplies us all our life. This blessing lasts (if those who try, say true) As long as e'er a heart can wish — and longer too. Our grandsire Adam, e'er of Eve possess'd, Alone and ev'n in paradise unbless'd, With mournful looks the blissful scenes survey'd, And wander'd in the solitary shade : The Maker saw, took pity, and bestowed Woman, the last, the best reserve of God. A wife ! ah gentle deities, can he That has a wife e'er feel adversity ? Would men but follow what the sex advise, All things would prosper, all the world grow wise. 'Twas by Rebecca's aid that Jacob won His father's blessing from an elder son : Abusive Nabal ow'd his forfeit life To the wise conduct of a prudent wife i Heroic Judith, as old Hebrews show, Preserv'd the Jews, and slew the Assyrian foe : At Hester's suit the persecuting sword Was sheathed, and Israel lived to bless the Lord* Be charm'd with virtuous joys, and sober life, And try that christian comfort, call'd a wife. GALLIMAUFRY. 55 THE SEVEN AGES OF WOMAN. The world's a stage — and man has seven ages, So Shakespeare writes, king of dramatic sages ; But he forgot to tell you in his plan, That Woman plays her part as well as Man. First how her infant heart with triumph swells, When the red coral shakes its silver bells ! She, like young statesmen, as the rattle rings, Leaps at the sound, and struts in leading strings. Next, little Miss, in pin-a-fore so trim, With nurse so noisy — with mamma so prim — Eager to tell you all she's taught to utter, Lisps as she grasps the allotted bread and butter ; Type of her sex — who though no longer young, Holds every thing with ease, except the tongue* A School Girl then, she curls her hair in papers, And mimics father's gout and mother's vapours ; Tramples alike on custom and on toes, And whispers all she hears to all she knows : 44 Betty," she cries, " it comes into my head, " Old maids grow cross because their cats are dead; 4< My governess has been in such a fuss " About the death of our old tabby puss — r She wears black stockings — ha ! ha ! — what a pother, W 'Cause one old cat's in mourning for another !" The child of nature — free from pride and pomp, And sure to please, though nothing but a romp. Next riper Miss, who, nature more disclosing, Now finds some tracts of art are interposing ; And with blue laughing eyes behind her fan, First acts her part with that great actor, — Man ! Behold her now, an ogling vain Coquette, Catching male gudgeons in her silver net. All things revers'd — the neck cropt close and bare* Scarce feels the incumbrance of a single hair ; Whilst the thick forehead tresses, frizled full, Rival the tufted locks that grace the bull* 56 GALLIMAUFRY. Then comes that sober character — a Wife, With all the dear distracting cares of life. A thousand cards a thousand joys extend, For what may not upon a card depend ? Though justice in the morn claim fifty pounds, Five hundred won at night may heal the wounds. Now she'll snatch half a glance at opera, ball, A meteor trac'd by none, though seen by all ; 'Till spousy finds, while anxious to immure her, A patent coffin only can secure her ! At last the Dowager, in ancient flounces, With snuff and spectacles, this age denounces. And thus she moralizes : — (speaks like an old woman) *' How bold and forward each young flirt appears; " Courtship in my time lasted seven long years; " Now seven little months suffice of course, " For courting, marrying, scolding, and divorce. " What with their truss'd up shapes and pantaloons, " Dress occupies the whole of honey-moons. " They say we have no souls — but what more odd is, " Nor men nor women now have any bodies, " When I was young, my heart was always tender, " And would to ev'ry spouse I had surrender ; " Their wishes to refuse I never durst — " And my fourth died as happy as my first." Truce to such splenetic and rash designs, And let us mingle candour with our lines. Tu all the stages of domestic life, As child, as sister, parent, friend, and wife, Woman, the source of every fond employ, Softens affliction, and enlivens joy. What is your boast, male rulers of the land ? How cold and cheerless all you can command ; Vain your ambition — vain your wealth and power, Unless kind woman share your raptur'd hour, Unless, 'midst all the glare of pageant art, She adds her smile, and triumphs in your hearty THE GALLIMAUFRY. 5? SPECULATION ; Or 9 a New Way of Saving a Thousand Pounds, HAZARD, a careless fellow, known At every gambling-house in towa — Was oft in want of money, yet Could never bear to run in debt : Because, 'tis thought, no man was willing To give him credit for a shilling. Dependent on Dame Fortune's will, He threw the dice, or well, or ill : — This day in rags — -the next in lace, Just as it happ'd— a seize, or ace : — - Was oftentimes, when not a winner, Uncertain where to get a dinner. One day, when cruel Fortune's frown Had stripp'd him of his last half-crown, Saunfring along, in sorry mood, Hungry — perhaps for want of food, A parlour window struck his eye, Through which our Hero chanc'd to spy A jolly round-fac'd personage, Somewhat about the middle age, Beginning a luxurious meal — For 'twas a noble Loin of Yeal ; And such a sight, I need not mention,. Quickly arrested his attention*— Surely, thought he, I know that, feces . V ve seen it at some other place ; D 58 iTHE GALLIMAUFRY. I recollect 'twas at the play, And there I heard some people say,— 6 How rich this fellow was, and what * An handsome daughter he had got/* * That dinner would exactly do — * A Loin of Veal's enough for two.— * Could not I strike out some way 6 To get an introduction ?— Eh ? * Most likely 'tis — I may endeavour — > * In vain ! — but come, I'll try however. ** And now he meditates no more- Thunders a rat- tat at the door, And lest that method might not suit, They say, he rang the bell to boot. The party-color' d footman come, * Pray, is your Master, Sir, at home ?" * My Master, Sir's at home, but busy/' * Then he's engaged,' ^uoth Hazard, ' is he?* {In voice as loud as he could bellow), * I'm very sorry, my good fellow, * It happens sq, because I eou'd * Your master do some little good ; 4 A Speculation that I know 6 Might save a Thousand Pounds, or so* 6 No matter, friend, your master tell* * Another day will do as well.' * What's that you say ?' -the Master cries* (With pleasure beaming from his eyes, Apd napkin tuck 'd beneath his chin, Bamcing frc» pariaur, whence within THE GALLIMAUFPwT. 59 He'd heard those joy-inspiring sounds. Of saving him a Thousand Pounds), f My dear Sir, what is that you say ? 6 Sir, I can call another day, * Your dinner I've disturb'd, I fear^ 8 Do, pray Sir, take your dinner here ; * You'll find a welcome, warm and hearty / * I shall intrude upon your party.' 1 There's not a soul but I and you.* * Well then, I don't care if I do.' Our Spark's design so far completed, Behold him at the table seated, Paying away as well he might, With some degree of appetite. Our host, who willing would have press' d The Thousand Pounds upon his guest, Still thought it would not be genteel To interrupt him at his meal* W T hicIi seem'd sa fully to employ him. Talking might probably annoy him ; So thought it better he should wait Till after dinner, the debate. — And now < the King and Constitution,' ' With ill success to revolution,* And many a warm and loyal toast Had been discuss' d ; when our good host Thought it was almost time to say, * Let's move the order of the day. 5 Indeed he hardly could help thinking 'Twas rather odd, — his guest was drinking ; 60 THE GALLIMAUFRY, The business not a jot the nearer, A second bottle of Madeira ; And that he seem' d to sit and chatter 'Bout this, and that, and t'other matter, As if he'd not the least intention This Thousand Pounds of his to mention. Much did he wish to give a hint, Yet knew not how he should begin't. At length — ' Sir, you've forgot, I fear, 4 The business that has brought you here ; k 1 think you gave some intimation ' About a saving Speculation.* f Ay, Sir—- you'll find it not amiss, - My Speculation's simply this : — * I hear you have a daughter, Sir." * A daughter I — Well, and what of her I *. What can my daughter have to do ' With this affair 'twixt me and you ?' * I mean to make your daughter (craving * Your pardon, Sir), the means' of saving « The sum I mention.— You'll allow 4 My scheme is feasible.' — « As how V ' Why thus. — I hear you've no objection * To form some conjugal connection *■ For this same daughter/— 4 No; provid 4 All other matters coincided :'— fi Then, Sir, I'll suit ye to a hair. * Pray, is she not extremely fair ?* 8 Why, yes ; there's many folks who praise hti ■;• * But what is beauty now a days, Sir ?' & Ay, true, Sir ! nothing without wealth. 4 But come, suppose we drink her health ;.' THE GALLIMAUFRY. 61 * Indeed I've drank enough already.' 6 Oh fie ! consider, Sir, a lady, * By rights we should hare drank her first— ■ Pray fill/ — < Well, if I must— I must. 1 9 And pray, what age, Sir, may she be F * God bless me — she's just twenty-three, * * Just twenty-three, faith a rare age !' 1 Sir, you were speaking of her marriage/ * I was — and wish'd to know, in case c Such an occurrence should take place, * The sum it might be in your power € To give with her, by way of Dower/ 4 Well, Sir — then this is my intent — c If married with my own consent, * I've no objection, on such grounds, c To pay her down Ten Thousand Pounds/— ■ Ten Thousand, Sir, I think you say.' — * I do.' — * What on the marriage day ?' ■ The whole.'— « Then let her, Sir, be mine, ' I'll take her off your hands with Nine/ +**t+*4+*++t *****/*+++ HODGE AND THE RAZOR SELLER, BY PETER PINDAR. A fellow in a market town, Most musical cried razors up and down, And offered twelve for eighteen pence : Which certainly seem'd wond'rous cheap, And for the money quite a heap, As every man would buy with cash and sense. d 2 62: THE GALLIMAUFRY. . — _ — , . -. ■ . , ,. ,. ... i i — , , _ A country bumpkin the great offer heard* Poor Hodge, who suffered for a broad black beard ^ That seem'd a shoe-brash stuck beneath his nose ; With cheerfulness- the eighteen-penee he pakl 3 . And proudly to himself, in whispers said* ' This rascal stole the razors I suppose** Mo m alter 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 w& Smiling in, heart, and sod content^ And quickly soap' d- 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 next he tnedr-» All were imposters— ' Ah,' Hodge sighed 2 * I wish my eighteen-penee within my puise.* m In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces, He cut* and dag; and winc'd, and stainp'd, and swore ; Brought blood,, and danc'd, blasphem'd* and made wry- faces,, Am! curs' d eaeh razor's body o'er and o'er* His muzzle, fmm'd of opposition stuffy Firm as a Foxite,, wo&la not lose its ruff; So kept it— laughing at the steel and suds :. Hodge in a passion stretched Ms. angry jaws,, Towing the direst vengeance, with clench 1 d .claws ■ ; I>e, the vile cheat that sold the gcod% THE GALLIMAUFRY. 63 ' Razors ! a curs'd confounded dog*, ■' Not fit to scrape a hoo v 1* Hodge sought the fellow — -found him and begin-, # i Perhaps Master Razor-rogue, to you it's fan, That people ilea themselves out of their lives ; You rascal !— for an hour have I heen grubbing, Giving my scoundrel whiskers here a scrubbing razors just like oyster knives ; h ! I tell you you're a knave, To cry up razors that can't shave. ■ Friend,' quoth the razor-man, 6 I'm no knave : ' As for the razors you have bought, % Upon my soul I never thought ' That they would shave.' 1 Not think they'd shave ?' quoth Hodge, with wond'ring eyes, And voice not much unlike an Indian yell ; f What were they made for tiien, you dog,' he cries ; ■ Made i' quoth the fellow, with a smile — * to sell.' * #**//*r//>/ +t**tnt++ GILES AND HIS GUINEA, Said Giles to his Grandmother, chatting one da# ' I am going to Lurmun to-morrow.' — * Ah, Lad, thee'it repent it,' his Grandmother said, ' And leave it with sighs and with sorrow, 64 THE GALLIMAUFRY. f If I might advise thee, ne'er ramble to town, * But e'en as a pestilence shun it ; f The rogues there will steel the teeth out of thy head, * And laugh at the when they have done it/ However friend Giles to the capital went, Resolving to guard against plunder ; 'Till passing St. Paul's in the midst of the day, The fabric attracted his wonder ! A Sharper observed him, and instant turn'd out His pockets quite bare to the lining : — Giles knew what the fellow was at — and turn'd round Quite cool — without care or repining ' My lad, it won't do — I am not such a fool ' To be trifled by such a queer Ninney ; * What money I have boy, Pse clapp'd in my mouth, ' And that, Master Sharp, is a Guinea !' The rogue he retired, and soon met a boy Brought up to the thieving profession : The guinea he told him some scheme must remove To get it in rightful possession. ' Enough,' said the boy — c that's the man in the frock, 4 His cunning shall quickly be humbled.' Then rattling some half-pence, along on the stones, Flat dawn before Giles the lad tumbled : * dear ! — whereas my money ? the urchin roar'd out, 1 My mammy will make me deplore it.' The crowd gather'd round to pick up his loose cash, And CSHes lent a hand to restore it, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 0$ < There — there is thy money,'— -said simpleton Giles, ' Hold it fast, — no more be a Ninaey/ — * Yes — .here are my halfpence,* young hopeful reply' d 6 But where, you old thief, is my Guinea ? ' Good people, he put it just now in his mouth I — ' A lie I detest beyond measure .'— The people drew up, and with resolute gripe, Brought forward the glittering treasure ; Then gave it the boy, who right joyful ran off; And turning to Giles all their fun 7 , They pelted with mud ; — but he took to his heels, And escaped to the regions of Drury. 4 Of Lunnun,' said Giles, * I believe what she said, ' Vv'hen my Grandmother warn'd me to shun it ; 1 For zartainly thieves here in town steel your teeth, ' And laugh at you when they have done it*-* #/»*** JW#/*/ #**v// ////J* THE ^FRENCHMAN AND THE RATS, Recited by Mr. Yorfe, lafce of the Theatre Royal, Dublin, A Frenchman once, who was a merry wight, Passing to town from Dover, in the night, Near the road-side an ale-house chane'd to spy; And feeing" rather tired, as well as dry, Resolved to enter ; but first he took a peep, In hopes a ^supper he might get 9 and cheap* He enters ; Hollo ! Garcon, if you please, Bring me a leetle bid of bread and cheese ? THE GALLIMAUFRY, And, Hollo I Garcon, a pot of portar too ? he said, Which, I shall take, and then myself to bed. His supper done, some scraps of cheese were left 5 Which our poor Frenchman, thinking it no theft, Into his pocket put ; then slowly crept To wished-for bed ; but not a wink he slept.-— For, on the floor, some sacks of flour were laid, To which the rats a nightly visit paid* Our hero now, undressed, popped out the light, Put on his cap, and bade the world good night ; But first, his breeches, which contained the fare, Under his pillow, he had placed with care. Sans ceremoxiie, soon the rats all ra&, And on the flour-sacks greedily began ; At which they gorged themselves ; then smelling round* Under the pillow, soon the cheese they found ; And, while at this they regaling sat, Their happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman's nap : Who, half awake, cries out, Hollo, Hollo ! What is dat nibble at my pillow so ? Ah ! 'tis one Got dam rat ! What de diable is it he nibbel, nibbel at ? In vain, our little hero sought repose ; Sometimes the vermin gallopped o'er his nose ; And such the pranks they kept up all the night, That he, on end antipodes upright, Bawling aloud, called stoutly for a light. Hollo ! Maison ! Garcon, I say ! Bring me de bill for what I hav to pay ? THE GALLIMAUFRY* 67 The bill was brought, and to his great surprise, Ten shillings was the charge — he scarce believes bis eyes; With eager haste, he runs it o'er, And ^very time he viewed it, thought it more* ' Wby 3 zounds, and dam ! (he cries) I shall no pay ; What, charge ten shelangs for what I hav mangle ? A leetel sup of portar, dis vile bed, Where all de rats do ron about my head ?* f- 0, curse those rats I the landlord muttered out ; I wish to the Lord that I could make 'em scout : I'll pay him well that can/ — * What's that you say ?* I'll pay him well that can.' — * Attend to me, 1 pray : Till you dis charge forego, what I am at, If from your house I drive away de rat ?* ■ With all my heart*' the jolly host replies, 4 Ecoutez done, ami ; (the Frenchman cries)* First, den, — Regarder, if you please, Bring to dis spot a little bread and cheese, Eh, bien ! a pot of portar too ; And den invite de rats to sup wid you; And after — no matter dey be willing — For what dey eat, you charge dem just ten shilling ; And I am sure, when dey behold de score, Dey'll quit your house, and nevex come no more.' EPILOGUE TO FOLLY AS IT FLIES. Spoken by Mr. Muaden,in tlie Character ®iPo*t Obit. " Eye Nature's walks." Need poets thus advis« ? Pray, who can fail, unless he shuts his eyes ? €8 THE GALLIMAUFRY. ■■ -., .1. ,..,■ ..,,_ . „ . ,, . , „ ,< • , .,,, „ „ Is not poor nature full display' d to view ? Transparent fair-ones, 1 appeal to you : To you ye — no—you're quite a different creature, You modern beaux you are out of nature. (i Shoot folly as it flies." Alas ! I fear The attempt is vain. We know, year after year. Our bard his game certificate hatli got, Hatli wasted all his paper, powder, shot. Yet, has he thinn'd the follies of the town ? He may hit hard, but can he knock one down ? Amazed at this, I ask'd the reason why ; Follies, he said, on Fashion's pinions fly. They soar aloft secure, the more you fire, Yon only scare them, and they mount the higher. What ! can no birds within our reach be found ? lil look about me ; this is sporting ground. Sure lawyers, husbands, wives, and lobby phantoms. Are black game, cuckoos, wagtails, crowing bantams. Of rooks and pigeons I see various races, Beside the sea-gulls from the watering places ! As for the city fowls, they've had their trimming, Acd lame ducks, now in the canals are swimming. c And catch the manners living as they rise.' Where catch them ? Here ; their field for exercise. Suppose the scene quite tragic, all in high woe ; Out thunders — * What's the Play ?'— « Sir, how do I knowi' G Do you know me ?'~* No, dam'me ! hold your bother !* 6 Sir, Tm a gentleman.'--- ' Sir, I'm another.* (Audience)—' Go on ! go on;' (Actor)*--' Oh, wretched, lost Evander !' * Sir, my name's M'Gosliiigc'-— c And mine, Gran- der, ' (Exchanging cards. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 69 * Drops for the ladies there !'-- ' Unloose their lockets V < We can't.' — ' Their handkerchiefs !' — * They've got no pockets.* * Silence, below there ! Let us hear the Play, (Sailor in the galleries. K Ladies and gentlemen, one word, I pray,' (Actor. 4 De'el take ye, in this Babel, Heel, or London !' (Scotchman in the pit, i Are you the manager?' (Irishman) i No, Sir, Fm MundenS Such are the manners of our age, nor less Doth Folly hold dominion over dress. All things disorder' d are from sole to crown, The youthful stripling is old Square-toes grown. With gills tight brac'd, his head seems out of joint, A crazy ruin, propp'd at every point. Though war through Europe, through the world, may cease, And plenty gild the olive-bTanch of Peace ; Though others quit the field, their labour done, Our Bard comes forth with double-barrell'd gun. From luxury and ease new follies spring, And he's resolv'd to catch them on the wing. No rest he seeks, nor danger will he fear, Proud in your service to be volunteer. RICHARD & BETTY AT HICKLETON FAIR. A celebrated Yorkshire Recitation, delivered by Mr. Knight, at the Theatre Royal Brury Lane, and at most other Theatres in the Kingdom, with the most unqualified applause. As I wur ganging out last Sat' day neet to buy half- a-pound o'bakon, whoshou'd I meet but my old sweet- E 70 THE GALLIMAUFRY. heart, Betty Hunt, un she said, * aye, Richard, be that thou,' unl said, * ees, sure it be,' un she said, ' Richard, wudn't thee be ganging to Hickleton Vair at morrow ?J and I said, ' I nowd'nt not, haply I mought,' and Betty la'aught ; and I said, ' I wou'd,' and I did, and I went to Hickleton Vair. And so in morning I gotten up and putten on my best shoen, cloggen shoen ware out at fashion then, and I went clink ma clank, clink ma clank all t'way to townend, and vurst I seed were Betty standing at her Vather's door, wi' two chaps hanging on either haarm, un I felt all over in sike a conflagration, all ma blood gotten into ma knuckles — oh, I'd a nation good mind to gi'en a bat o' t' chops, for Betty took na notice of me ; so I stared at her, but she minded riot I — so I nudged her at elbow, un she said, ' aye, Richard, be that thou ?' and I said, « ees, sure it be ;' and she said, * Richard, woudn't the come into house,* and I said * ees, I wou'd,' and I did, and I went into house ; and there were a vary many people, vary many indeed, and Betty said, < Richard, wou'dn't the have a drap o' sum'mat t' drink ?' and I said, ' ees, I would,' and I did, and I had a drap o'summit 't drinks and I la'af'd, and wur vary merry, vary merry indeed : and Betty said, ' Richard, wou'dn't thee sing us a song ?' and I said, ' ees, I would,' and I did, and chaunted a steave— The clock had struck, I can't tell what, But the morn came on as grey. as a rat; The cocks and hens from their roosts did fly, Grunting pigs, too, had left their stye. Down in a vale, Carrying a pail, THE GALLIMAUFRY* 71 Cicely was met by her true love Harry ; Vurst they kiss't, Then shock fist, And look'd like two fools just going to marry. Aye, I remember vary weel that wnr the vurst song I ever sung Betty Hunt, and she said, * thee'd sing us another song, wou'dn't thee ?' and I saii, c ees, I wou'd,' and I did, and I sang'd another song — aye, I remember vary weel that war the last song I ever sung poor Betty ; un at last I said, c I must be ganging, Betty,' and she said, c well, when thee wo't, Richard, when the wo't ;' and I said, s thee'd cum and see ma sum'at way whoam, 5 and she said she would, and she did, and she see'd me ^ bit 'ut way— -all the way to townend; and I said Betty, 6 thee'd gi' us a buss, wou'dn't thee,' and she said, ees, she wou'd, and she did, and she giv'cl me a buss. 6 Weel, Betty, thee't let me cum and see thee at morrow nee't,' and she said, * an thee wo't, Richard : so I gang mysen whoam and gotten to bed, and went at morrow neet to meet Betty — eight o'clock and na Betty — nine o'clock, ten o'clock, and na Betty — eleven, twelve o'clock, and na Betty ; so I tho't I'd gang mysen whoam ; so in the morning I were told poor Betty wur vary badly, vary badly indeed, and she had sent to see ma ; so I went to see poor Betty, and she said, * Richard, if I shou'd dee, thee'd goo to ma burying, wou'dn't thee ?* and I said, I now'dnt not, haply I mought, so I said I wou'd, and I did, and I went to her burying, for poor Betty deed ; and I ne'er goo through Hickleton church- yard without droping a tear to the memory of poor Betty Hunt. 72 THE GALLIMAUFRY. / THE WHISKERS. A favourite Comic Tale, as recited at various Concerts,&c. in tne Metropolis. A certain Swiss captain of grenadiers, whose company had been cashiered, was determined, since Mars had no more employment for him, to try if he could not procure a commission in the corps of Venus ; or, in other words, he could not get a wife : and as he had no fortune of his. own, he reasoned, and reasoned very justly, it was quite necessary his intended should have enough for them both. The captain was one of those kind of heroes to whom the epithet hectoring blade might readily be ap- plied : he was nearly six feet high, with a long sword, and fiercely formed hat ; add to which, he was allowed to have the most martial pair of whiskers of any grenadier in the company to which he had belonged. To curl these whiskers, to comb and twist them round* his fore- finger, and to admire them in the glass, formed the chief occupation and delight of his life. A man of these accomplishments, with the addition of bronze and rhodo- montades to which he had a superfluity, stands at alj times, and in all countries, a good chance with the ladies, as the experience of I know not how many thousand years has confirmed. Accordingly, after a little diligent attention and artful inquiry, a young lady was found, exactly such a one as we may well suppose' a person with his views would be glad to find. She was tolerably handsome, not more than three-and-twenty, with a good fortune • and, what was the best part of the story, this fortune was entirely at ker own disposal .. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 73 Our captain, who thought now or never w r as the time, having first found means to introduce himself as a suitor, was incessant in his endeavours to carry his cause. His tongue w r as eternally running in praise of her super- superlative, never-to-he-described charms : and in hyperbolical accounts of the flames, darts, and daggers, by w v hich his lungs, liver, and midriff, were burnt up, transfixed, and gnawed aw r ay. He, who, in writing a song to his sweetheart, described his heart to be without one drop of gravy, like an overdone mutton-chop, was a fool at a smile when compared to our hero. One day, as he was ranting, kneeling, and beseeching his goddess to send him of an errand to pluck the diamond from the nose of the Great Mogul, and present it to her divinityship, or suffer him to step and steal the empress of China's enchanted slipper, or the queen of Sheba's cockatoo, as a small testimony of what he would under-* take to prove his love; she, after a litcle hesitation, addressed him thus : " The protestations which you daily make, captain, as well as what you say at present, convince me there is nothing you would not do to oblige me : I therefore do not find much difficulty in telling you I am willing to be yours, if you will perform one thing which I shall re- quest of you." * Tell me, immaculate angel,' cried our son of gun- powder : ' Tell me what it is ; though, before you speak, be certain it is already done. Is it to find the seal of Solomon ? to catch the phcenix ? or draw your chariot to church with unicorns ? what is the impossible act I will not undertake >' * No, captain,' replied the fair one ; * I shall enjoia e 2 74 the gallimaufry; nothing impossible. The thing I desire, you can do with the utmo t ease. It will not cost you five minutes trouble. Yet, were it not for your so positive assurances, I should, from what I have observed, almost doubt of your compliance.' fc Ah, madam, 1 returned he, * wrong not your slave thus ; deem H impossible, that he who eats happiness, ttnd drinks immortal life from the light of your eyes, can never demur the thousandth part of a semi-second to execute your omnipotent behests: speak! say! what, empress of my parched entrails, what must I perform P , ' Nay, for. that matter, 'tis a mere trifle; only to cut off your whiskers, captain ; that's all.' b Madam ? — (Be so kind, reader, as to imagine the captain's utter astonishment} * My whiskers ! — cut off my whiskers ! — excuse me ! — cut off my whiskers ! — madam ! — any thing else — any thing that mind can, or cannot imagine, or tongue describe. Bid me fetch you Prester John's beard, a hair at the time 5 and it's done. But, for my whiskers, you must grant me a salvo there.' * And why so, good captain ? Surely any gentleman who had but the tythe of the passion you express, would* not stand upon such a trifle :' * A trifle, madam ? — my whiskers a trifle ! no, madam, no — my whiskers are no trifle. Had I but a single regi- ment of fellows whkskered like me, I myself would be the Grand Turk of Constantinople. My whiskers, madam, are the last thing I should have supposed you would have wished me to sacrifice. There is rwt a woman, married or single, maid, wife, or widow, that majesty ; To stmt before a wanton ambling nymph !— I, that am curtail' d of mail's fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature, 94" THE GA'LLXMAUFRYV Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable, That dogs bark at me as I halt by 'em; Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away my hours — Unless to see my shadow in the sun. And descant on my own deformity ! Then since the earth affords no joy to me, But to command, to check, and o'erbear such As are of happier person than myself,; Why then to me this restless world's but hell, Till this mis-shapen trunk's aspiring head, Be circled in a glorious diadem ! — But then, 'tis fix'd on such a height ; Oh ! I Must stretch the utmost reaching of my soul : — - I'll climb betimes, without remorse or dread, And my first step shall be on Henry's head. MY WIFE AND THE PAIR OF SFIOES, A TALE. A fellow, famous from his birth, For witty tricks, sir, and for mirth,, Once roam'd about a country fair, And carried in his hand a pair Of shoes : That they were water-proof he swore*, And never once had they been wor^ Upon the toes* THE GALLIMAUFRY. 95 From what he said there was no doubt, But that the shoes were very good ; Indeed he swore they'd -ne'er wear out, Let them be trode in how they w r ould. To hear this fellow talk and joke, A gaping crowd soon gathered round him, Swallowing the very words he spoke. For none with uestions could confound him* 6 Gemmen,' says he, < I carry 'here A pair of shoes for him to wear Who will upon the gospel swear His lawful wife he does not fear.' Conscience, that fierce disarming pow^r^ Made many of them look quite sour, As if the dev'l possess'd them : Indeed there was not one that could Swear, even by his flesh and blood, His rib, sir, had not dress'd him. Again the shoes the fellow wav'd in air, But all was disappointment and despair. Some time elaps'd — at length a clown appear d Who said he nothing fear'd .; x Nothing !' the fellow cried : 6 have you a wife ? 9 c I have, and love her as my life ; She's comely, sprightly, dresses tight and clean, Andzobks, I think the very shoes I've seen Will fit Her feet** c You're sure,' the wag replied, c you're speaking truth ? s c Upon my soul I an't afraid of Ruth/ The bumpkin cried, and with a frown Qffer'd to back his answer with a crown. 96 THE G'lLLIMAUF" ' Then swear it,' quoth the wag-, * up-, a this book ;' John dofPd his hat, and straight the oath * e .took ; r And then, with simp'ring jaws, and goggle eyes, He scratch* d his mopsy-head, and claim' d the prize. 6 Take thou the shoes,' the wag replie ^on, For thou dost certainly deserve them But to preserve them, Let me advise yoi* t yc Of blacking, John, this riafrtfu cake, A nd frequently and freely use The liquid it will make, about the shoes c Odds rabbit !' the bumpkin said, j Look'd at his bran-span coat, and scr? i'd his head. * Why, what's the matter ?' grav y a ^k'd the wag : * Why, now I think on't, if I takt the blacking, And hap to dirt my pocket with the same ;' *. What then ? friend John.' — * Odds clouts, my dame Would give me what she calls a whacking. 7 John now becomes the public butt— the wag, Popping the shoes into a bag, Exclaim'd, s Go home, and let thy courage be reclaim'd, And learn from me, my friend, it is my plan, That any man, Whether he lives in poverty or riches. Before he puts these shoes upon his feet, Shall wear, what makes the married man complete—* The breeche+S 1 V K GALLIMAUFRY. 97 SIR JOHN i ALSTAFFS DESCRIPTION OF HIS RAGGED REGIMENT. BY SHAKSPEARE. If I be not ash *?ed soldiers, I am a so«eed gurnet. I have Misused king's press damnably* I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none hut good householder yeomen's sons : inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked twice €ii the banns ; such ?■ co :"/modity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as ^idrum ; such as fear the report ©f a caliveT, worse than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. 1 press me none but such toasts and butter, with hearts ia their bellies no bigger than pins' heads, and they have bought out their services ; and now my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his sores : and such as, indeed, were never soldiers; but discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to»younger brothers^ jevolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen ; the cankers ©fa calm world, and a long peace ; ten times more dis- honourable ragged than an old faced ancient; and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their services, that you would think, that I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, lately come from swine keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad feilow met me on the way, and told m«, I had unloaded a 9$ THE GALLIMAUFRY. all the gibbets, and pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat : Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on ; for indeed, I had the most of them out of prison. There's but a shirt and a half in all my company : and the half shirt is two napkins, tacked together, and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's coat without sleeves ; and the shirt to say the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red nose inn-keeper of Baintry. But that's all one ; they'll find linen enough on every hedgt. PROLOGUE TO MR. H. WRITTEN BY G. LAMB. c If we have sinn'd in paring down a name, All civil well-bred authors do the same. Survey the columns of our daily writers — You'll find that some Initials are great fighters. How fierce the shock, how fatal is the jar, When Ensign W. meets Lieutenant R. With two stout seconds, just of their own gizzard, Cress Captain X. and rough old General Lzzard ! Letter to Letter spreads the dire alarms, Till half the Alphabet is up in arms. Nor with less lustre have Initials shone, To grace the gentler annals of Crim. Con, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 99 Where the dispensers of the public lash Soft penance give ; a letter and a dash Where vice, reduced in size, shrinks to a failing, And loses half her grossness by curtailing. Faux-pas are told in such a modest way, — The affair of Colonel B — with Mrs. A — You must forgive them — for what is there, say, Which'such a pliant Vowel must not grant To such a very pressing Consonant ? Or who poetic justice dares dispute, When, mildly melting at a lover's suit, The wife's a Liquid, her good man a Mute ? Even in the homelier scenes of honest life, The coarse-spun intercourse of man and wife, Initials, I am told, have taken place Of Deary, Spouse, and that old-fashioned race ; And Cabbage, ask'd by Brother Snip to tea, Replies, ' I'll come — but it don't rest with me — I always leaves them things to Mrs. C* should this mincing fashion ever spread From names of living heroes to the dead, How would Ambition sigh, and hang the head, As each lov'd syllable should melt away — Her Alexander turned into great A — A single C. her Caesar to express — Her Scipio shrunk into a Roman S — Andnick'dand doek'd to these new modes of speech, Great Hannibal himself a, Mr. H .' 100 THE GALLIMAUFRY. THE TINKER AND GLAZIER. Since gratitude, 'tis said, is not o r er common, And friendly acts are pretty near as few ; With high and low, with man and eke with woman, With Turk, with Pagan, Christian, and with Jew; We ought, at least, whene'er we chance to find Of these rare qualities a slender sample, To shew they may possess the human mind, And try the boasted influence of example. Who knows how far the novelty may charm ? It can't, at any rate, do much harm. The tale we give, then, and we need not fear The moral,, if there be one, will appear* Two thirsty souls met on a sultry day, One, Glazier Dick, the other Tom the Tinker ; Both with light purses, but with spirits gay, And hard it were to name the sturdiest drinker. Their ale they quafPd ; And, as they swigg'd the nappy, They both agreed, 'tis said, That trade was wond'rous dead ; They joked, sung, laughed, And were completely happy* The landlord's eye, bright as his sparkling ale, Glisten' d to see them the brown pitcher hug ; For every, jest, and song, and merry tale, And this blythe ending— 4 Bring us t'other aa^§ >> THE GALLIMAUFRY. 10.1 Now Dick the Glazier feels his bosom burn To do his friend, Tom Tinker, a good turn ; And when the heart to friendship feels inclin'd, Occasion seldom loiters long behind. The kettle gaily singing on the fire, Gives Dick a hint just to his heart's desire: And, while to draw more ale the landlord goes, Dick in the ashes all the water throws ; Then puts the kettle on the fire again, And at the tinker winks, As ' Trade's success !' he drinks, Nor doubts the wish'd success Tom will obtain. Our landlord ne'er could such a toast withstand ; So, giving each kind customer a hand, His friendship too displayed ; And drank * success to trade !• But O, how pleasure vanish'd from his eye, How long and rueful his round visage grew, Soon as he saw the kettle's bottom fly ; Solder the only fluid he could view ! He raved, he capered, and he swore, And d d the kettle's body o'er and o'er. Come, Come, (says Dick) fetch us ; my friend, more ale ; All trades, you know, must live ; Let's" drink, 6 May trade, with none of us, e'er fail I* The job to Tom, then give ; And, for the ale he drinks, our lad of mettle, Take my word for it, soon will mend your kettle* The landlord yields ; but hopes 'tis no offence To curse the trade that thrives at his expence. Tom undertakes the job ; to work he goes, And just concludes it with the evening's close, g 2 102 THE GALLIMAUFRY, Souls so congenial had friends Tom and Dick, Each might be fairly called a loving brother ; Thought Tom, to serve my fijfcnd I know a trick, And one good turn dcsev - another. Out now he slily slips, But not a word he said, The plot was in his head, nd off he nimply trips. Swift t the neighbouring church his way he takes ; Nor in the dark, Misses his mark, But every pane of glass he quickly breaks. Back as he goes, His bosom glows, To think how great will be his friend Dick's joy, At getting so much excellent employ ! Returned, he, beckoning, draws his friend aside — Importance in his face ; And to Dick's ear his mouth applied, Thus briefly states the case : — Dick, 1 may give you joy — you're a made man, I've done your business most complete, my friend ; I'm off ! the devil may catch me if he can ; Each window of the church you've got to mend 1 — • Ingratitude's worst curse my head befal, If, for your sake, I have not broke them all ! Tom with surprise, sees Dick turn pale, Who deeply sighs — ' 0, la !' Then drops his under-jaw, And all his pow'rs of utt'rance fail : While horror in his ghastly face, And "Sting eye-balls, Tom can trace; THE GALLIMAUFRY. 10g Whose sympathetic muscles just and true, Share with his heart Dick's unknown sma And two such phizzes ne'ei .net mortal view. At length friend Dick his speech regained, And soon the mystery explained : — You have, indeed, my business done ! And I, as well as you, must run : For let me act the best I can, Tom, Tom, I am a ruin'd man. — Zounds ! Zounds ! this piece of friendship costs me dear !— I always mend church windows — by th e year ! EPILOGUE TO THE RIVALS. BY SHERIDAN. Ladies, for you- — I heard our poet say, He'd try to coax some moral from his play : * One moral's plain,' cried I, w without more fuss, Man's social happiness all rests on us ; Through all the drama, whether damn 1 d or not, ' Love gilds the scene, and woman guides the plot. From ev'ry rank obedience is our due : D'ye doubt ? — the world's great stage shall prove it true.' The Cit, wellskilPd to shun domestic strife, ^ ill sup abroad ; but first — he'll ask his wife. John Trot, his friend, for once will do the same, But then—he'll just step home to tell his dame. r i ne surly squire, at noon, resolves to rule, And half the day— Zounds ! Madam U a fool ! 104 TIJE GALLIMAUFRY. Convinc'd at night, the vanguish'd victor says, * Ah ! Kate,' you women have such coaxing ways !' The jolly toper chides each tardy blade, Till reeling Bacchus calls on love for aid ; Then, with each toast, he sees fair bumpers swim. And kisses Chloe on the sparkling brim ! Nay, I've heard that statesmen great and wise, Will sometimes counsel with a lady's eyes ; The servile suitors watch her various face, She smiles preferment — or she frowns disgrace ; Curtsies a pension here — there nods a place. Nor, with less awe, in scenes of humbler life, Is view'd the mistress, or is heard the wife. The poorest peasant of the poorest soil, The child of poverty, and heir to toil, Early frGm radiant love's impartial light, Steels one small spark to cheer his world of night : Dear spark ! that oft, through winter's chilling woes, Is all the warmth his little cottage knows 1 *&> The wand' ring tar, who, not for years has press' d The w T idow'd partner of his day of rest, On the cold deck, far from her arms remov'd, Still hums the ditty which his Susan lov'd ; And while around the cadence rude is blow 7 n, The boatswain whistles in a softer tone. The soldier, fairly proud of wounds and toiI, 4 Pants for the triumph of his Nancy'*; smile ; But ere the battle, should he list her cries, The lover trembles — -and the hero dies ! That heart, by war and honour steel' d to fear^ Droops on a sigh, and sickens at a tear, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 10§ But ye more cautious — ye nice judging few, Who give to beauty only beauty's due, Though friends to love— ye view with deep regret Our conquests marr'd, and triumphs incomplete, Till polish 1 d wit more lasting charms disclose, And judgment fix the darts which beauty throws. In female breasts did sense and merit rule, The lover's mind would ask no other school ; Sham'd into sense — the scholars of our eyes, Our beaux from gallantry would soon be wise ; Would gladly light, their homage to improve^ The lamp of knowledge at the torch of love. THE THREE WARNINGS, BY MRS. THRALE. The tree of deepest root is found Least willing still to quit the ground : 'Twas therefore said by ancient sages, That love of life increas'd with years, So much, that in our latter stages, When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages^ ■The greatest love of life appears,- This great affection to believe, Which all confess, but few perceive ; If old assertions can't prevail, Be pleas'd to hear a modern tale, When sports went round, and all were gay? On neighbour Dobson's wedding-day, Death calPd aside the jocund groom With him into another room ; 106 THE GALLIMAUFRY. And, looking* grave, ' You must,' says he, ' Quit your sweet bride, and come with me/ * With you ? and quit my Susan's side ? ' With you ?' the hapless husband cried. i Youngs as I am, 'tis monstrous hard ! Besides, in truth, I'm not prepar'd : My thoughts on other matters go ; This is my wedding-night, you know.* What more he urg'd, I have not heard, His reason could not well be stronger; So Death the poor delinquent spar'd, And left to live a little longer. Yet, calling up a serious look, His hour-glass trembled while he spoke — * Neighbour,' he said, ' farewell : no more Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour ; And farther, to avoid all blame Of cruelty upon my name, To give you time for preparation* And fit you for your future station, Three several warnings you shall have Before you're summon' d to the grave: Willing for once, I'll quit my prey, And grant a kind reprieve, In hopes you'll have no more to say, But when I call again this way, Well pleas' d the world will leave.* To these conditions both consented And parted perfectly contented. What next the hero of our tale befel, How long he liv'd, how wise, how well, How roundly he pursu'd his course, And smok'd his pipe, and strok'd his horse, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 107 The willing muse shall tell : He c^iriffer'd, then, he bought, he sold, Nor once perceived his growing old, Nor thought of Death as near ; His friends not false, his wife no shrew, Many his gains, his children few, He past his hours in peace. But while he view'd his wealth increase, While thus along life's dusty road The beaten track content he trod, Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, •Un.call'd, unheeded, unawares, Brought on his eightieth year. And now, one night, in musing mood, And all alone he sate, Th' unwelcome messenger of fate, Once more before him stood. Half kili'd with anger and surprise, * So soon return' d !' Old Dobson cries ; * So soon, d'ye call it ?' Death replies ; I Surely, my friend, you're but in jest. Since I was here before, 'Tis six-and- thirty years at least, And you are now forescore.\ * So much the worse,' the clown rejoin' d, ' To spare the aged would be kind : However, see your search be legal ; And your authority — is't regal ? Else you're come on a fool's errand, With but a secretary's warrant. Besides, you promised me three warnings, Which I have look'd for nights and mornings ; 108 THE GALLIMAUFRY. But for that loss of time and ease, I can recover damages.' 4 \ know, cries Death, l t\L at the best, I seldom am a welcome guest ; But don't be captious, friend, at least, 1 little thought you'd still be able To stump about your farm and stable ; Your years have run to a great length, I wrsh you joy, though of your strength — ' . * Hold V s^ys the farmer, i not so fast ; I have been lame these four years past,' ' And no great wonder,' Death replies ; 6 However, you still keep your eyes : And sure, to see one's loves and friends, Fo* legs and arms would make amends.' 6 Perhaps,' says Dobson, ' so it might ; But, lately, I've lost my sight.' '. This is a shocking story, faith ; Yet there's some comfort still, says Death, * Each strives your sadness to amuse, I warrant you hear all the news.' ' There's none,' cries he, ' and if there were I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear.' ' Nay, then !' the spectre stern rejoin'd, 6 These are unjustifiable yearnings. If you are lame, and deaf, and blind, You have had your three sufficient warnings. So, come along, no more we'll part,' He said, ' and touch 'd him with his dart.' And now, old Dobson turning pale, Yields to his fate — so ends my tale. GALLIMAUFRY. 109 THE COUNTRY SCHOOLMASTER. A Country Schoolmaster, hight Jonas Bell, Once undertook of little souls, To furnish up their jobbernowls — In other words, he taught them how to spell, And well adapted to the task was Bell, Whose iron visage measur'd half an ell ; With huge proboscis, and eye-brows of soot, Arm'd at the jowl just like a boar, And when he gave an angry roar, The little schoolboys stood like fishes mute. i Poor Jonas, tho' a patient man as Job, (Yet still, like Job, was sometimes heard to growl,) Was by a scholar's adamantine nob, Beyond all patience gravell'd to the soul, I question whether Jonas in the Fish Did ever diet on a bitterer dish. 'Twas thus — a lady who supported Bell, Came unexpectedly to hear them spell ; The pupil fixed on by this pedagogue, Her son, a little round fac'd, ruddy rogue, Who thus letters on the table laid — M. I. L, K, — and paused— " Well, sir, what's that ?" " I cannot tell," the boy all trembling said.* — %i Not tell ! you little blind and stupid brat ! u Not tell," roar'd Jonas, in a violent rage, And quick prepared an angry war to wage. P Tell me this instant, or I'll flay thy hide— • " Come, Sir! 4i Dost thou this birchen weapon see ? " What puts thy mother in her tea ? " With lifted eyes the quaking rogue reply'd, " HUM, Sir ! ! ! " 110 GALLIMAUFRY. THE KNIGHTS; OR, BOTH RIGHT, and BOTH WRONG. When chivalry was all the taste, And honour stamp'd each dauntless breast ; When falshood was esteem'd a shame, And heroes bled for virtuous fame ; To right the wrong'd, protect the weak, And dry the tear on beauty's cheek ; Two bearded Knights, on milk-white steeds, Equipp'd for tilts, and martial deeds, Perchance met on a spacious plain, Where stood a trophy to the slain ; A mighty shield, on one side white, The other black as ebon night ; Emblem of spotless virtue's fall, And death's dark triumph over all ! Both stopp'd to view this curious sight, But view'd it in a different light : ic Bless mei" cries one, "how white this shield ! "How bright it shines across the field !" — " White !" says the other, " no such thing ; ce Tis blacker than the raven's wing !" — " Recall your words, presumptuous youth : " A knight should never jest with truth." — " 'Tis you who want to jest, not I ; | The shield is black !"— " By Heaven, you lye P " Now, Truth, bear witness to my vow — - " I'll die, base knight or make thee bow." GALLIMAUFRY, 111 While both with sudden passion storm d, And rage each angry face deform'd, From wordy war, to blows they turn, And with revenge and fury burn : On either helm the sword descends, Each trusty helm the head defends ; And, on th' impenetrable mail, The sounding strokes fall thick as hail. They prance their coursers round and round, Each hopes to give the lucky wound ; And each, convinc'd himself is right, Maintains, with equal hope, the fight ; Nor doubts to make his rival own, Success attends on Truth alone. By chance, a clown, who pass'd that way, At distance saw the doubtful fray ; Who, though he relish'd not hard blows, Esteem'd it right to interpose. " Good sirs !" he cried, then made his bow, Respectfully, diffident, and low, " I'm but a simple man, 'tis true ! " But wish to serve, and save you too ; " And he who's wrong'd, I'll take his part, " With all my soul, and all my heart !" The knights, by this time almost spent, To honest Hodge attention lent : For e'en the presence of a fool, Will sometimes stubborn stomachs cool ; And when for trifles men fall out, A trifle oft brings peace about. Each, thinking Hodge must prove him right, 112 GALLIMAUFRY. And justify his partial sight, Made haste the matter to disclose, That caused this war of words and blows. And ask'd if black or white the shield, That stood conspicuous on the field ? For passion still had kept them blind ; Passion, the shutters of the mind. " Faith," said the clown, and scratch'd his head, * 4 Your honours straight shall be obey'd : 6< 'Tis neither white nor black, but both ; " And this is true, I'll take my oath. ic One side is black, the other white : " Each saw it in a single light ; " But had you view'd the shield all round, " Both would have right and wrong been found ;" The wondering knights like stuck -pigs star'd, While Hodge the simple truth declar'd : And each, asham'd of passion's sway, Lifts up his eyes; when, bright as day, The shield both black and white appear'd, And both from falsehood's stain was clear'd. They thank'd kind Hodge, and parted friends ; Resolv'd for wrath to make amends, By looking twice ere once they fought, And always aiding strength with thought. Hence we this precious moral draw ; Fix'd as the Medes or Persians' law — That he who only one side sees, With erring judgment oft decrees ; And he who only one tale hears, 'Gainst half the truth oft shuts his ears. THE GALLIMAUFRY, 113 GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL, A TRUE STORY. BY W. WORDSWORTH. Oh ! what's the matter? what's the matter? What is't that ails young Harry Gill ? That evermore his teeth they chatter, Chatter, chatter, chatter stilL Of waistcoats Harry has no lack, Good duffle grey, and flannel fine ; He has a blanket on his back, And coats enough to smother nine. In March, December, and in July, 'Tis all the same with Harry Gill ; The neighbours tell, and tell you truly s His teeth they chatter, chatter still. At night, at morning, and at noon, 'Tis all the same with Harry Gill ; Beneath the sun, beneath the moon, His teeth they chatter, chatter still. Yorang Harry was a lusty drover, And who so stout of limb as he ? His cheeks were red as ruddy clover ; His voice was like the voice of three. Old Goody Blake was old and poor ; Ill-fed she was, and thinly clad; And any man who pass'd her door, Might see how poor a hut she had. H 114 THE GALLIMAUFRY. All day she spun in her poor dwelling : And then her three hours' work at night! Alas ! 'twas hardly worth the telling, It would not pay for candle light. — This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire, Her hut was on a cold hill side, And in that country coals are dear, For they come far by wind and tide. By the same fire to boil their pottage, Two poor old Dames, as 1 have known,, Will often live in one small cottage; But she, poor Woman ! dwelt alone. 'Twas well enough when summer came, The long, warm, lightsome summer-day, Then at her door the canty Dame Would sit, as any linnet -gay* But when the ice our streams did fetter, Oh ! then how her old bones would shake ] You would have said, if you had met her, 3 Twas a hard time for Goody Blake. Her evenings then were dull and dead ; Sad case it was, as you may think, For very cold to go to bed ; And then for cold not sleep a wink. Oh joy for her ! whene'er in winter The winds at night had made a rout ; And scatter' d many a lusty splinter, And many a rotten bough about THE GALLIMAUFRY. 1U Yet never had she, well or sick, As every man who knew her, says* A pile before hand, wood or stick. Enough to warm her for three days Now, when the frost was past enduring,, And made her poor old bones to ache, Could any thing be more alluring, Than an old hedge to Goody Blake ; And, now and then, it must be said, When her old bones were cold and chill., She left her fire, or left her hed 9 To seek the hedge of Harry Gill. Now Harry he had long suspected This trespass of old Goody Blake ; And vow'd that she should be detected, And he on her would vengeance take. And oft from his warm fire he'd go, And to the fields his road would take ; And there, at night, in frost and snow, He watch'd to seize old Goody Blake. And once, behind a rick of barley, Thus looking out did Harry stand : The moon was full and shining clearly, And crisp with frost the stubble land. —He hears a noise — he's all awake — Again ? — on tip-toe down the hill He softly creeps — 'Tis Goody Blake^ She's at the hedge of Harry Gill. u 2 IIS THE GALLIMAUFRY. Right glad was he when he beheld her ; Stick after stick did Goody pull : He stood behind a bush of elder, Till she had filled her apron fulL When with her load she turned about, The bye-road back again to take, He started forward with a shout, And sprang upon poor Goody Blake. And fiercely by the arm he took her, And by the arm he held her fast. And fiercely by the arm he shook her, And cried, " I've caught you then at last {'* Then Goody, who had nothing said, Her bundle from her lap let fall ; And, kneeling* on the sticks, she pray'd To God that is the judge of all. She pray'd, her withered hand uprearing, While Harry held her by the arm— - " God ! who art never out of hearing, may he never more be warm !'* The cold, cold moon above her head, Thus on her knees did Goody pray, Young Harry heard what she had said : And icy cold he turned away. He went complaining all the morrow That he was cold and very chill : His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow, Alas ! that clay for Harry Gill !. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 117 That day he wore a riding coat, But not a whit the warmer be : Another was on Thursday brought, And ere the Sabbath be had three. 'Twas all in vain, a- useless matter, And blankets were about him pinrf d : Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter, Like a loose casement in the wind, And Harry's flesh it fell away ; And all who see him say, 'tis plain, That live as long- as live he may, He never will be warm again. No word to any man he utters f A-bed or up, to young or old ; But ever to himself he' mutters, " Poor Harry Gill is very eold„ ,r A-bed. or up, by night or day ; His teeth they chatter, chatter stiff. Now think, ye farmers all, I pray r Of Goody Blake and Harry GiHL AN IRISH BLUNDER, WITHOUT A BULL. Dpl(?nel Patric O'Blaney, as honest a toagtf^ U ever took snuff to repel pest or plague^ laving got a French snuff-box,, of papier maehtfj Thick to opeB required much pai&s r do you- S$* ; 118 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Always kept a bent sixpence at hand in his pocktt, And call'd it his key,, by the which to unlock it ; As by niggling and wedging it under the lid, He came at his rappee that was under it hid : But one day when he wanted a pinch for a friend, He searched for his tester, but all to no end, Till at last 'twixt the pocket and lining he found it ; When in rage he cried — " Arrah, the devil confound it, I'll engage you dont serve ms the same trick again, For to make me after thus hunting in vain." So opening the box by the help of the tizzy, And feaking his noze till his noddle was dizzy, He chuck'd in the coin, and exclaim' d with a shrug, While tight went the rim down — " So there you lie snug ;. And, my hide-and-seek friend, I beg leave to remind ye, T&at the next time I want you, I'll know where to fi&d ye," THE FAKENHAM GHOST. A BALLAD. BY R. BLOOMFIELD. The lawns were dry- in Euston Park (Here truth inspires my tale), The lonely footpath, still and dark^ Led o^er hill, and daLe*. THE GALLIMAUFRY, ll§ Benighted was an ancient dame, And fearful haste she made, To gain the vale of Fakenham, And hail its willow shade. Her footsteps knew no idle stops, But follow' d faster still; And echo'd to the darksome copse, That whisper' d on the hill ; Where clam'rous rooks, yet scarcely hush'd'^ Bespoke a peopled shade ; And many a wing the foliage brushed. And hoy' ring circuits made. The dappled herd of grazing deer, That sought the shades by day, Now started from her path with fear, And gave the stranger way. Darker it grew * r and darker fears Came o'er her troubled mind; When now, a short quick step she hears,.. Come patting close behind- She turn'd ; it stopt ! — nought could she ste Upon the gloomy plain ! But, as she strove the sprite to flee,, She heard the same again. Now terror seiz'd her quaking frame - . For, where the path was bare, The trotting ghost kept on the same i Ske mutter' d- many a pray'r* 120 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Yet once again, amidst her fright, She tried what sight could do ; When through the cheating glooms of nighfc, A monster stood m view. Regardless of whate'er she felt, It follow' d down the plain ! She own'd her sins, and down she knelt, And said her pray'rs again. Then on she sped : and hope grew strong*, The white park-gate in view ; Which pushing hard, so long it swung, That ghost and all pass'd through. Loud fell the gate against the post ! Her heart-strings like to crack : For much she fear'd the grisly ghost Would Leap upon her back. Still on, pat, pat, the goblin went, As it had done before : Her strength and resolution spent, She fainted at the door.. Out eame her husband, much surprised; Out came her daughter dear : Good-naturM souls ! all unadvis'd Of what they had to fear,, The candle's gleam pie re' d : through the Rsgfef, Some short space o'er the green ; And there the little trotting* sprits Distinctly might be seen* THE GALLIMAUFRY. 121 An Ass's Foal had lost its dam, Within the spacious park ; And simple as the playful lamb Had followed in the dark. No goblin he ; no imp of sin ; • No crimes had ever known, They took the shaggy stranger in, And rear'd him as their own. His little hoofs would rattle round Upon the cottage floor: The matron learn' d to love the sound That frighten 1 d her before. A favorite the ghost became; And 'twas his fate to thrive: And long he liv'd and spread his fame, And kept the joke alive. For many a laugh went through the vale; And some conviction too : Each thought some other goblin tale, Perhaps, was just as true. LUBIN AND HIS DOG TRAY. Young Lubin was a shepherd's boy, Who watch'd a rigid master's sheep, And many a night was heard to sigh, And many a day was seen to weep. 122 THE GALLIMAUFRY. For not a lambkin e" er was lost, Or wether stray'd to field remote, But Lubin ever was to blame, Nor careful he, nor penn'd his cote* Yet not a trustier lad was known, To climb the promontory's brow : Nor yet a tenderer heart e'er beat, Beside the brook in vale below. From him stern Winter's drifting snow, Its pelting sleet, or frost severe, Or scorching Summer's sultry ray, Ne'er forc'd a murmur nor a tear* For, ah ! the varying seasons had To every hardship form'd his frame ; Though still his tender, feeling, heart, By nature nurs'd, remain' d the same. But whither shall the orphan fly, To meet protection's fostering pow'r ? Oppression waits the future day, When Misery marks the natal hour. An orphan lad poor Lubin was, No friend, no relative had he ! His happiest hour was dash'd with woe; His mildest treatment — tyranny. It chanc'd that o'er the boundless heath, One winter's day, his flock had spread,, By hunger urg'd to seek the blade That lurks beneath its snowy bed* THE GALLIMAUFRY* 12$ And hous"d, at eve, his fleecy charge, He, sorrowing, miss'd a favorite lamb., That shunn'd the long persisting search, Nor answer' d to its bleating darn* With heavy heart he bent his way, And told so true, so sad a tale, That almost pierc'd the marble breast Of ruthless Rufus of the vale* Poor Lubin own'd his flocks had stray'd, Own'd he had suffer' d them to go : Yes, he had learn'd to pity them, For often he had hunger 1 d too : ^And had he to their pinching wants The unnipp'd neighboring bound deny'd, They sure had droop'd — as surely too The pitying shepherd-boy had died. Ci Then diei" the unfeeling master said, And spurn' d him from his closing door, Which, till he found his favourite lamb, He vow'd should ne'er admit him more* Bark was the night, and o'er the waste The whistling winds did fiercely blow, And 'gainst his poor unshelier'd head, With arrowy keenness, came the snow. Yet thus he left his master's house, And shap'd his sad uncertain way ; By man unnoticd and forsook, And follow 5 4 but by — trusty Tray. 124 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Uiilike to worldly friends were they, Who separate in Fortune's blast : They still were near when fair the sky, But nearer still when overcast. When Lubin's randum step involved His body 'neath the drifted snow, Tray help'd him forth ; and when Tray fell, Poor Lubin dragg'd him from below. Benumb'd, at length, his stiffening joints, His tongue to Tray could scarcely speak ; His tears eongeal'd to icicles, His hair hung clattering 'gainst his cheek. As thus he felt his falt'ring limbs Give omen of approaching death, Aurora, from her eastern hills, I uslrd forth, and staid his fleeting breath ; And show'd to his imperfect sight The harmless cause of all his woe, His little lambkin, cold and stiff, StretchM on its bed of glistening snow. " 'Tis just," he said, " that where thou best, " The careless shepherd-boy should lie ; " Thou diest, poor fool ! for want of food, ■** I fal£, for suffering thee to die. " But oh ! my master!" broken, short, Was every half word now he spoke ; ** Severe has been thy constant will, w And galling sure thy heavy yoke. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 125 i ■ ■ ■ ' ■ — ■ — * — i ■ • ' , ■- " A warmer couch hast thou to press, " Secure from cramping frosts thy feet ; " And couldst thou boast so free a breast, " Thou yet might'st die a death as sweet, " My trusty dog — that wistful look " Is all that makes my poor heart heave : " But hie thee home, proclaim me dead, " Forget to think, and cease to grieve." So saying, shrunk the hapless youth Beneath the chilling grasp of death ; And, clasping poor Tray's shaggy neck, Sigh'd gently forth his parting breath ! His faithful, fond, sagacious dog, Hung watchful o'er his master's clay : And many a moan the creature made, And many a thing he strove to say. But not a sign of lurking life Thro' all his frame he found to creep ; He knew not what it was to die, But kuew his master did not sleep. Great grief assail'd his untaught heart, And quickly laid its victim low ! His master's cheek his pillow cold, Their common bed the colder snow ! 126 THE GALLIMAUFRY. LOGIC ; OR, THE CHESNUT HORSE. An Eaton stripling, destined for the law, (A dunce at syntax, but a dab at taw), One happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf His cap and gown, and store of learned pelf; With all the various bards of Greece and Rome, To pass a fortnight at his uncle's home, Arriv'd, and pass'd the usual how dy'e do's, Inquiries of old friends and College news ; * Well, Tom, the road — what saw you worth discerning ? Or, how goes College ? what is't you are learning ? * Oh, logic, sir : but not the musty rules Of Locke or Bacon, antiquated fools ! But wit and wranglers' logic : so, do you see, That 1 can prove, as clear as A B C, An eel-pie is a pigeon ; to deny it, Would be to say black's white !'— c Aye, aye ! we'll try it, ' An eel-pie is a pie of fish.' — c Agreed,' * A fish-pie may be a jack-pie.' — « Well, proceed, * A jack-pie is a John-pie ; and 'tis done, For every John-pie must be a Pie- John !' (pi-geon). f Bravo !' Sir Peter cries, 6 Logic for ever ! That beats my grandmother, and she was dev'lish clever ! But hold, my boy, since now it would be hard, If wit and learning went without reward, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 127 To-morrow, for a stroll, the park we'll cross ; And there I'll give thee' — 6 What, sir?' — * A Chesnut Horse.' A horse ! thought Tom — blood, pedigree, and paces! Devils ! what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races ! To bed he went ; and wept, for downright sorrow, That night must pass before he saw the morrow ! Dreamt of his boots and spurs and leather breeches ; Of hunting-caps, and leaping gates and ditches ; Left his warm nest an hour before the lark ; Dragg'd his old uncle fasting 'cross the park. Halter in hand he scours each vale across, To find out something like a chesnut horse : But no such animal the meadow cropt ; At length beneath a tree Sir Peter stop t — He took a branch, and shook it, and down fell A large horse-chesnut in its prickly shell. 1 There, Tom, take that.'—' Well, sir, and what be- side?' 1 Why, as your're booted, saddle it, and ride.* j 6 Ride what ? a chesnut ?' — * Aye, aye ! get across; I tell you, Tom, that chesnut is a horse ! And all the horse you'll get ; for I can show, As clear as sun shine, that it must be so : — Not by the fusty, musty, worn-out rules Of Locke, of Bacon, antiquated fools ! Nor old Malbranche, blind pilot into knowledge : But by the laws of wit and Eton College. All axioms but the wrangler's I disown, And stick to one sound argument — your own ! i 2 J28 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Far,. since you prov'd it, and I don't deny, That a Pie-John^ s the same as a John-Pie, Why, Tom, it follows, as a thing of course, That this korse-chesnut is a chesnut-horse /' THE FELON. Oh, mark his wan and hollow cheek I And mark his eye-balls glare ; And mark his teeth in anguish clench' d, The anguish of despair ! Know, since three days, his penance borne, Yon Felon left a jail ; And since three days no food has passed Those lips so parch'd and pale. * Where shall I turn ?' the wretch exclaims, * Where hide my shameful head ? How fly from scorn ? Oh ! how contrive To earn my honest bread ? This branded hand would gladly toil ; But when for work I pray, Who sees this mark — A Felon 1 cries, And loathing turns away. 1 This heart has greatly err'd, but now Would fain revert to good ; This hand has greatly sinn'd, but yet Mas ne'er been stain' d with blood. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 120 For work, or alms, in vain I sue ; The scorners both deny : — I starve ! I starve !• — Then what remains- This choice — to sin, or die ! « Here virtue spurns me with disdain ; Here pleasure spreads her snare ; Strong habit drags me back to vice, And, urg'd by fierce despair. I strive, while hunger gnaws my heart, To fly from shame in vain, World ! 'tis thy cruel will ! I yield, And plunge in guilt again, 1 There's mercy in each ray of light That mortal eyes e'er saw ; There's mercy in each breath of air That mortal lips e'er draw ; ' There's merey both for bird and beast In God's indulgent plan ; There's mercy in each creeping thing — But man has none for man ! ' Ye proudly honest 1 when ye heard My wounded conscience groan, Had generous hand, or feeling heart, One glimpse of mercy shewn, — « That act had made, from burning eyes. Sweet tears of virtue roll ; Had fix'd my heart, assur'd my faith, And Heaven had gain'd a soul!* i 3 130 THE GALLIMAUFRY. FRANK HAYMAN, BY THE AUTHOR OF MONSIEUR TONSON. Frank Hayman, once-a Brother of the Brush, Had talents much distinguish' d in his day, But for his art he hardly car'd a rush, If some odd mischief stumbl'd in his way. This Wag was deem'd by all the Social Tribe A jovial, easy, careless, pleasant fellow, Fond of a frolic, ready at a gibe, And sometimes in his cups a little mellow. He once being tempted by a pleasant day, After a long contention with the Gout, A foe that oft besieg'd him, sallied out, To breathe fresh air, and while an hour away. It chanc'd as he was strolling, void of care, A drunken Porter pass'd him with a Hare. The Hare was o'er his shoulder flung, Dangling behind, in piteous plight, And as he crept in zig-zag style, Making the most of every mile, From side to side poor Pussy swung, As if each moment taking flight. A Dog, who saw the man*s condition, A lean and hungry Politician, On the look-out was lurking close behind, A sly and subtle chap, THE GALLIMAUFRY, 131 Of most sagacious sun el], Like Politicians of a higher kind, Ready to snap At any thing that fell. The Porter staggered on, the Dog kept near, Watching the lucky minute for a bite, Now made a spring, and then drew back with fear, While Hayman, followed, titt'ring at the sight. Great was the contrast 'twixt the man and dog, The one a negligent and stupid lout, That seem'd to know not what he was about, The other keen, observant, all agog. Nor need it wonderment excite I ween, That Hayman clos'd the train to mark the scene. Through many a street our tipsey Porter reels, Then stops — as if to solemn thought inclined — The watchful dog was ready at his heels, And Hayman hobbled on not far behind. Then rolling on again, the man survey'd One of those happy mansions, where A cordial drop imparts its cheering aid, To all the thirsty sons of Care. The sight of this refreshing place, The scent that hails him from the door, Arrest at once his rambling pace — As they had often done before. 132 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Mine host, with accents that were woiicT rous kind, Invites him in, a jolly crtw to join, The man the gen' rous courtesy decliird, Merely perhaps for want of thirst — or coin. Strait on a bench without he stretch'd along", Regardless of the passing throng-, And soon his weary eye-lids close, While SomiiUs sooths him to repose, The hare now prostrate at his hack, This was the time to get a snack. The dog unable longer to refrain, Gaz'd at the hare, Who eaus'd his care, Jumpt and bit, jumpt and bit, jumpt and bit, and bit again. At length, when he had cleared away the rest, The gated spoiler rlnisivd on the breast. Then having made a hearty meal, He careless turn'd upon his heel, Nor thought of asking ' What's to pay? But scampcr'd at his ease away ; Pei haps to find some four-foot fair. And tell the story of the hare* And here some sage, with moral spleen may say, 4 This [layman should have driven the dog away, ' TV effects of vice the blameless should not bear, ' And folks who are not drunkards lose their hare,' THE GALLIMAUFRY. 133 All this, we grant, is very true — But in this giddy world how few To Virtue's heights sublimely move, Relinquishing the things they love. Not so unfashionably good, Our waggish painter laughing stood, In hopes more sport to find ; Dispos'd to keep in view his game, And with th' ambitious Thane exclaim, 6 The greatest is behind J* Besides, he knew, whatever the plan That tempts the fond pursuits of man, Though pleasure may the course attend, The wise are heedful of the end. Hence, though of mirth a lucky store, So aptly tumbled in his way, Yet still he linger' d after more, And thus he said, or seem'd to say, * How will the people fret and scold 4 When they the honey ivreck behold ! * And how the drunken rogue will stare, * When first he sees ichat ivas the hare I 6 The denouement must needs be droll- — * 'Twere folly not to see the whole/' Presuming thus on future pleasure, Hayman kept post to wait the sleeper's leisure* At length our Porter's slumber o'er, He jogg'd on, tottering as before ; 134 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Unconscious anybody kind Had easM him in his load behind. Now on the houses turn'd his eye, As if his journey's end were nigh, Then read the paper in his hand, And made a stand — Hayman drew near, with eager mien, To mark the closing of the scene, Expecting strait a furious din, His features ready for a grin. And now we need but mention one thing more. To shew how well he must have lik'd the whim, Though drunk, our Porter hit at last the door, And Hayman found the hare was sent to him. moral. A wise old Proverb says, * To others do, ■' E'en as you would those others should to you — * Now had our painter mark'd this rule with care, He,, not the dog, had din'd upon the hare. THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE. BY MR. SOTJTHEY. A well there is, in the west-country, And a clearer one there never was seen : There is not a wife in the west-country, But has heard of the Well of St. Keyue* THE GALLIMAUFRY. 135 An oak and an elm-tree stand beside, And behind does an ash-tree grow ; And a willow, from the bank above, Droops to the water below. A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne : Pleasant it was to his eye ; For, from cock-crow he had been travelling, And there was not a cloud in the sky. He drank of the water, so cool, and clear; For, thirsty and hot was he : And he sat down, upon the bank, Under the willow-tree. There came a man from the neighbouring town, At the well to fill his pail : On the well-side he rested it ; And, bade the stranger hail. 4 Now, art thou a batch elor, stranger ?' quoth he, * For, and if thou hast a wife ; The happiest draught thou has drank, this day, That ever thou didst in thy life. * Or, has your good woman, if one you have, In Cornwall ever been ? For, an' if she have ; I'll venture my life, She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne.'- — 6 1 have left a good woman, who never was here ;' The stranger he made reply : 1 But, that my draught should be better for that ; I pray you, answer me why ?' 136 THE GALLIMAUFRY. ' St. Keyne,' quoth the countryman, i many a time, Drank of this crystal well ; And, before the angel summoned her, She laid on the water a spell — 4 If the husband, of this gifted well Shall drink, before his wife ; A happy man, thenceforth, is he, For he shall be master for life ! " But, if the wife should drink of it first; God help the husband then!" The stranger stoop'd to the Well of St. Keyne; And, drank of the waters again. "You drank of the Well, I warrant, betimes V? He, to the countryman said. But, the Countryman smil'd, as the stranger spake ; And, sheepishly shook his head! "I hasten 9 d as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch : But i'faitrr, she had been beforehand with me ; For, she took a bottle to church ! GALLIMAUFRY. 137 DIGRESSION ON THE STUDY OF THE LAW, BY MR. MATHEWS. GOODY GRIM versus LAPSTONE. What a profound study is the law, and how difficult to fathom : your son follows the law, Sir Thomas ? Yes, ma'am, but I'm afraid he'll never overtake it ; a person following the law, and making nothing of it, is like two boys running round a table — he follows the law, and the law follows him. If you take away the whereofs, more- overs, forthwiths, aforesaids, and notwithstandings, the whole mystery vanishes ; the law is then like Macheath without any song — it's like a suit of clothes, you must pay well for them before you can get into them — it's also like a pair of spectacles, you must pay for it through the nose. — I shall now proceed to relate a sketch of a trial which took place in a town, which for obvious reasons shall be nameless : Goody Grim inhabited an alms- house, No. 2; Will Lapstone, a superannuated old cobbler, No. 3, and a Jew pedlar who was travelling along the road where these almshouses happened to ba erected, thought of nothing else but No. 1. — Goody Grim was in the act of killing one of her own proper pigs, when the animal disliking the ceremony, burst from her hold, and run through the semi-circular legs of the aforesaid Jew, knock'd him into the mud, ran back again into Will Lapstone's the cobbler, upset a quart bottle full of Holland's gin, belonging to said Lap- stone, and took refuge in Crispin's state bed. The par- ties being of course in the most opulent circumstances, consulted counsel learned in the law ; the result was, that Goody Grim was determined to bring an action against Lapstone for the loss of her pig with a curly tail ; and Lapstone to bring an action against Goody for the loss of a quart bottle full of Holland's gin ; and Morde- cai, to bring an action against them both, for the loss of an ivory tetotum that fell out of his pocket in the rencontre. They all delivered briefs to counsel before it suggested itself to them they were all parties and no wit- nesses ; but Goody Grim, like a wise old lady as she was, now changed her battery, and was determined to bring her action against Lapstone, and bind over Mor- decai to give evidence. The indictment set forth that 138 GALLIMAUFRY. he, Lapstone, not having the fear of the assizes before his eyes, but being moved by pig, and instigated by pruin sauce, did on the first day of April, a day sacred in the annals of the law, steal, pocket, hide, and crib, divers — to wit, 5000 hogs, sows, boars, pigs, and porkers, with curly tails, and did secret the said 5000 hogs, sows, boars, pigs, and porkers, with curly tails, in his said Lapstone's bed, against the peace of our Lord the King, his crown and dignity. Mordecai was examined by Sergeant Puzzle, — Well, sir, what are you ? Mor. I sell old clothes, sealing wax, and puckles. — Serg. I didn't ask you what you sold, I ask you what you are ? Mor. I'm about five-and-forty. -*-Serg. Man — Don't be ridiculous — I didn't ask your age, I ask you what you are ? Mor. I'm a Jew. — Serg. Well, why couldn't you say so at first; then, if you're a Jew, tell me all you know of this affair. Mor. As I vas avalking along — Serg. Man, I dontwant to know where you were walking. — Mor. Vel, as I was valking along — Serg. So you will walk in spite of all I can say. Mor. Blesh my heart, you vil frighten me out of my vits — I vas valking along, I seed the unclean animal acoming attowards me, and so, says I, Oh, Father Abraham, says I — Serg. Father Abraham man's no evidence. Mor. You must let me tell my story my own way, or I cannot tell it at all — as I vas valking along I seed the unclean animal acoming attowards me, and, Oh, Father Abraham, says I, here comes the unclean animal, so he run'd between my legs and upset me in the mud.-— Serg. Now, do you mean to say on your oath that that little animal had the power to upset you in the mud ? — Mor. I vil take my^path he upset me in the mud. — Serg. Pray, Sir, on which side did you fall ? Mor. On the muddy side. — Serg. I mean on which of your own sides did you fall ? Mor. I fell on my left side. — Serg. Now, j on your oath, Sir, was it your left side ? Mor. I will take my oath it was my left side. Serg. And pray, what did you do when you fell down ? Mor. I did get up again. — Serg* Perhaps you can tell me whether the pig had a curly tail ? Mor. I'll take my oath it had a curly | tail like my peard.—Serg. And pray where was you; going when this happened ? Mor. I was going to the 1 sign of the Cock and Bottle.— Serg. Nov/, on your o *\ GALLIMAUFRY. 139 what had a cock to do with a bottle? Mor.. I don't know ; but it was the sign of the house, and all more I know of this affair is, that I lost an ivory tetotum out of my pocket. — Serg. Oh, you lost a tetotum out of your pocket, did you X I thought I should bring you to something at last. My Lord (turning to the Judge) f beg leave to take an exception to this man's evidence ; he does not come into Court with clean hands. Mor. How the devil should I when have been polishing my goods all de morning. — Serg* Now, my Lord, your Lordship is aware that tetotum is derived from the Latin terms te and tutum, which means, keep yourself safe ; and this man, but for my profound sagacity, observation, and so forth, would have kept himself safe ; but he has, as the learned Lord Verulam ex- presses it, let the cat out of the bag. — Mor. I vil take my oath I had no cat in the bag. — Serg, My Lord, by his own confession he was about to vend a tetotum. Now, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, it is my duty to point out to you that a tetotum is an unlawful machine, made of ivory, with letters printed upon it, for the purposes of gambling, or as the law books more elegantly express it — tetotum est macheni voria 5 cum letteress perpurcipus gamblendi. Now, your Lordship is aware that the Act, commonly known by the name of the Little-Go Act, expressly forbids all games of chance whatever, whether put, whist, marbles, swabs, tetotum, chuck-farthing, dumps, or what not; and therefore, I do contend, that this man's evidence is contra bonus mores and he is, consequently, non compos testamonia. — Sergeant Bothermn. My Lord and Gen- tlemen of the Jury, my learned friend Puzzle has, in a most facetious manner, endeavoured to cast a slur on the highly honourable evidence of the Jew merchant ; and I do contend, that he who buys and sells is bona fide inducted into all the mysteries of merchandize ; ergo, he who merchandizes is, to all intents and pur- poses, a merchant. The learned Sergeant, in the twisting and twining his argument in handling the teto- tum, can only be called obito dictum — he is playing, my Lord, a losing game. Gentlemen of the Jury, he has told you the origin, use, and abuse of tetotum — nay more, he has quoted authorities to back his argu- 140 GALLIMAUFRY. ment ; but the learned Sergeant, Gentlemen, has for- got to tell you what that great luminary of the law, the late learned Coke, has said on the subject, in a case exactly similar to this. In the two hundred and thirty- fourth folio volume of the Abridgement of the Statutes, page one thousand three hundred and forty-nine, where he thus lays down the law, in the case of Hazard ver- sus Blacklegs — gamblendum consistit enactum gam- blendi, sed non avendum macheni placudi. My Lord, I beg leave to say, that if I prove that my client was in the act of selling, and not playing with said instrument tetotum, I humbly presume all my learned friend has said falls to the ground. — Judge. Certainly, brother Botherum. There's no doubt the learned Sergeant's in- correct ; the law does not put a man extralegium for merely spinning a tetotum : it's entirely out of the ques- tion. — Serg. My Lord, I beg your Lordship's pardon, Mr. Giblett, one of the gentlemen of the jury, has fallen down in a swoon. — Judge* Then somebody must twig him by the nose, for he cannot leave the Court.— Puzzle. My Lord, one of the witnesses has sworn that the pig had a curly tail ; now, my Lord, I presume, if I prove that this pig had a straight tail, I consider, this objection must be fatal. — Judge. Certainly. Order the pig into Court. — Here the pig was accordingly brought into Court, and on examination was found to have a straight tail, which finished the trial. — Judge. Gentlemen of the Jury, it is really unnecessary to re- capitulate the evidence, for the removal of this objec- tion removes all ground of action ; and, notwithstand- ing the ancient statue, which says, sowem virum pigum et boreum pigum, et vendi curium tailum, there is ir- refragable proof, by ocular demonstration, that Goody Grim's grunter had a straight tail, and, therefore, the prisoner must be acquitted ; and really, gentlemen, if the time of the Court is to be taken up with these fri- volous actions, the designs of justice will be entirely frustrated, and the attorney who recommends this action should be punished, not in the ordinary, but with the utmost vigour of the law.— The affair has since been thrown into Chancery, and is expected to bejsettled about the year one thousand nine hundred and fifty-four, THE GALLIMAUFRY. . 141 JOHN GILPIN. COWPER. John Gilpin was a citizen Of credit and renown ; A train-band captain eke was he Of famous London town. John Gilpin's spouse said to hev dear, Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen. To-morrow is our wedding-day, And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton, All in a chaise and pair. My sister and my sister's child, Myself and children three, Will fill the chaise, so you must ride On horseback after we. He soon replied, I do admire Of womenkind but one; And you are she, my dearest dear, Therefore it shall be done. I am a linen-draper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend, the calender, Will lend his horse to go. 142 THE GALLIMAUFRY." Quoth Mistress Gilpin, that's well said: And, for that wine is dear, We will be furnish'd with our own, Which is both bright and clear. John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife ; O'erjoy'd was he to find That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind. The morning came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allow'd To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud. So three doors o*T the chaise was stay'd, Where they did all get in ; Six precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin. Smack went the whip, round went the wheels. Were never folks so glad ; The stones did rattle underneath - As if Cheapside were mad. John Gilpin at his horse's side Seiz'd fast the flowing 'main ; And up he got in haste to ride, But soon came down again. For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, His journey to begin, When turning" round his head, h« saw Three customers come in. THE GALLIMAUFRY, 143 M = So down he came ; for loss of time, Although it griev'd him sore ; Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more. ^Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind ; When Betty, screaming, came down stairs, " The wine is left behind ! " Good lack ! quoth he — yet bring* it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword When I do exercise. Now Mistress Gilpin, careful soul ! Had two stone bottles found, To hold the liquor that she lov'd, And kept it safe and sound, Each bottle had a curling ear, Through which the belt he drew ; And hung a bottle on each side, To make his balance true. Then over all, that he might be Equipp'd from top to toe, His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, He manfully did throw. Now see him mounted once again, Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones With caution and good heed. 144 THE GALLIMAUFRY. But finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which gall'd him in his seat. So, fair and softly, John, he erred, But John he cried in vain ; That trot became a gallop soon. In spite of curb and rein. So stooping down, as needs he must Who cannot sit upright, He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might. His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more. Away went Gilpin, neck or nought, Away went hat and wig; He little dreamt, when he set out, O* running such a rig. The wind did blow, the c!o,ak did fly. Like streamer long and gay, Till, loop and button failing both. At last it flew away. Then might all people well discern The bottles he had slung : A bottle swinging at each side, As hath been said or sung. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 145 The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, Up flew the windows all ; And ev'ry soul cried out, Well done ! As loud as he could bawl. Away went Gilpin — who but he I His fame soon spread around — He carried weight ! he rides a race ! 'Tis for a thousand pound. And still as fast as he drew near, 'Twas wonderful to view, How in a trice the turnpike-men Their gates wide open threw. And now as he went bowing down His reeking head full low, The bottles twain behind his back Were shatter'd at a blow. Down ran the wine into the road. Most piteous to be seen, Which makes his horse's flanks to smoke As they had basted been. But still he seem'd to carry weight With leathern girdle brac'd ; For all might see the bottle-necks Still dangling at his waist. Thus all through merry Islington These gambols he did play, And till he came unto the Wash Of Edmonton so gay. 14f> THE GALLIMAUFRY. And there he threw the wash about On both sides of the wav, Just like unto a trundling mop^ Or a wild goose at play. At Edmonton his loving- wife From balcony espied Her tender husband, wond'ring- mucli To see how he did ride. Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! here's the house- They all at once did cry ; The dinner waits, and we are tir'd ;. Said Gilpin — so am I. But yet his horse was not a whit Inclin'd to tarry there; For why ? his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware. So like an arrow swift he Hew, Shot by an archer strong*; Ho did he fly— which brings me to The middle of my song. Away w r ent Gilpin, out of breath, And sore against his will, Till at his friend's, the calender's,,. Bis horse at last stood still. The calender, amaz'd to see His neighbour in such trim, Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate> And thus accosted him : THE GALLIMAUFRY. 147 What news? what news? your tidings tell, Tell me ye must and shall — Saj why bare-headed you are come, Or why you come at all? Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And lov'd a timely joke ; And thus unto the calender . In merry guise he spoke : I came because your horse would eomey And, if I well forbode, My hat and wig* will scon be here, They are upon the road. The calender, right giad to find His friend in merry pin, Returned him not a single w r ord, But to the house went in. When straight he came with hat and wigv A wig* that flow'd behind, A hat not much the worse for wear, Each comely in its kind. He held them up, and in his turn Thus show'd his ready wit: My head is twice as big as your's, They therefore needs must tit. But let me scrape the dirt away That hangs upon your face ; And stop and eat, for well you may Be in a hungry case. M 2 148 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Said John, It is my wedding-day, And all the world would stare, If wife should dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Ware. So turning" to his horse, he said, I am in haste to dine: 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, You shall go back for mine. Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast ! For which he paid full dear; For while he spake, a braying* ass Did sing- most loud and clear : Whereat his horse did snort, as he Had heard a lion roar : And gallop'd off with all his might. As he had done before. Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig : He lost them sooner than at first, For why? they w T ere too big. Now Mistress Gilpin, when she >aw Her husband posting down Into the country far away, She pull'd out half-a-crown : And thus unto the youth she said That drove them to the Bell, This shall be yours when you bring back My husband safe and well. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 149 The youth did ride, and soon did meet John corning back amain, Whom in a trice he tried to stop By catching* at his rein ; But not performing* what he meant, And gladly would have done ; The frighted steed he frighted more, And made him faster run. Away went Gilpin, and away Went post-boy at his heels ; The post-boy's horse right glad to miss The lumb'ring- of the wheels. Six g-entlemen upon the road Thus seeing- Gilpin fly, With post-boy scamp'ring in the rear, They rais'd the hue and cry : Stop thief! stop thief! — a highwayman! Not one of them was mute ; And all and each that pass'd that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike-gates again Flew open in short space ; The toll-men thinking, as before, That Gilpin rode a race. And so he did, and won it too, For he got first to town ; Nor stopp'd till where he first got up He did again get down. 150 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Now let us sing, Long live the king, And Gilpin, long live he ; And when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see ! THE SPECTACLES. Robin, who to the plough was bred, And never learnt to write or read, Seeing the good old people use To read with glasses 'cross their nose, Which constantly they wore about 'em, And said they could not do without 'em ; Happen'd one day to come to town, And as he saunter'd up and down. He chanc'd to spy where such like things Hung dangling in a row on strings, It took him in the head to stop, And ask the master of the shop, If he could furnish folks that need With glasses that could make 'em read? Or sell a pair of — what do you call it ? That would fit nose, and would not gall it? The man his drawer in one hand took, The other op'd the bible-book, The drawer contained of glasses plenty, From ninety down to less than twenty ; Some set in horn, and some in leather, But Robin could approve of neither THE GALLIMAUFRY. 151 And when a hundred pair had tried, And still had thrown them all aside, The man grew peevish, — (both grew vext) And swore he could not read the text. " Not read ! " — confound you for a fool ; I'll hang if e'er you went to school ! Did you ever read without the help Of spectacles?'' — " Why, no, you whelp, Do people who can walk about, Buy crutches for to stump about!" PROLOGUE TO THE CURFEW. Rude is the tale our author's scene pourtrays, Rude was our Country in her earlier days ; When first the Curfew, knell of England's woe, Froclaim'd the triumphs of the Norman bow ; And haughty William, w T ith unhallowed claim And ruthless sword, usurped a monarch's name: Force then was law, all right was wiih the strong, And public plunder charter'd private wrong. The bJasied soil, the track of war reveal'd Wild was the fores*, and untill'd the field In that dark age, the tyrant of the mind, Gaunt Superstition, trampled on mankind Hecate's dire name imperial realms dismay' d. And sceptred heroes trembled at a shade At midnight oft the impious vows were rais'd, The taper glimm'ring whilst the cauldron blaz'J: 152 THE GALLIMAUFRY. The hag by fancy loath'd, by hate pursu'd, With spells abhorr'd th' infernal spirits woo'd : O'er the blue flames she breath'd the awful word, And Fate's mysterious characters explored : Her voice the victor's tow'ring soul opprest ; Her eye glanc,d terror thro' the mailed breast. Drear as the night of winter was that time, The live-long night of Lapland's arctic clime ; And long a cheerless aspect England bore, And late the twilight linger'd on her shore. That time is past; beneath the day-star's smile, The arts have bloom'd and ripen'd in our isle ; No spell is breathed, no impious flame aspires, The lamp of science burns with hallowed fires : No vassals own their lord's imperious claim, For every Bri on boasts a Freeman's name ! By this ennobl'cl, at his country's call He goes, for her to conquer or to fall ! Proud by his actions to approve his birth, The dost of heroes is his native earth ! Ye, who with us, departed times retrace, Forgive the fan Is of an unletter'd race With candor mark those customs not your own, And pity errors to your age unknown : Too kind for scorn, too just to be severe, Ye serve no tyrant, and no conquerors fear ; Too blest to envy, for distrust too brave, Your first, your noblest triumph is to save r Oh I here with friendly zeal protect our cause, Your voice is fame, and glory your applause. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 153 THE BASHFUL MAN. I labour under a species of distress, which I fear will at length drive me utterly from that society, in which I am most ambitious to appear ; but 1 will give you a short sketch of my origin and present situation, by which you will be enabled to judge of my diffi- culties. My father was a farmer of no great property, and with no other learning than what he had acquired at a charity school ; but my mother being dead, and I an only child, he determined to give me that advan- tage, which he fancied would have made him happy, viz. a learned education. I was sent to a country grammar-school, and from thence to the university, with a view of qualifying for holy orders. Here, having but small allowance from my father, and being naturally of a timid and bashful disposition, I had no opportunity of rubbing off that native awk- wardness, which is the fatal cause of all my unhap^ piness, and which I now begin to fear can never he amended. You must know that in my person I am tall and thin, with a fair complexion, and light flaxen hair; but of such extreme susceptibility of shame, that, on the smallest subject of confusion, my blood all rushes into my cheeks, and I appear a perfect full-blown rose. The consciousness of this unhappy failing made me avoid society, and I became enamoured of a college life ; particularly when I reflected, that the uncouth manners of my father's family were little calculated to impr6ve my outward conduct; I there* 154 THE GALLIMAUFRY. fore had resolved on living- at the university and taking pupils, when two unexpected events greatly altered the posture of my affairs, viz. my father's death and the arrival of an uncle from the Indies. This uncle I had very rarely heard my father men- tion, and it was generally believed that he was long since dead, when he arrived in England only a week too late to close his brother's eyes. I am ashamed to confess, what I believe has been often experienced by those, whose education has been better than their parents, that my poor father's ignorance, and vulgar language, had often made me blush to think I was his son ; and, at his death, 1 was not inconsolable for the loss of that, which I was not unfrequently ashamed to own. My uncle was but little affected, for he had been separated from his brother more than thirty years, and in that time he had acquired a for- tune which he used to brag would make a nabob happy ; in short, he had brought over with him the enormous sum of thirty thousand pounds*, and upon this he built his hopes of never-ending happiness. While he was planning schemes of greatness and delight, whether the change of climate might affect him, or what other cause I know not, but he was snatched from all his dreams of joy by a short illness, of which he died, leaving me heir to all his property. And now, sir, behold me, at the age of twenty-five, well stocked with Latin, Greek, and Mathematics, possessed of an ample fortune, but so awkward and unversed in every gentleman-likp accomplishment, that I am pointed at by all who see me, as th© weal- thy learned clown. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 155 I have lately purchased an estate in the country, which abounds in (what is called) a fashionable neigh- bourhood, and when you reflect on my parentage and uncouth manner, you will hardly think how much my company is courted by the surrounding families (especially by those who have marriageable daugh- ters) : from these gentlemen I have received familiar calls and the most pressing invitations, and, though I wished to accept their offered friendship, I have re- peatedly excused myself under the pretence of not being quite settled ; for the truth is, that when I have rode or walked, with full intention to return their several visits, my heart has failed me as I approached their gate^, and I have frequently returned home- wards, resolving to try again to-morrow. However, I at length determined to conquer my timidity, and three days ago accepted of an invitation to dine this day with one, whose open easy manner left me no room to doubt of a cordial welcome. Sir Thomas Friendly, who lives about two miles distant, is a baronet, with about two thousand pounds a-year estate, joining to that I purchased ; he has two sons, and five daughters, all grown up, and living with their mother and a maiden sister of Sir Thomas's, at Friendly Hall, dependant on their father. Conscious of my unpolished gait, I have for some time past taken private lessons of a professor, who teaches " grown gentlemen to dance ?' and, though I at first found wondrous difficulty in the art he taught, my knowledge of the mathematics was of prodigious use, in teaching me the equilibrium of my body, and the adjustment of the centre of gravity to the five 156 THE GALLIMAUFRY. positions. Having- now acquired the art of walking without tottering-, and learned to make a bow, I boldly ventured to obey the baronet's invitation to a family dinner, not doubting but my new acquire- ments would enable me to see the ladies with tole- rable intrepidity; but, alas! how vain are all the hopes of theory, when unsupported by habitual prac- tice. As I approached the house, a dinner-bell alarmed my fears, lest I had spoiled the dinner by want of punctuality: impressed with this idea, I blushed the deepest crimson, as my name was re- peatedly announced by the several livery-servants, who ushered me into the library, hardly knowing what or whom I saw. At my first entrance, I sum- moned all my fortitude, and made my new-learned bow to Lady Friendly; but, unfortunately, in bringing my left foot to the third position, I trod upon the gouty toe of poor Sir Thomas, who had followed close to my heels, to be the Nomenclature of the family. The confusion this occasioned in me is hardly to be conceived, since none but bashful men can judge of my distress, and of that description, the number I believe is very small. The Baronet's politeness by degrees dissipated my concern, and I was astonished to see how far good breeding could enable him to support his feelings, and to appear with perfect ease, after so painful an accident. The cheerfulness of her ladyship, and the familiar chat of the young ladies, insensibly led me to throw off my reserve and sheepishness, till at length I ven- tured to join in conversation, and even to start fresh subjects, The library being richly furnished with THE GALLIMAUFRY. 157 books id elegant bindings, I conceived Sir Thomas to be a man of literature, and ventured to give my opinion concerning the several editions of the Greek classics, in which the Baronet's opinion exactly coin- cided with my own. To this subject I was led, by observing an edition of Xenophon in sixteen volumes, which (as I had never before heard of such a thing) greatly excited my curiosity, and I rose up to examine what it could be: Sir Thomas saw what I was about, and (as 1 suppose) willing to save me trouble, rose to take down the book, which made me more eager to prevent him, and, hastily laying my hand on the first volume, I pulled it forcibly: but, lo! instead of books, a board, which by leather and gilding had been made to look like sixteen volumes, came tumb- ling doWn, and unluckily pitched upon a Wedgwood ink-stand on the table under it. In vain did Sir Thomas assure me, there was no harm; I saw the ink streaming from an inlaid table on the Turkey carpet, and, scarce knowing what I did, attempted to stop its progress with my cambric handkerchief. In the height of this confusion, we were informed that dinner was served up, and I with joy perceived that the bell, which at first had so alarmed my fears, was only the half-hour dinner-bell. In walking through the hall and suite of apart- ments to the dining-room, I had time to collect my scattered senses, and was desired to take my seat betwixt Lady Friendly and her eldest daughter at the table. Since the fall of the wooden Xenophoi), my face had been continually burning like a firebrand, and I was just beginning to recover myself, and to 158 THE GALLIMAUFRY. feel comfortably cool, when an unlooked-for accident rekindled all my heat and blushes. Having set my plate of soup too near the edge of the table, in bow- ing* to Miss Dinah, who politely complimented the pattern of my waistcoat, I tumbled the whole scald- ing* contents into my lap. In spite of an immediate supply of napkins to wipe the surface of my clothes, my black silk breeches were not stout enough to save me from the painful effects of this sudden fomen- tation, and for some minutes my leg's and thighs seemed stewing in a boiling cauldron ; but recollect- ing how Sir Thomas had disguised his torture when I trod upon his toe, I firmly bore my pain in silence, and I sat with my lower extremities parboiled, amidst the stifled giggling of the ladies and servants. I will not relate the several blunders which I made during the first coarse, or the distress occasioned by my being desired to carve a fowl, or help to various dishes that stood near me, spilling a sauce-boat, and knocking down a salt-seller : rather let me hasten to the second course, "where fresh disasters over- whelmed me quite/' I had a piece of rich sweet pudding on my fork, ivhen Miss Louisa Friendly begged to trouble me for pigeon that s-ood near me. In my haste, scarcely knowing what I did, I whipped the pudding into my month, hot as a burning-coal ; it was impossible to conceal my agony — my eyes were starting from their sockets. At last, in spite of shame and resolution, I was obliged to drop the cause of torment on my plate. Sir Thomas and the ladies all compassionated my misfortune, and each advised a different appiica- THE GALLIMAUFRY. 159 lion ; one recommended oil, another water, but all agreed that wine was best for drawing- out fire ; and a glass of sherry was brought me from the sideboard, which I snatched up with eagerness : but, oh ! how shail I tell the sequel ? whether the butler by acci- dent mistook, or purposely designed to drive me mad, he gave me the strongest brandy, with which I filled my mouth, already flayed and blistered. Totally unused to ardent spirits, with my tongue, throat, and priate, as raw as beef, what could I do ? I could not swallow, and, clapping my hands upon my mouth, the cursed liquor squirted through my nose and fin- gers like a fountain, over all the dishes ; and I, crushed by bursts of laughter from all quarters. In vain did Sir Thomas reprimand the servants, and Lady Friendly chide her daughters ; fr r the measure of my shame and their diversion was not yet complete. To relieve me from the intolerabla state of perspiration which this accident had caused, without considering what I did, I wiped my face with that ill-fated handker- chief, wLich was still wet from the consequences of the fall of Xenophon, and covered all my features with streaks of ink in every direction. The baronet himself could not support this shock, but joined his laiy in the general laugh; while I sprung from the table in despair, rushed out of the house, and ran home in an agony of conf sion and disgrace, which the most poignant sense of guilt could have excited. Thus, without having deviated from the path of moral rectitude, I am suffering torments like a " goblin damned." The lower half of me has been almost boiled; my tongue and mouth grilled, and 1 bear the n2 160 THE GALLIMAUFRY. mark of Cain upon my forehead ; yet these are but trifling' considerations, to the everlasting shame which I must feel, whenever this adventure shall be men- tioned. Perhaps, by your assistance, when my neigh- bours know how much I feel on the occasion, they will spare a bashful man, and (as I am just informed my poultice is ready) I trust you will excuse the haste in which I retire. DANIEL versus DISHCLOUT. From Stevens's Lectures on Heads, and delivered by Mr. Matthews, at various Provincial ITteatres. We shall now consider the law, as our laws are very considerable, both in bulk and number, accord- ing as the Statutes declare, " considerandi, conside- rando, considerandum;" and are not to be meddled with by those that don't understand them. Law always expressing itself with true grammatical pre- cision ; never confounding moods, cases, or genders — except, indeed, when a woman happens accidentally to be slain, then the verdict is always brought in man-slaughter. The essence of the law is alterca- tion, for fthe law can altercate, fulminate, deprecate irritate, and go on at any rate ; now the quintessence of the law has, according to its name, five parts : — The first, is the beginning, or insipiendum ; the se- cond, the uncertainty, or dubitendura; the third, delay, or puzzliendum ; fourthly, replication without endum ; and fifthly, monstrum and horrendum. All which are exemplified in the following case: — THE GALLIMAUFRY. 161 Daniel against Dishclout. — Daniel was groom in the same family where Dishclout was cookmaid ; and Daniel returning home one day, fuddled, he stooped down to take a sop out of the dripping* pan ; Dishclout pushed him into the dripping*-pan, which spoiled his clothes, and he was advised to bring- his action against the cookmaid, the pleadings of which were as follows. The first person who spoke was Mr. Serjeant Snuffle ; he began, saying* — "■ Since I have the honour to be pitched upon to open this cause to your lordship, I shall not impertinently presume to take up any of your lordship's time by a round-about circumlocutory manner of speaking or talking, quite foreign to the purpose, and not anywise relatfng to the matter in hand ; I shall, I wi]l 3 1 design to show what damages my client has sustained hereupon, whereupon, and thereupon. Now, my lord, my client being a ser- vant in the same family with Dishclout, and not being at board wages, imagined he had a right to the fee- simple of the dripping-pan, therefore he made an attachment on the sop with his right hand, which the defendant replevied with her left hand, tripped us up, and tumbled us into the dripping-pan. Now, in Rroughton's Reports, Slack versus Smallwood, it is said, that primus strocus sine jocus, absolutus est pro- vokus ; now, who gave the primus strokus ? who gave the first offence ? why, the cook ; she brought the dripping-pan there ; for, my lord, though we wilt allow, if we had not been there, we could not have been thrown down there ; yet, my lord, if the drip- ping-pan had not been there, it is decidedly clear we could not have tumbled down into the dripping-pan.** N3 16$ THE GALLIMAUFRY. The next counsel, on the same side, began with — " My lord, he who makes use of many words to no purpose, has not much to say for himself; therefore I shall come to the point at once ; at once, and imme- diately, I shall come to the point. My client was in liquor ; the liquor in him having served an ejectment upon his understanding, common sense was nonsuited, and he was a man beside himself, as Dr. Biblibus de- clares, in his Dissertation upon Bumpers, in the 139th folio volume of the Abridgment of the Statutes, page 1286, he says, that a drunken man is homo duplicans, or a double man, not only because he sees things double, but also because he is not as he should be, " profecto ipse he/' but is, as he should not be, * de- /»,,»• y n ict:tv ipse nr. * The counsel, on the other side, rose up gracefully, playing with his ruffles prettily, and tossing the tyes of his wig about emphatically. He began with, " My lud,and you, gentlemen of the jury, I humbly do con- ceive, I have the authority to declare, that I am coun- sel in tliis case for the defendant; therefore, my lad, I shall not flourish away in words ; words are no more than fillagree work : some people may think them an embellishment, but to me it is a matter of astonish- ment, how any one can be so impertinent, to the de- triment of all rudiment. But, my lud, this is not to be looked at through the medium of right and wrong ; for the law knows no medium, and right and wrong are but its shadows. Now, in the first place, they have called a kitchen my client's premises. Now, a kitchen is nobody's premises: a kitchen is not a ware- house, nor a wash-house ; a brew-house, nor a bake- THE GALLIMAUFRY, 103 house; an inn-house, nor an out-house ; nor a dwel- ling-house ; no, my hid, 'tis absolutely and bona fide, neither more nor less than a kitchen ; or, as the law more classically expresses, a kitchen is, camera neces- saria pro usus cookare, cum saucepannis, stewpannis, scullero, dressero, coal-holo, stovis, smoak-jacko, pro roastandum, boilandum, fryandum, et plum-pudding, mixandum, pro turtle-soupes, calves'-head-hashibus, cum calipse et calihashibus. " But we shall not avail ourselves of an alibi, but admit of the existence of a cook-maid. „ Now, my lud, we shall take it upon a new ground, and beg a new trial : for, as they have curtailed our name from plain Mary into Moll, I hope the Court will not allow of this ; for, if they were to allow of mistakes, what would the law do ? for, when the law don f t find mistakes, it is the business of the law to make them." Therefore the Court allowed them the liberty of a new trial ; for the law is our liberty, and it is happy for us we have the liberty of going to law. DOUGLAS TO LORD RANDOLPH. My name is Norval : on the Grampian hills My father feeds his Hock ; a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his store, And keep his only son, myself, at borne. For I had heard of battles, and I long'd To follow to the field some warlike lord ; And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied. 164 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Yon' moon, which rose last night as round as my shield, Had not yet filld her horns, when, by her light, A band of fierce barbarians from the hills, Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale, Sweeping* our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled For safety and for succour. I alone, With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd The road he took, then hasted to my friends, Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men, 1 met advancing*. The pursuit I led Till we o'ertook the spoil -encumber'd foe. We fought, and conquer'd : 'Ere a sword was drawn, An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief, Who wore that day the arms which now I wear. Returning* home in triumph, I disdain'd The shepherd's slothful life ; and having- heard, That our g-ood king* had snmmon'd his bold peers, To lead their warriors to the Carron side, I left my father's house, and (ook with me. A chosen servant to conduct my steps: Yon trembling cow T ard, who forsook his master ! Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these towers. And, Heaven directed, came this day to do The happy deed that gilds my humble name. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 165 THE WEDDING DAY; OR, MISS PHILLIS and her MAN JOHN. Desponding Phillis was endu'd With ev'ry talent of a prude : She trembled when a man drew near ; Salute her, and she turn'd her ear ; If o'er against her you were plac'd, She durst not look above your waist : , She'd sooner take you to her bed, Than let you see her dress her head : In church, you heard her, thro' the crowd, Repeat the absolution loud : In church, secure behind her fan, She durst behold that monster — MAN ; There practis'd how to please her head, And bite her lips to make 'em red ; Or on the mat devoutly kneeling, Would lift her eyes up to the ceiling, And heave her bosom unaware, c jj For neighb'ring beaux to see it bare. At length a lucky lover came, And found admittance to the dame. Suppose all parties now agreed, The writings drawn, the lawyer fee'd ; The vicar and the ring bespoke ; Guess, how could such a match be broke ? See then, what mortals place their bliss in ! Next morn, betimes, the bride was missing. The mother scream'd, the father chid ! Where can this idle wench be hid I 166 GALLIMAUFRY. No news of Phil ! — the bridegroom came, And thought his wife had sculk'd for shame ; Because her father us'd to say, The girl had " such a bashful way." Now John, the butler, must be sent, To learn the road that Phillis went. The groom was wish'd to saddle Crop, For John must neither light nor stop, But find her wheresoe'er she's fled, And bring her back, alive or dead. See here again the d — 1 to do ! For truly, John was missing too ; The horse and pillion both were gone ! Phillis, it seems, was fled with John. Old madam, who went up to find What papers Phil had left behind, A letter on the toilet sees, " To my much honoured father — these." ? Tis always done, romances tell us, When daughters run away with fellows, Fill'd with the choicest common places, By others us'd in the like cases. " That long ago a fortune-teller, " Exactly said what now befel her ; " And in a glass had made her see, 4t A serving man of low degree. €i It was her fate, must be forgiv'n, " For marriages were made in heaven : " His pardon begg'd, but to be plain, " She'd do't if 'twere to do again. " Thank God ! 'twas neither shame, nor sin, €€ For John was come of honest kin : g Love never thinks of rich, or poor ; V GALLIMAUFRY. 167 " She'd beg with John from door to door. " Forgive her, if it be a crime, " Shell never do't another time. " She ne'er before, in all her life, 1 Once disobey 'd him, maid or wife, " One argument she summ'd up all in, " The thing was done, and past recalling; " And therefore hop'd she should recover " His favour, when his. passion's over ! " She valu'd not what others thought her. " And was his most obedient daughter.'' Fair maidens all, attend the muse, Who now the wand'^ring pair pursues, Away they rode in homely sort, Their journey long, their money short; The loving couple well bemired ; The horse, and both the riders tir'd ; Their victuals bad, their lodging worse ; Phil cry'd, and John began to curse ; PhUwish'd that she had strain'd a limb When first she ventur'd out with him : John wish'd that he had broke a leg When first for her he quitted Peg. But what adventures more befell 'em, The muse hath now no time to tell 'em ; How Johnny wheedl'd, threaten'd, fawn'd, 'Till Phillis all her trinkets pawn'd. When food and raiment now grew scarce, Fate put a period to the farce ;— One morn, as Phillis lie asleep, John from her side did gently creep ; To India's shore he bent his way, Leaving poor Phil to fast and pray* 168 GALLIMAUFRY. THE MARRIED MUSICIAN. When I gaily set out in the conjugal state, I believ'd I was blest with a musical mate ; But I now at my lot can no longer rejoice, As she's never in tune, tho' she's always in voice. With her sound inharmonious from morning to night, She distracts my poor ears which in concord delight, And compels me, amaz'd in a petulant strain, Oft to wish I could shake off my conjugal chain. No man, sure, e'er had, in his passage through life, Such strong bars to his bliss in a dissonant wife, Who appears, when her tones by her anger are rais'd Up to alt, like a woman deplorably craz'd. Tho' from slurs in her conduct I own she is free, Yet she brags of her virtue in too loud a key ; For, most certainly, wives, like Diana, tho* chaste, Can play off their good parts in very bad taste. First allur'd by a smile, then bewitch'd by a song, The quick movement I made to be married was wrong But oh ! where's the man, who at all times is wise, Who is never seduc'd by his ears or his eyes ? When she opens her lips, like the clack of a mill, Her brisk tongue is in motion — it never lies still ! A firm foe to my peace, she indeed is a pest, As she rattles away, when I wish her at rest. In the day, as she often appears in her airs, Very oft she wants time for her household affairs ; With unnumber'd divisions she turns a dispute, Oh ! how oft do I wish, that her tongue had a mute ? When to passion provok'd, puts her face in a maze, No sweet graces she then in her form e'er displays ; Her whole figure, attitudes striking appears ; He who looks at her, starts, and he dreads her who hears. Hurried on by an impulse to woo, and to wed, Of no matters to come, did I trouble my head — Let each marriage of love, then, with caution be mad ^ As I dearly, alas ! for my crotchet have paid. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 169 3 THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY. A Man, in many a country town, we know, Professing openly with death to wrestle, Entering" the field against the foe, Arm'd with a mortar and a pestle. Yet some affirm no enemies they are, But meet, just like prize-fighters in a feir, Who first shake hands before they box, Then give each other plaguy knocks, With all the love and kindness of a brother ; So (many a suffering patient saith) Though the apothecary fights with death, Still they're sworn friends to one another. A member of this iEsculapian race Liv'd at Newcastle upon Tyne; No man could better gild a pill, Or make a bill. Or mix a draft, or bleed, or blister, Or draw a tooth out of your head, Or chatter scandal by your bed, Or give a glister. Of occupations there were quantum $uff; Yet still be thought the list not long enough, And therefore midwifery he chose to pin to't. This balanced things ; for if he hurl'd A few score mortals from the world, He made amends by bringing others into't. o HO THE GALLIMAUFRY, His fame full six miles round the country ran ; In short, in reputation he was solus ; All the old women call'd him " a fine man." His name was Bolus. Benjamin Bolus, though in trade, f (Which often will genius fetter) Read works of fancy, it is said, And cultivated the Belles Letters. And why should this be thought so odd ? Can't men have taste to cure a phthysic? Of poetry though patron god, Apollo patronizes physic. Bolus lov'd verse, and took so much delight in't, That bis prescriptions he resolv'd to write in't. No opportunity he e'er let pass Of writing the directions on his lables, In dapper couplets — like Gay's Fables, Or rather like the lines in Hudibras. Apothecary's verse ! — and where's the treason ; 'Tis simply honest dealing — not a crime ; When patients swallow physic without reason, It is but fair to give a little rhyme. He had a patient lying at death's door, Some three miles from the town— it might be four To whom one evening Bolus sent an article In pharmacy, that's call'd cathartical, And, on the lable of the stuff, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 171 He wrote verse, { Which one would think was clear enough, And terse: " When taken, To be well shaken/' Next morniug, early, Bolus rose, And to the patient's house he goes Upon his pad, Who a vile trick of stumbling had : It was, indeed, a very sorry hack; But that's of course, For what's expected from a horse, With an apothecary on his back? Bolus arrived, and gave a loudish tap, Between a single and a double rap. Knocks of this kind Are given by gentlemen who teach to dance, By fiddlers, and by opera singers; One loud, and then a little one behind, As if the knocker fell by chance Out of their finders. Jq ^ The servant lets him in with dismal face, Long as a courtier's out of place, Portending some disaster, John's countenance as rueful look'd and grim, As if th' apothecary had physic'd him, And not his master. " Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said, John shook his head. 02 172 the gallimaufry. " Indeed ! — hum ! — ha ! — that's very odd ! He took the draft? " — John gave a nod. " Well — how ? — what then ? — speak oat, you dunce. " Why, then/' says John, " we shook him once." Ci Shook him ! — how?" Bolus stammered out. " We jolted him about." * f What? shake a patient, man — a shake won't do." " No, sir — and so we gave him two." " Two shakes ! — odd's curse \ 'TVould make a patient worse." " It did so, sir — and so a third we try'd," f Well ! and what then ? "--" Then, sir, my master dy'cU EPSOM RACES. Come, Madam Muse, new nib thy pen-, And put on thy best graces, To sing, in merry, jocund strain, The joys of Epsom Races. Curricles, coaches, chaises, gigs, Beaux, bloods, and men of trade, Black-legs, nobles, peers, and prigs. All join the cavalcade. The young, the old, the brown, the fair, Of pleasure take their fill ; The mania spreads, from Berkeley -square. As far as Fish-street-hill ! THE GALLIMAUFRY. 173 Miss Drugget cries— ~ a My sweet papa, Let's go to Epsom, pray ; There's you, and I, and dear mamma, Will fill a one-horse chaise. In order to go safe and slow, By day-break we'll set off; The ride will do you good, I know, And cure your nasty cough. I doats upon the country now ; How sweet the wernal breezes ; We'll take our dinner, too, I wow, And dine beneath the freezes/ 9 Old Drugget shook his cranium wise ; But madam cry'd-- -" I fegs ! What, tho' old Dobbin's lost both eyes, He still has got four legs. You cruel man, you're more severe Than Chinese, Turk, or Persian ; Deny your wife, and daughter dear, Bst one short day's diversion. So, Mr. Drugget, pray give o'er, And mind what I desire ; Go to the liv'ryman next door, And quick a buggy hire.'* The Cit found all resistance nought ; My lady was in arnest: The chaise was hir'd, provisions bought. And poor old Dobbin harness'd. 03 174 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Through ev'ry village that they went, The boys began a-hooting ; Their luckless steed was almost spent Before they got to Tooting. Old Drugget laid on many a blow, And whipped with might and main: And now, behold, he cry'd, Gee-ho f And now he jerkM the rein. At length he turn'd to spousy dear, And said—-" My sweetest jewel, The race-ground, lore, is very near; For, see, we're entering EwelL" Reaching, at last, the crowded course, They gap'd, they star'd, they wonder'd .* Whilst bets upon the fav'rite horse Vociferously thunder'd. The Cit exclaim'd — " Confound this din;: I wish, as Pm a sinner, This cursed racing would begin, That I might get my dinner. What with the fagging that I've had, By Jove, I'm almost dead : Holla ! you sir ! come here, my lad ! You, gin and gingerbread W But, when the racing-list he reads, To trusl his sight affraid is: " Zounds! here's not only sporting steed®* But also sporting ladies! THE GALLIMAUFRY. 175 Sure there was never such a scene Since days of Father Adam ; I'll seet it nearer/'— Out he -leapt, And gave the reins to madam. Ent'ring a booth, a dext'rous cheat, In trick and cunning able, Seduc'd the unsuspicious Cit To join an E. O. table. Tempted by play's inviting call, A guinea bright he ventures, A.nd views the circling of the ball On expectation's tenters. Breathless with joy, he gained his chaise, And cry'd, " the guinea's won ! " But who can paint his grief, amaze— His fa v' rite watch was gone !" , With dreadful ire his bosom burn'd, But now the horses start ; Alas ! the chaise was overturn'd, By running 'gainst a cart L Away went Drugget and his dear ; Away went ham and chicken : With bottles, glasses, wine, and beer: Ye gods, what pretty picking! There, too, good lack, between the wheels Was seen their hapless daughter, Kicking aloft her lovely heels, 'Midst copious streams of pforter i 176 the gallimaufry. " I've lost my wig/' poor Drugget roar'd. " Your wig ! that's nought/' cry'd Miss " Mamma has spoil'd her bran-new gown, And I my blue pelisse/' The unlucky chaise went quite to pot ; Old Dobbin, too, was undone: At great expence a cart they got, To take them back to London. Arriv'd at home, th' enraged Cit, With words the most uncivil, Sent horses, jockies, E. O. too, All packing to the devil! THE FLAX-DRESSER'S WIFE AND THE POUND OF TEA. 'Twas more than fifty years ago, In Spoondon's simple village, Spoondon, in Derbyshire, I trow, Well known for useful tillage. There dwelt a pair of simple souls*— The husband a flax-dresser ; His wife dress'd victuals for his jowls, And darn'd his hose— God bless her. Now these poor folks had got a friend, Who dwelt in London city ; And oft some present he would send To John and Dame, in pity. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 117 Now reader, if you'll backward turn, And read this tale's beginning, Full half a century, you'll learn, This story has been spinning. Now near that time, you must be told, Tea first came into fashion ; Tea, which oft made a husband scold, And bounce about in passion. At least, 'mongst those of middling life, It made a hideous riot ; To have a gay tea-drinking wife, A man could ne'er be quiet. 'Twas thought as bad as now, I ween— • A sin since then grown bigger— Were a man's wife, by guzzling gin ; To cut a reeling figure. l But London, who drank tea the first, Grew reconcil'd unto it: And though 'twas thought of crimes the worst, The ladies still would do it. Now, reader, the flax-dresser's friend, (The flax-dresser of Spoondon) Thought a good pound of tea he'd send, To solace them, from London. But he forgot, good man> I trow, That in this favour'd nation, Good things, or bad, still travels slow. Like cow-innoculation. 178 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Nor ever dreamt, you may believe, That they had no more notion, What was the gift they did receive, Than of the Western Ocean. So when it came, long ponderM they, How 'twas to be devour* d ; They wish he'd sent some hint to say, For they were quite o'erpower'd. At length, right well they both agreed— 'Twere best it should be taken, By way of greens, when next they'd need. With some of their (at bacon. Next day arriv'd, the flaxman's tvife Set on her saucepan flattish ; Popp'd in the tea, then seiz'd a knife, And cut some bacon fattish. The bacon soon enough was done ; But still the tea, so evil, Kept very tough — the clock struck one, She wish'd it at the devil. For at the noon of every day, These humble friends of labour, Took their plain meal — nor only they, For so did ev*ry neighbour. Finding it hard, though tasted oft, She bawPd out like a sinner— " This curs'd stuff will ne'er be soft, So John, come down to dinner !" THE GALLIMAUFRY. 179 THE CHOICE OF A WIFE BY CHEESE. There liv'd in York, an age ago, A man, whose name was Pimlico : He lov'd three sisters passing well, But which the best, he could not tell. These sisters three, divinely fair, Shew'd Pimlico their tend'rest care : For each was elegantly bred, And all were much inclined to \ved ; And all made Pimlico their choice, And prais'd him with their sweetest voice. Young Pirn, the gallant and the gay, Like ass divided 'tween the hay, At last resolv'd to gain his ease, And choose his wife by eating cheese. He wrote his card, he seal'd it up, And said that night with them he'd sup ; Desir'd that there might only be Good Cheshire cheese, and but them three ; He was resolv'd to crown his life, And by that means to fix his wife. The girls were pleased at his conceit ; Each dress'd herself divinely neat; Wi h faces full of peace and plenty, Blooming with roses under twenty, For s irely Nancy, Betsey, Sally, Were sweet as lilies of the valley : 180 THE GALLIMAUFRY. But singly, surely buxom Bet, Was like new hay and mignionette. But each surpassed a poet's fancy, For that, of truth, was said of Nancy : And as for Sal, she was a Donna, As fair as those of old Cretona, Who to Apelles lent their faces To make up Madam Helen's graces. To those the gay divided Pirn Came elegantly smart and trim : When ey'ry smiling maiden, certain, Cut of the cheese, to try her fortune. Nancy, at once, not fearing — caring To shew her saving, ate the paring; And Bet, to show her gen'rous mind, Cut, and then threw away the rind ; While prudent Sarah, sure to please. Like a clean maiden, scrap'd the cheese. This done, young Pimlico replied, " Sally, I now declare my bride: With Nan I can't my welfare put, For she has prov'd a dirty slut : And Betsey, who has par'd the rind ; Would give any fortune to the wind ; Sally the happy medium chose, And I with Sally will repose ; S^e's prudent, cleanly : and the man Who fixes on a nuptial plan Can never err, if he will choose A wife by cheese — before he ties the noose THE GALLIMAUFRY. 181 THE THORNY BUSH. A Countryman's wife, in a lethargic fit, Appear'd to her spouse fairly dead, Which the good man esteem'd the luckiest hit, That had happen'd since he had been wed. As there 'twas the custom, a coffin to save, The corpse they would fold in a sheet ; The husband, o'erjoy'd, led his wife to the grave, WrappM up from her head to her feet. As they pass'd thro ? a lane with hedges well hung, A thorny bush stuck in the way, Which pierc'd thro' the sheet, to the quick madam stung ; It was an unfortunate day. At the smart she reviv'd, and was quickly brought home, Rejoicing at such a relief; While the poor man was cursing his ill-fated doom, And giving way sorely to grief. She liv'd for some years, and was well satisfied, That Death had for once miss'd his stroke ; Till one day in earnest she fell sick, and died, Her death was this time not a joke. j ce more to the grave he his dame did convey, And, willing to do it with care, He would oft cry out, " Friends, from the hedge keep away, And of yon thorny bush pray beware." 182 THE GALLIMAUFRY. THE HOD OF MORTAR. Many persons, who complain they're undone. Find relief, they say, In the common way, At their kind relations in London. And these relations, let me add. Are much kinder than many others, Whether rich uncles, aunts, or brothers, They give relief to our immediate cares, And take great interest in all our bad affairs, Pat Gimlet wanted money, To make Pat Gimlet funny; So casting round the room his dirty phiz, Which was studded o'er with red carbuncles, To see if he could find Enough to raise the wind, By taking something io his Uncle's. His eyes ne'er goggled so in all his life : He first fix'd them on his uggly wife, Then on his daughter; Then he goggled them on a hod of mortar. " Hurrah!" he cried, and began to sing, " This hod of mortar, honey's, just the thing." Away he went Where Money's Lent On every queer article that you bring. But, as he trudg'd along, this curious elf Thus did soliloquize unto himself — THE GALLIMAUFRY. 183 To-morrow after next it will be Sunday, To-morrow I will be paid, Then, without doubt, I'll get it out ; By the pow'rs, that I shall on Monday. Arriving- at the wish'd-for spot, He clapp'd the mortar on the counter pat, Then giving his broad mouth a twist, And striking the counter with his fist, Exclaim'd, in accents mild, Did this Hibernian child, u Four-pence, my dear, for that/' The mortar made a horrid splash, And a large window soon went crash ; It dirted those that were standing by, Hit the shopman in his squinting eye, Cut a handsome lady's pretty face, Whom chance brought there with Brussels lace. Hit the master on his pimpled handle, Spoil'd a gown, and put out a candle. They all cast up their eyes, Like statues in surprise, Master, shopman, customers, and all, As if the mortar had the power, In its promiscuous shower, To stick them every one against the wall. At length the master coming up to Pat, Tell me, my friend, what 'tis you want for that ; For this vile trash that you have brought here. Pointing to the hod of mortar, p 2 184 the Gallimaufry. « Why, four-pence, my dear sir, and by my troth I only ax you double that it's worth ; I want it for a glass of gin," Said Pat, with a mouth somewhat mealy. The man replied, " We can't take it in, Nor put it up the spout ; But we will give you sixpence freely, If you'll take it every morsel out/* THE DOCTOR AND CAPTAIN- In Bladud's city, place of vast renown, Where, in the season, wealthy cits from town Escort their wives and pretty daughters, To make a dash, To cut a splash, To dance, to play at cards, and drink the waters, A strife arose 'twixt men of high condition, A Captain this, and that a grave Physician. One morn, the hero of the scarlet coat Upon the Doctor's gate with pencil wrote, ' Scoundrel' in letters clear and plain. The Doctor saw ; arnaz'd he stood ; And long'd to let the Captain's blood ; And waxing wroth, he grasp'd his gold-top'd cane,. Then sallied forth, and, after various dodgings, At length he found the noble Captain's lodgings. There, in politeness to be conquered scorning, He told the servant, with an arch regard, " Give to your master Doctor Pestle's card, For at ray gate he left his name this morning*** THE GALLIMAUFRY. 185 OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE TO THE MASK OF BRITANNIA. (garrick.) Enters, singing.'] — "How pleasant a sailor's life passes V Well! if thou art, my boy, a little mellow, A sailor, half-seas over's a pretty fellow. "W hat cheer, ho ? Do I carry too much sail ? [To the Pit No — tight and trim — I scud before the gale — [He staggers forward, and then stops. But softly tho' — the vessel seems to heel — Steady, my boy ! — she must not shew her keel. And now, thus ballasted — what course to steer? Shall I again to sea — and bang- Mounseer ? Or stay on shore, and toy with Sail and Sue? Dost love 'em, boy ? By this right-hand I do* A well-rigg'd girl is surely most inviting: There's nothing better, faith — save Hip and fighting. I must away — 1 must— What ! shall we sons of beef and freedom stoop, Or lower our flag to slavery and soup? What! shall these Parly-voos make such a racket. And I not lend a hand to lace their jacket? Still shall Old England be your Frenchman's butt ? Whene'er he shuffles, we should always cut. I'll to 'em, faith — avast before I go — Have I not promis'd Sail to see the show? [Pulls out a play -bill. p3 186 THE GALLIMAUFRY. From this same paper we shall understand What work's to-night — I read your printed hand. First let's refresh a bit — for faith I need it— I'll take one sugar-plum (takes some tobacco) an$ then I'll read it. [He reads the play-bill of Zara, which wan acted that evening. u At the Theatre Royal, Druiy Lane — Will be presen~ta-ted a tragedy calPd Sarah" — I'm glad 'tis Sarah — then our Sail may see Her name's-sake tragedy ; and as for me, I'll sleep as sound as if I were at sea ; " To which will be added — a new mask — " Zounds! why a mask? We sailor's hate grimaces; Aboveboard all ; we scorn to hide our faces. But what is here, so very large and plain ? u Bri-tan-ma?" — O Britannia! — good again. Huzza, boys ! By the Royal George I swear, Tom Coxen, and the crew, shall straight be there. All free-born souls must take Britannia's part, And give her three round cheers, with hand and heart [_Going off, he stops, I wish you, landmen, though, would leave your tricks, Your factions, parties, and damn'd politicks; And, like us honest tars, drink, fight, and sin:r ; True to yourselves, your country, and your king THE PRUDENT WIFE. In asking favours, people should be nice, Such is the humble Poet's poor advice ; THE GALLIMAUFRY. 187 Since there are some of such a ticklish nature, For which howe'er the beggar's chops may water, However much those favours may be wanted, They're too important to be granted. A man condemned on Tyburn tree to swing, For murder, rape, or some such trifling thing, Had got a pains-taking and prudent wife ; Who sought his cell the day he was to die, And then set up a sad pig-killing cry, Which prov'd she lov'd him as she did her life. u Bobby/' quoth Joan, and shed the bitterest tear, Hugging him kindly round the neck, " What time shalt thou be hang'd to-day, my dear? Ha, Bobby, thou art dull; why dost not speak?* 7 Robin, not in the humour of haranguing, And verily not very fond of hanging, Answer'd, deep sighing, " Twelve o'clock, my love, I from this world of sin and woe depart, And quit, alas ! the fatal, fatal cart, For Abram's bosom in the world above." il At twelve" o'clock, dost say, my life ?/' In frightened tones exclaimed his wife, " Think on the many miles I've got to go, And Bobby, it is washing-day, you know. Pray, Deary, let me hasten and implore Jack Ketch to turn thee off before The sooner he completes this work of thine, The sooner, Bobby, I shall finish mine " 188 THE GALLIMAUFRY. THE REMEDY AS BAD AS THE DISEASE. Once on a time, 'tis said, that Hounslow Heath Was by a gang* of robbers sore infested Who with the sword of justice boldly jested, Till Mister Kirby's necklace stopped their breath. Three doughty officers of volunteers, Knights of the thimble (Fame reports) and shears, Stopping* at Hounslow in a chaise and pair, Ask'd fiercely if the Heath w r as safe from thieves: u Yes, sir/' replied the ostler, " I believes ; Besides, what needs such warlike gemmen care?' 5 The ostler had & friend who lurk'd at hand, A tribute-gatherer on the road — no worse : Who, viewing* slily this redoubted band, Swore each should pay the forced loan of his purse Or put, to speak more like a politician, Their money in a state of requisition ! Away then rode he on to wait his prey : The heroes paid their score, and off went they. But, ere they half the Heath had crossed, They found the chevalier upon his spot; He stopp'd the chaise — " Gemmen/' says he, Ci I hear, This road is horribly by rogues beset ; And, though such valiant men despise all fear, Perhaps you'll be in danger if you're met." At this their powdered locks began to bristle : " What shall we do ? " they cried, " oh, tell us what V 9 t4 Why, gemmen," says the rogue, and she wed a pistol— THE GALLIMAUFRY. 189 " Best leave your cash with me; Til tell you that." " What, all our money? nay, for goodness hold." " Yes, all—quick ! quick l" replied the rogue/' your gold! Make haste !— your watches, too, must be unfobb'd ; Or, dash my buttons, sirs^ but you'll be robb'd ! " THE PILGRIM. The night was dark, and drear the heath, And sudden howl'd the wind, When o'er the wood a pilgrim strayM Some friendly inn to find. He hasten'd to a feeble light, That glimmer'd from afar, By which he found a sign project, And found it was the Star. Good fare was there for man and horse, And rest for weary bones, A fam'd and long-establish'd house, And kept by Mary Jones. Three gentle taps the pilgrim gave, When Mary op'd the door, And usher'd her in her weary guest, Not knowing he was poor. But Mary's een was rather dim, Or else she might have kenn'd. He was nae muckle welthie wight The widow to befriend. 190 THE GALLIMAUFRY. No cockle-shell, or cowl had he. Nor pilgrim's staff so tall ; Nor sandal shoon had he, I wean If any shoon at all. He ate, he drank, he prais'd the ale, Most sumptuously he fed, And when he heard the clock strike twelve . He march'd up stairs to bed. Next morning breakfast was prepar'd. Of which he ate his fill, When Mary Jones, in neat array, Brought in the pilgrim's bill. He heeded not the items there, But unto Jones did say, " I bear a pilgrim's ancient name, And ne'er bring cash to pay. " To touch the vile polluted ore, My conscience would offend ; I neither borrow cash nor plate, Nor either do I lend. " Daughter, I like the supper much, And much I lik'd the dressing, Therefore, for all I have receiv'd, I leave thee, maid, my blessing." Poor Mary Jones astonish'd stood, To see the good man pray ; At length the hostess silence broke, And thus to him did say: THE GALLIMAUFRY. 191 " I ne'er a pilgrim hous'd before, Nor such like holy folk, But as you say, the custom's old, I bend beneath the yoke. " No doubt, you have a conscience good. Nor do I mean to shock it: But, Pilgrim, when you call again, Bring money in your pocket/' THE IRISH DRUMMER. A Soldier, so at least the story goes, It was in Ireland I believe, Upon his back was sentenc'd to receive Five hundred gentle cat-o'-nine-tail blows ; Most sagely military law providing, The back alone shall suffer for backsliding. Whether his crime was great or small, Or whether there was any crime at all, Are facts which this deponent never knew : But though uncertain whether justly tried, The man he knows was to the halbert tied. And hopes his readers will believe so too. Suppose him, then, fast to the halbert bound, His poor companions standing silent round, Anticipating eVry dreadful smack ; While Patrick Donovan, from Wicklow county, Is just preparing to bestow his bounty, Or beat quick time upon his comrade's back. 192 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Of Stoics must we read in tales of yore, Of Zeno, Posidonius, Epictetus, Who, unconcern'd, the greatest torments bore; Or else these ancient Stoics strangely cheat us. My hero was no Stoic, it is plain; He could not suffer torments, and be dumb, But roar'd before he felt the smallest pain, As if ten rusty nails had piere'd his bum ! Not louder is the terror-spreading note, Which issues from the hungry lion's throat ; When o'er Numidian plains in search of prey, He takes his cruel life-destrotjing way. The first two strokes which made my hero jump, Fell right across the confines of his rump ; On which he piteously began to cry, "Strike high! strike high! for mercy's sake strike high!" Pat, of a mild obliging disposition, Could not refuse to grant his friend's petition, An Irishman has got a tender heart, And never like's to act a cruel part ; Pat gave a good example to beholders, And the next stroke fell on his comrade's shoulders. Our suffering hero now began to roar As loud, if not much louder, than before ; At which Pat lost all patience, and exclaim'd, While his Hibernian face with anger flam'd, " The Devil burn you! can't your tongue be still ? There's no pleasing you, strike where one will." GALLIMAUFRY. 193 PARSONS THE ACTOR, and THE LION- Parsons, so long on London's comic stage, Rank'd with the foremost actors of his age, For humour bold, original and true, In early days was tost about by fate, Through ev'ry change of that precarious state, Which marks the fortune of a strolling crew. With such a troop he quartered once at Lynn, The town was full of bustle, spirit, din, And many an object to surprise and scare ; Among the rest, to aid the mingled roar, Bears, tigers, lions, a tremendous store, With all the wonders of a country fair. Beds were so scarce, 'mid such a num'rous heap, That Parsons with a friend was forc'd to sleep At the same Inn where stood the mimic stage. The savage breed were in the space below, All rang'd in order for the morning show, And howling serenades from cage to cage. Wearied at last by all this hideous sound, Our friends had sunk into a sleep profound, I When just atone o'clock, portenteous hour ! Parsons was gently pull'd, and, with a groan, His friend inform'd him, in a whisp'ring tone, To save their lives was not in Fortune's pow'r. At first he thought some danger might be near, But soon accus'd his trembling friend of fear, The wild illusion of a slumb'ring brain ; 9 Forheav'n's sake, hush!' with moans the other said, * A Lion's at the bottom of the bed, * My foot this moment touch'd his shaggy mane.' Parsons assail'd his panic with a jest, 194 GALLIMAUFRY. But all his sportive sallies more distrest His wretched friend, who answer'd, with a sigh, * Tis not a phantom conjur'd up by fear, * Alas ! I'm certain there's a Lion here — * But if you're mad, put down your foot, and try/ Still Parsons thought 'twas mere fantastic dread, That thus disturb'd his dreaming partner's head, Though the poor man seem'd tortur'd on the rack ; Resolv'd howev'r the point to ascertain, He stretch'd his leg to find his shaggy mane, But straight in silent horror drew it back. Too well assured his friend was in the right, He felt the danger now with equal fright, And both, indeed, were sunk in deep dismay — Afraid to stay, yet more afraid to go, Lest motion should but rouse the sleeping foe, Or morn soon light him to his helpless prey. - Some hours they pass'd in the disastrous state, Dumb, almost breathless brooding o'er their fate — Their fears increas'd each time they heard the clock, Lest it should break the monster's dread repose ; When, as new terrors with the day arose, The door alarm'd them with a sudden knock. As if a peal of thunder shook the room, The sound appear'd the signal of their doom, Nor dar'd they raise their heads to eye the door — The Beast seem'd moving as if just awake, And with redoubled horror made them quake, When, hark ! a knock much louder than before. Whilst lost in wild suspence, a heavier knock Sent to their palpitating hearts a shock, And seem'd the crisis of their fate to bring ; Again they thought the beast began to stir, GALLIMAUFRY. 105 And drew more distant from his dreadful fur, Expecting ev'ry moment he would spring. The door was open'd, and, with eager stare, A waiter now approached the shudd'ring pair, And ask'd them why in horrors thus they lay — With broken whispers they reveafd tiie case, He started as if Death were in the place, And straight on tiptoe stole in haste away. The news like lightning o'er the mansion spread, And, though it struck the stoutest there with dread, At once they ail in search of weapon's flew ; Together to the chamber then they bend, To save poor Parsons and his wretched friend, Firmly resolved the monster to subdue. But when they saw the door, the hostile band, Aw'd by the danger, made a solemn stand — While thus they paused — with apprehension pale- A Sergeant bold, who sent the waiter there, Now seiz'd the direful cause of all their care — A Hairy Knapsack — and so ends the tale. THE CASTLE BUILDER. How poorly our projectors fare, Who build their castles in the air ! Still tow'ring on from scheme to scheme, They top Olympus in a dream ; But waking find (nineteen i' the score) Themselves far lower than before ; Of these the instances are many, And this will serve as well as any. It happened on a summers day, A country lass, as fresh as May, 196 GALLIMAUFRY. Deek'd in a rural russet gown, Was going to the market town ; So blithe her looks, so simple clean, You'd take her for a May-day queen ; Tho' for a garland, says the tale, Mer head sustain'd a loaded pail, As on her way she pass'd along, She humni'd the fragment of a song ; She did not hum for want of thought Quite pleas'd with what for sale she brought, And reekon'd by her own account, When all was sold, the whole amount. Thus she — in time this little ware May turn to great account with care : My milk being sold for — so and so, I'll buy some eggs as markets go, And set them — at the time I fix, These eggs will bring as many chicks ; I'll spare no pains to feed them well, They'll bring vast profit when they sell. With this I'll buy a little pig, And when 'tis grown up fat and big, I'll sell it whether boar or sow, And with the money buy a cow ; This cow will surely have a calf, And there the profit's half and half; Besides, there's butter, milk, and cheese, To keep the market when I please ; All which I'll sell and buy a farm, Then shall of sweethearts have a swarm, O ! then for ribbonds, gloves, and rings ! Ay ! more than twenty pretty things. One brings me this, another that, And I shall have — I know not what. Fir'd with the thought, the sanguine lass, Of what was thus to come to pass, Her heart beat strong, she gave a bound, And down came milk-pail to the ground, Eggs, fowls, pig, hog, (ah ! well a-day,) Cow, calf, and farm — all swam away. Be warn'd by this, ye British fair, Aud build no castles in the air. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 197 THE ELDER BROTHER. Cent rick in London noise, and London follies, Proud Covent-Garden blooms in smoky glory ; For chairmen, coffee-rooms, piazzas, dollies, Cabbages, afid comedians, fam'd in story ! On this gay spot — upon a sober plan — Dwelt a right regular, and staid young man ; Much did he early hours, and quiet, love ; And was entitled Mr. Isaac Shove. x\n orphan he : yet rich in expectations, Which nobody seemed likely to supplant — From that prodigious bore, of all relations, A fusty, canting, stiff- rump'd, maiden aunt ; The wealthy Miss Lucretia Cloghorty, Who had brought Isaac up, and own'd to forty ! Shove, on this inaiden's will relied securely ; Who vow'd she ne'er would wed to mar his riches ; Full often would she say, of men, demurely — " I can't abide the filthy things in breeches !" He had apartments up two pair of stairs ; On the first floor lodged Dr. Crow ; The landlord w T as a torturer of hairs, And made a grand display of wigs below, From the beaux brutus, to the parson's frizzle : — Over the door-way was his name ; 'twas Twizzle, Now you must know, This Dr. Crow Q3 198 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Was not of law, nor music, nor divinity ; He was abstetric: but the fact is, He didn't in Lucina's turnpike practise, He took bye roads — reducing ladies shapes, Who had secur'd themselves from " leading- apes," But kept the reputation of virginity. : Crow had a roomy tenement of brick, InclosM with walls, one mile from Hyde Park corner: Fir-trees, and yews, were planted round, and thick ; No situation was forlorner ! Yet, notwithstanding, folks might scout it, It suited qualmish spinsters who fell sick, And did not wish the world to know about it. Here many a single gentlewoman came, Pro tempore — full tender of her feme ! Who, for a while, took leave of friends in town — " Business, forsooth, to Yorkshire calFd her down, Too weighty to be settled by attorney!" And, in a month or six weeks time, came back ; When ev'ry body cry'd — " Good lack! How monstrous thin you've grown upon your jour- ney ! " The doctor, knowing that a puff of scandal, Would blow his private trade to tatters; Dreaded to give the smallest handle, To those who dabble in their neighbour's matters : Therefore he wisely held it good, To hide his practice from the neighbourhood — And not appear there as a resident ; But merely one, who casually went, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 199 To see the ladies in the large brick house — To lounge, and chat — not minding* time a sous — Like one to whom all business was quite foreign : And thus, he visited his female sick ; Who lay as thick, Within his tenement of brick, As rabbits in a warren. He lodg'd in Covent-Garden all the while : And, if they sent in haste for his assistance, He soon was with him — 'twas no mighty distance— From the town's end, it was but bare a mile. Now Isaac Shove Living above This Dr. Crow 5 And knowing barber Twizzle liv'd below, Thought it might be as well — Hearing so many knocks, single and double — To buy, at his own cost, a street-door bell, And save confusion in the house, and trouble — - Whereby his (Isaac's) visitors might know, Without long waiting in the dirt and drizzle, To ring for him at once, and not to knock for Crow, Or Twizzle. Besides, he now began to feel, The want of it was rather ungenteel ; Fot he had often thought it a disgrace, To hear, while sitting in his room above, Twizzle's shrill maid, on t&e first landing-place, Screaming — " A man below vants Mister Shove!" WO THE GALLIMAUFRY. The bell was bought, the ivive was made to steal, Round the d$rk staircase, like a tortur'd eel, Twisting- and twining. The jemmy handle Twizzle's door-post grac'd : And, just beneath, a brazen plate was placed lac- quer'd, and shining — Graven whereon, in characters full clear, And legible, did " Mr. Shove " appear ; And, furthermore, which you might read quite well, Was — " Please to ring the bell." At half-past ten, precisely, to a second, Shove, ev'ry night, his supper ended ; And sipp'd his glass of negus, till he reckoned, By his stop-watch, exactly one more quarters Then, as exactly, he untied one garter; A token 'twas that he for bed intended. Yet, having still, a quarter good before him, He, leisurely, undress'd before the fire : Contriving, as the quarter did expire, To be as naked as his mother bore him. Bating his shirt, and night-cap on his head, Then, as the watchman bawl'd eleven, He had one foot in bed ; More certainly than cuckolds go to heav'n* Alas ! what pity 'tis, that regularity Like Isaac Shove's is such a rarity ! But there are willing wights in London town, Term'd jolly dogs — choice spirits — alias, swine ;. Who pour, in midnight revel, bumpers down, Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine. 201 These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thus outrun— Dosing, with head-aches, till the afternoon- Lose half men's regular estate of sun, By borrowing too largely of the moon. One of this kidney — Toby Tosspot high* — Was coming from the Bedford, late at night ; And being Bacchi plenus — full of wine — Altho' he had a tolerable notion, Of aiming at progressive motion, 'Twas not direct — 'twas serpentine. He work'd, with sinuosities, along; Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming thro' a cork ; Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy — stiff Don Prong— A fork. At length, with near four bottles in his pate, He saw the moon shining on Shove's brass glate™ When, reading — " Please to ring the bell ;" And being civil, beyond measure — ? Then mutter'd, hurrying on his dressing-gown™ " I wish my ladies out of town, Chose more convenient times for crying out ! " Crow, in the dark, now reached the staircase-head : Shove, in the dark, was coming up to bed. A combination of ideas flocking Upon the pericranium of Crow — Occasioned by the hasty knocking, Succeeded by a foot he heard below. He did, as many fol&s are apt to do, Who argue in the dark, and in confusion ; That is-— from the hypothesis he drew A false conclusion : Concluding Shove to be the person sent, With an express from the Brick Tenement ; £04 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Whom Barber Twizzle, torturer of hairs, Had civilly let in, and sent up stairs. As Shove came up— tho' he had long time kept His character for patience very laudably — He could'nt help, at ev'ry step he stepp'd, Grunting and grumbling in his gizzard audibly ! For Isaac's mental feelings you must know, Not only were considerably hurt ; But his corporeal also — Having no other clothing than a shirt — A dress, beyond all doubt, most light and airy ; It being then a frost in January! When Shove was deep down stairs, the doctor heard, Being much nearer the stair top — Just here and there, a random word, Of the soliloquies that Shove let drop. But shortly by progression brought To contact nearer, The doctor, consequently, heard him clearer ; And then the fag-end of this sentence caught — Which Shove repeated warmly, tho' he shiver'd — rt Damn Twizzle* s house ! and damn the bell ! And damn the fool who rang it! — Well, From all such plagues I'll quickly be deliver'd ! " " What ! quickly be deliver'd V echoes Grow, •' Who is it ? — Come, be sharp — reply, reply ! Who wants to be delivered, let me know?" Recovering his surprise, Shove answerM-^" I ! " THE GALLIMAUFRY. 205 " You be delivered!" says the doctor, " 'Sblood !" Hearing a man's gruff voice— " You lout 5 you lob ! " " You be deliver'd? — Come, that's very good!" Says Shove — " I will ; so help me, Bob ! " "Fellow!" cried Crow, "you're drunk with filthy beer; A drunkard, fellow, is a brute's next neighbour !-•- But Miss Cloghorty's time was very near; And, I suppose, Lucretia's now in labour." " Zounds ! " bellows Shove — with rage and wonder wild! u Why, then, my maiden aunt is big with child /" Here was, at once, a sad discovery made ! Lucretia's frolic, now, was past a joke — Shove trembled for his fortune; Crow, his trade: Both, both, saw ruin — by one fatal stroke ! But, with his aunt, when Isaac did discuss, She hush'd the matter up, by speaking thus: — " Sweet Isaac! " said Lucretia, " spare my fame ! Tho' for my babe, I feel as should a mother, Your fortune will continue much the same ; For — keep the secret — you're his Elder Brother! " R 206 THE GALLIMAUFRY. THE PIG IN A POKE; Or, The Double Metamorphosis, A Farmer's lease contained a flaw ; To mend it, he appealed to law. Dear-bought experience told him plain, That law, without a fee, was vain ; And that, to clear his counsel's tone, he Must bribe him, or with meat and money. One morn he calls his clown in chief, " Here, take this pig to Lawyer Brief/ ' The Clown, (unlike his wife, they say,) Could both be silent, and obey : The pig, secur'd within a sack, At ease, hung dangling from his back ; Thus loaded, straight to town he went, With many an awkward compliment. A half-way house convenient stood, Where host was kind, and ale was good: In steps the clown, and calls to Cecil — " A quart of stout to wet my whistle ! " Eas'd of his load, he takes the chair, And quaifs oblivion to all care. Three artful wags accost the clown, And ask his errand up to town. With potent ale* his heart grown warm, Which, drunk or sober, meant no harm, He told them plainly whence he came, His master's, and the lawyer's name; THE GALLIMAUFRY. 207 And, 'ere the circling mug was drained, Shew'd what the prostrate sack contained. Whilst two the witless clown amuse, With merry tales and mournful news, A third removes the sack, unseen, And soon sets free the guest within: But lest our clown the trick should trace, A well-fed cur supplies the place. The point cleared up of what's to pay, Our clown in peace pursued his way. Arriv'd, he makes his awkward bow, With many a Wherefore, and As how ; " Heaven bless your honour many a year ! Look, what a pig Pve brought you here!" The sack untied, without demur, Forthwith, out gently crept the cur. Both stood aghast, with eager eyes, And both, no doubt, look'd wond'rous wise. The clown, who saw the lawyer foam, Swore 'twas a pig, when bro»t from home: And, wond'ring at the queer disaster, In haste, returned, to tell his master. Well pleas'd to see him take the bait, The wags his quick return await. What peals of noisy mirth prevail, To hear him tell the mystic tale ! The devil is in't, they all agree, And seem'd to wonder more than he. From them, to Cecil he repairs, To her the strange event declares. , r2 208 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Meantime, the wags, to end the joke, Replace the pig within its poke. The rustic soon resumes his load, And, whistling, plods along the road. Th' impatient farmer hails the clown, And asks, " What news from London town ? The pig was lik'd ; they made you drink?" " Nay, Master, master, what d'ye think? The pig (or I'm a stupid log,) Is chang'd into a puppy dog !" " A dog? "~ " Nay, since my word you doubt, See here ; Til fairly turn him out." No sooner was the sack untied, Than a loud word his grunt belied : " S'death ! (cries the farmer) tell me whence Proceeds this daring insolence? Make haste, you blunderer, take it back, Or from my service you shall pack." The clown, of patient soul and blood, Awhile in silent wonder stood ; Then briefly cried, with phiz demure — €t Your lawyer is a witch, for sure ! How hoarse his voice! his face how grim! What's pig with us, is dog with him ; Heaven shield my future days from evil ! For, as I live, Fve seen the devil! " THE GALLIMAUFRY. 209 MONSIEUR TONSON. There liv'd, as Fame reports, in days of yore, At least some fifty years ago, or more, A pleasant Wight on town, yclep'd Tom King, A fellow that was clever at a joke, Expert in all the arts — to tease and smoke, In short, for strokes of humour, quite the thing-. To many a jovial club this King was known, With whom his active wit unrivalPd shone — Choice spirit, grave Free-Mason, Buck and Blood, Would crowd, his stories and bon mots to hear, And none a disappointment e'er could fear, His humour flowed in such a copious flood. s To him a folic was a high delight — A frolic he would hunt for day and night; Careless how Prudence on the sport might frown, If e'er a pleasant mischief sprang to view, At once o'er hedge and ditch away he flew, Nor left the game till he had run it down. One night our hero, rambling with a friend, Near fam'd St. Giles's chancM his course to bend, Just by that spot, the Seven Dials height ; 'Twas silence all around, and clear the coast; The watch, as usual, dosing on his post, And scarce a lamp display'd a twinkling Wght Around this place there liv'd the num'rous clans Of honest, plodding, foreign artisans, r3 210 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Known at that time, by th' name of refugees--- The rod of persecution, from their home, Compelled th' inoffensive race to roam, And here they lighted, like a swarm of bees. Well ! our two friends were saunt'ring through the street, In hopes some food for humour soon to meet, When in a window near, a light they view, And tho' a dim and melancholy ray, It seem'd the prologue to some merry play, So towards the gloomy dome our hero drew. Strait at the door he gave a thundering knock, (The time, we may suppose, near two o'clock) — " Pll ask," says King, " if Thomson lodges here."~ " Thomson," cries t'other, " who the devil is he?" " I know not/' King replies, " but want to see " What kind of animal will now appear." After some time, a little Frenchman came— One hand display'd a rushlight's trembling flame, The other held a thing they call calotte ; An old strip'd woollen night-cap grac'd his head, A tatter'd waistcoat o'er one shoulder spread Scarce half awake, he heav'd a yawning note. Though thus untimely rous'd, he courteous smil'd, And soon address'd our wag in accents mild, Bending his head politely to his knee — " Pray, Sare, vat vant you, dat you come so late ; " I beg your pardon, Sare, to make you vait; " Pray tell me, Sare, vat your commands vid me?' THE GALLIMAUFRY. 211 * Sir/' replied King, " I merely thought to know, * As by your house I chanc'd this night to go — " But, really, I disturbed your sleep, I fear — " I say, I thought, that you perhaps could tell, ! u Among the folks who in the street may dwell, " If there's a Mr. Thomson lodges here?" The shiv'ring Frenchman, tho' not pleas' d to find The business of this unimportant kind, Too simple to suspect 'twas meant in jeer, Shrugg'd out a sigh that thus his rest should break, Then with unalter'd courtesy he spake — " No, Sare, no Monsieur Tonson lodges here/' Our wag begg'd pardon, and towards home he sped, While the poor Frenchman crawl'd again to bed ; But King resolv'd not thus to drop the jest, So the next night, with more of whim than grace, Again he made a visit to the place, To break once more the poor old Frenchman's rest. He knock'd — but waited longer than before, No footstep seem'd approaching to the door, Our Frenchman lay in such a sleep profound ; King, with the knocker, thunder'd then again, Firm on his post determined to remain; And oft, indeed, he made the door resound. At last King hears him o'er the passage creep, Wond'ring what fiend again disturbed his sleep? The wag salutes him with a civil leer, Thus drawing out, to heighten the surprise, (While the poor Frenchman rubb'd his heavy eyes) " Is there — a Mr. Thomson — lodges here?" 212 the gallimaufry. The Frenchman fault'red, with a kind of fright— u Vy, Sare, I'm sure I told you, Sare, last night — (And here he laboured with a sigh sincere) ** No Monsieur Tonson in de varld I know, " No Monsieur Tonson here — I told you so ; u Indeed, Sare, dere no Monsieur Tonson here/' Some more excuses tendered off King goes, And the poor Frenchman once more sought repose ; Our wag next night pursues his old career, 'Twas long indeed before the man came nigh, And then he utter'd with a piteous sigh, " Sare, pon my soul no Monsieur Tonson's here/' Our sportive Wight his usual visit paid, And the next night came forth a prattling maid, " Whose tongue, indeed, than any jack went faster- Anxious she strove his errand to enquire ; He said, 'twas vain her pretty tongue to tire, " He should not stir till he had seen her master/' The damsel then began, in doleful state, The Frenchman's broken slumbers to relate, And beg'd he'd call at proper time of day— King told her she must fetch her master down, A chaise was ready, he was leaving town, But first had much of deep concern to say. Thus urg'd, she went, the snoring man to call, And long, indeed, was she obliged to bawl, E'er she could rouse the torpid lump of clay. At last he wakes — he rises — and he swears, But scarcely had he totter'd down stairs, When King salutes him in the usual way* THE GALLIMAUFRY. 213 > .. .. -.i,. < ■ «» j I. . . . i ■ i .. . ■■ » »■ ■ ■ — — The Frenchman now perceiv'd 'twas all in vain To this tormenter mildly to complain, And straight in rage began his crest to rear-— " Sare, vat the devil make you treat me so ? w Sare, I inform you, Sare, three nights ago, " Got tarn, I swear, no Monsieur Tonson here." True as the night King went, and heard a strife Between the harassed Frenchman and his wife, Which should descend to chase the fiend away; At length to join their forces they agree, And strait impetuously they turn'd the key, Prepar'd with mutual fury for the fray. Our Hero, with the firmness of a rock, Collected to receive tti3 mighty shock, Uttering" the old enquiry, calmly stood-*- The name of Thomson rais'd the storm so high, He deem'd it then the safest plan to fly, With, " Well, Pll call when you'er in gentler mood." In short, our hero, with the same intent, Full many a night to plague the Frenchman went*— So fond of mischief was this wicked Wit ; They threw out water — for the watch they call, But King expecting, still escapes from all — Monsieur, at last, was forc'd the house to quit. It happened that our w r ag about this time, On some fair prospect sought the Eastern clime; Six ling'ring years were there his tedious lot : At length, content, amid his ripening store, He treads again on Britain's happy shore, And his long absence is at once forgot 214 , THE GALLIMAUFRY. To London with impatient hope lie flies, And the same night, as former freaks arise, He fain must stroll, the well-known haunt to trace : u Ah! here's the scene of frequent mirth/' he said— " My poor old Frenchman I suppose is dead — " Egad, Til knock, and see who holds his place With rapid strokes he makes the mansion roar, And while he. eager eyes the op'ning door, Lo ! who obeys the knocker's rattling peal? Why, ev'n our little Frenchman, strange to say, He took his old abode that very day, Capricious turn of sportive fortune's wheel ! Without one thought of the relentless foe, Who, fiend-like, haunted him so long ago, Just in his former trim he now appears ; The waistcoat and the night-cap appear r d the same With rushlight, as before, he creeping came, And Kings detested voice astonished hears. As if some hideous spectre struck his sight, His senses seem'd bewildered with affright ; His face, indeed, bespoke a heart full sore— Then, starting, he exclaim'd, in rueful strain, " Begar ! here's Monsieur Tonson come again ? Away he ran — and ne'er was heard of more. ELIZA. Now stood Eliza on the wocd-crown'd height, O'er Minden's plain, spectatress of the fight ; THE GALLIMAUFRY. 215 Sought with bold eye, amid the bloody strife. Her dearer self, the partner of her life ; From hill to hill the rushing- host pursu'd, And view'd his banner, or believed she view'd. Pleas'd with the distant roar, with quicker tread, Fast by his hand one lisping* boy she led : And one fair girl, amid the loud alarm, Slept on her 'kerchief, cradled by her arm; While round her brows bright beams of honor dart, And Love's warm eddies circle round her heart. Near, and more near, th' intrepid beauty pressed, Saw, through the driving* smoke, his dancing* crest ; Heard the exulting* shout, " They run ! they run ! w 'Great God!" she cried, " he's safe! the battle's won!" — A ball now hisses throug-h the airy tides, (Some Fury wing'd it, and some Demon g*uides!) Parts the fine locks, her graceful head that deck. Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck ; The red stream issuing from her azure veins Dyes her white veil, her iv'ry bosom stains ! — " Ah, me ! " she cried, and, sinking* on the ground, Kiss'd her dear babes, regardless of the wound: " Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn ! " Wait, gushing* Life ! oh, wait my love's return ! rt Hoarse barks the wolf! the vulture screams from far I " The angel Pity shuns the walks of war ! — "Ob, spare, ye war-hounds! — spare their tender age!— " On me ! — on me ! ' 5 she cried, " exhaust your rage ! " Then with weak arms, her weeping babes carest, And, sighing, hid them in her blood-stain'd vest. $16 the gallimaufry. From tent to tent, th' impatient warrior flies, Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes ; Eliza's name along- the camp he calls, Eliza echoes through the canvas walls ; Quick through the murmuring- gloom his footsteps tread, O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead, Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood, Lo ! dead Eliza, weltering in her blood! — Soon hears his listening son the welcome sounds, With open arms, and sparkling eyes he bounds :— y e * she affects such a taste for the country, as would have ruined the patience of all the Heathen philosophers put together. Every room in my house, from the cellar to the garrets, bears testimony to her rural ideas: the leads of my house, and the rails of the windows, are crowded with pots and pans, like the shop of a botanist or seedsman. When I go into the kitchen, I find the light, which is none of the liveliest at the best, totally shut out by a range of physic phials huddled together as close as they can stick, and filled with mint, to give the win- dows a rural appearance. Then, sir, the dining-room windows, in summer time, are so crossed and crowded with pack-threads, fastened, like bars, from the top to the bottom of them, that if it were not for the French-beans, which cluster round the strings, it would enliven my mind with the pleasing imagination of being cooped up in a spunging- house. Every chimney-corner is then set out, as it is called, with bough-pots, and not a china-jar in my house escapes an ornament from Co vent-Garden market. I have been, you must know, severely lectured, for this week past, for spoiling a charming bed of parsley, as my wife calls it. upon the leads, whilst I was giving a bricklayer orders to make some repairs to the chim- ney ; and, what is still more provoking', upon inquir- ing for my best hat-box a few days ago, I was told by the maid, that the box was put to much better use, s2 220 THE GALLIMAUFRY. for that her mistress had sown a small sallad in it, of mustard and cress, which would be fit to be cut in a few days. Sir, this passion for the vegetable world is so pre- dominant in my wife's mind, that not a broken cham- ber-pot is free from some cultivation or other. As I hope to be saved, she had some time since a geranium in full blossom, which, to save expence, was stuck fast in a close-stool pan, a myrtle in a butter-firkin, an orange-tree in a washing-tub, a tulip in a salt-box, and a young gooseberry-bush in a punch-bowl. Then, sir, to add to my vexation, I have had the happiness to be threatened with an indictment for being a nuisance to my neighbours and the public, as hardly a week passes without some pan or pot tumb- ling upon the heads of passengers, or doing some mischief or other. - My very bed-room in summer, sir, is so filled with flowers, that I am in nightly dread of being perfumed to death before morning. Then I never must stir out without a nosegay in my button-hole, because it makes so rural and so countrified an appearance. In short, what with rural smells, rural conversation, rural ornaments, and rural nonsense of one kind or another, my patience is quite exhausted \ therefore I take this public method of giving my wife warning, that, unless there is a thorough reformation in her manners, I am determined to assert some spirit, to turn the grass-plot out of the house at a minute's no- tice, send the parsley-bed into the dust-tub, pack up her shrubbery in a hamper, and restore my hat-box to its proper use. I am, sir, your's, &c. Homo. THE GALLIMAUFRY. £21 EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF MANAGEMENT. BY G. COLMAN, ESQ. A London Manager of high degree, I, Peter Mist, now enter here O. P. My country play-house, e'er I came to town Almost knocked up, has been in lots knocked down. A sturdy farmer bought the walls: — why then, What was a barn will be a barn again. Corn on the stage, not mummers, will be seen ; And oats be thresh'd where actors should have been, Wheat strew the boards where erst did heroes tread ; To make — what heroes never made there — bre d Stage-struck, but hen-peck'd, honest Justice Dunder Has all my clouds — his lady has my thunder. Dick Drench, the snug apothecary, means To give a private play, so buys my scenes : Drench, " smelling of the shop/' and idem semper, Could not resist scenes painted in dfstemper. To members for the town bought all my coats; There he was wise — for I command two votes; And play-house coats (again he shewed discerning) Will suit a Member, for they're us'd to turning. My wigs the women quarrell'd for, sweet souls ! My daggers stuck in selling; but my bowls Mine Host of the Red Lion clapp'd his eyes oxij And bought 'em, as I did, to serve up poison. Thus all my country-stock, as Shakespeare says, " My cloud-capt towers, my gorgeous palaces, S3 222 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Ye®, my great globe/' (the barn) so much involv'd, And " all it did inherit have dissolv'd." But if some future Manager should take My " solemn temple," which I now forsake : My " fabric of a vision," he will find That I have left a cursed " wreck behind," Here then I come, by rural scenes undone, But country stumps appear new brooms in London. Egad Pll sweep all clean — look to't — ne'er doubt me - A London Manager ! Pll lay about me ; And, as a sample, you shall hear my hints, To be inserted in to-morrow's prints : " A five-act play last night was represented, By an amazing dramatist invented ; Author's and actors' merits were immense, And Fawcett e'en surpassed his usual excellence: Great care, 'tis plain, was taken in rehearsal ; And— may I add with truth ?— applause was universal/' THE SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION. The very silliest things in life, Create the most material strife, What scarce will suffer a debate, Will oft produce the bitterest hate. It is you say, I say 'tis not — Why you grow warm — and I am hot: Thus each alike with passion glows, And words come first, and after blows. Friend Jenkin had an income clear, Some fifteen pounds or more a-year, THE GALLIMAUFRY. %2Z ' - i iii " ■ ' ■ i - ' 8 BB8 And rented on the farming' plan Grounds at much greater sums per aim. A man of consequence no doubt, *M ongst all his neighbours round about ; He was of frank and open mind, Too honest to be much refin'd ; Would smoke his pipe, and tell his ale, Sing a good song, and drink his tale. His wife was of another mould Her age was neither young nor old ; Her features strong, but rather plain ; Her air not bad, but somewhat vain ; Her temper neither new nor strange, A woman's very apt to change ; What she most hated, was conviction, What she most loved, — flat contradiction. A charming housewife nevertheless; — Tell me a thing she could not dress* Soups, hashes, pickles, puddings, pies, Nought came amiss — she was so wise, For she, bred twenty miles from town, Had brought a world of breeding down ; And Cumberland had seldom seen A former's wife with such a mien ; She could not bare the sound of dame ; — No — Mistress Jenkin was her name. She could harangue with wond'rous grace On gowns and mobs, and caps and lace ; But tho' she ne'er adorn'd his brows, She had a vast contempt for spouse, As being one who had no pride, And was a deal too countryfied. 224 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Such were our couple, man and wife ; Such were their means and ways of life. Once on a time, the season fair For exercise and cheerful air, It happened in his morning's roam, He kilFd his birds, and brought them home. — Here, Cicely, take away my gun — How shall we have these starlings done? — Done ! what my love ? your wits are wild ; Starlings, my dear, they're thrushes, child. Nay, now, but look, consider wife, They're starlings — no — upon my life: Sure I can judge as well as you, I know a thrush and starling too. Who was it shot them, you or I ? They're starlings — thrushes — zounds ! you lie- Pray, sir, take back your dirty word, I scorn your language as your bird ; It ought to make a husband blush, To treat a wife so 'bout a thrush. Thrush, Cicely — yes — a starling— -Na The lb again, and then a blow. Blows carry strong and quick conviction^ And mar the powers of contradiction. Peace soon ensued, and all was well ; It were imprudence to rebel, Or keep the ball up of debate Against these arguments of weight. A year roll'd on in perfect ease, 'Twas as you like, arjd what you please Till in its course and order due, Came March the twentieth, fifty-two: THE GALLIMAUFRY. 225 Quoth Cicely, this is charming* life ; No tumults now, no blows, no strife. What fools we were this day last year ! Lord, how you beat me then, my dear! — Sure it was idle and absurd, To wrangle so about a bird: A bird not worth a single rush — — A starling- — No, my love, a thrush: That ril maintain — that I'll deny, — You're wrong, good husband— wife, you lie. Again the self-same wrangle rose, Again the lie, again the blows. Thus every year, (true man and wife) Ensues the same domestic strife. Thus every year this quarrel ends, They argue, fight, and buss, and friends ; ? Tis starling, thrush, and thrush and starling. You dog, you b — — h ; my dear, my darling. A TALE OF A TANKARD, BY THE REV. MR. BISHOP. No plate had John and Joan to hoard ; Plain folk, in humble plight ; One only Tankard crown'd their board, And that was filFd each night! Aio*^ whose inner bottom, sketched, In pride of chubby grace, Some rude engraver's hand had etch'd A baby Angel's face. 226 THE GALLIMAUFRY. John swallow'd, first, a mod'rate sup: But Joan was not like John ; For when her lips once tough'd the cup,, She swill'd till all was gone. John oftefi urg'd her to drink fair ; But she ne'er changed a jot : She lov'd to see the angel there ; And, therefore, drain'd the pot. When John found all remonstrance vain, Another card he play'd ; And, where the Angel stood so plain, A Devil got pourtray'd. Joan saw the horns, Joan saw the tail, Yet Joan as stoutly quaff y d ; And ever, when she seiz'd her ale, She clear'd it at a draught. John star'd, with wonder petrifi'd ! His hairs rose on his pate : And — " Why dost guzzle now ! " he cry'd, " At this enormous rate?" " O John," says she, * am I to blame? I can't, in conscience, stop: For, sure, 'twould be a burning shame^ To le„ave the Devil a drop ! " THE GALLIMAUFRY. 227 ROLLA'S ADDRESS TO THE PE- RUVIANS. My brave associates — partners of my toil, my feel- ing's, and my fame ! — Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts ? — No ; you have judged as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you* Your generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives, which in a war like this, can animate their minds and ours* They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and extended rule — we, for our country, our altars, and our homes. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate — we serve a monarch whom we love, a God whom we adore. Whene'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress!— where'er they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship. They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarg-e our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error : — Yes ; they will give enlightened free- dom to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride ! They offer us their pro- tection: — yes, such protection as vultures give to lambs — covering and devouring them. They call upon us to barter all the good we have inherited and proved, for the desperate chance of something better which they promise. Be our plain answer this: The throne we honour is the people's choice — the laws we reverence are our brave fathers' legacy — the faith «ft8 THE GALLIMAUFRY. we follow, teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hope of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders, this, and tell them, too, we seek no change ; and, l^ast of all, such change as they would bring- us. THE STROLLING PLAYER. A Strolling Player, as story tells, If truth in modern story dwells, Stood once proclaiming- Richard's fate Hard by an honest farmer's gate ; And saw the clowns with pleasure come, Who heard the beating of the drum : For country actors round about, Whene'er their cash and credit's out, Or when his worship shall determine To drive them out, like other vermin, Then some poor youth, who fain would sup, For sixpence takes the drum~stick3 up, And gladly rambles up and down, To beat the play through half the town ; And oft this man, ^y hunger prest, Is better paid than all the rest- But as our present mouth-piece stood^ And curdled ev'ry rustic's blood, Exerted all his might and pow'r, On Henry's murder in the Tower ; How Glo'ster basely took his life, And after marry'd Edward's wife, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 229 Then quickly stopp'd his nephews' breath By vilely stifling* them to death. With many other horrid crimes, Whose mention shocks the latest times ! J Till Richmond nobly made him yield, And kill'd the wretch in Bosworth field. The honest farmer, sighing*, said, u What ways there are of getting* bread ! I dare, say, friend, you'd think it hard To work in any farmer's yard ; Yet tell me, though you speak so fine, Whose trade is better, yours or mine ? Is any fellow in your station Of half our value to the nation ? And yet at us you toss your nose, Whene'er you get a rag of clothes ; With saucy jests presume to flout us, Altho' you could not eat without us : In London I have seen the players In better waistcoats than our mayors ; Nay, I declare it on my word, I've seen an actor wear a sword ; And not a creature in the town, Would ever knock the fellow down, Altho' the puppy had began To think himself a gentleman : When but the very summer after (I sdarce can mention it for laughter) He came among the country boors, And beat just such a drum as yours : " W T hat can you say ? " the farmer cry'd, When thus our orator reply'd : — T $30 THE GALLIMAUFRY. " Sir, if my word you'll please to trust, I own your censure often just: Experience ev'ry day declares The foolish pride of many players ; And some, perhaps, but let that rest, Whose lives are not the very best ; But tho' this truth on some may fall, The censure ne'er can reach to all. A rascal howsoever drawn, Had been a rascal clad in lawn ; And worth will ev'ry eye engage, Tho' fortune place it on the stage. Professions, sir, you never find Have chang'd the temper of the mind , And if a man, genteelly bred, A faultless life has ever led, Why will your censure wish to blame The merit justice would proclaim ? I need not say what native fires, Or judgment, such a life requires: A truth like this I need not smother, They're higher much than any other : And if sometimes we meet with losses, (All men are liable to crosses) Why is an actors made a jest, When pity smiles on all the rest ? Had fortune burnt your haggards down, You, sir, had work'd about the town, Had beat a drum, or acted worse, Without a sixpence in your purse." Here paus'd the youth, the farmer turn'd, Whose breast with true good nature burn'd, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 231 ". Of all thy trade, I ne'er espy'd A man possess so little pride: I ask thy pardon, honest youth, Thou hast spoke nothing- but the truth ; And while with us you choose to stay, I beg thou'lt see me ev'ry day ; Nor blush if e'er thou art distrest, To be an honest farmer's guest. A man I dare be sworn thou art Blest with a very noble heart. And hark'^e — nay — but this way stand, Here, take a guinea in thy hand ; Had I been in thy place, I see You would have acted just like me. BLACK SALLY AND ONE-EYED JOE. A PARODY ON ELIZA. BY J. B. POTTER. Now stood Black Sally on the green hilFs height, Near Wormwood Scrubbs spectatress of the fight ; Vrew'd with bold eye amid the bloody strife, Her one-eyed Joe the partner of her life, High pleas'd, rais'd up above the crowd she stood And viewed him fighting, or believ'd she view'd. Laughs at the sight, with joy erects her head, While by its neck a bottle fast she led. Well filFd with gin, Joe's troubled mind to sooth, Some of the best, for 'twas distill'd by Booth, T 2 232 THE GALLIMAUFRY. One more, though small, amidst the rude alarm, Quite full with rum, slept under t'other arm : Down her throat the liquors alternate dart, And each by turn succeeds to warm her heart. Near and more near towards the crowd she press'd, But nearer hugged the bottle to her breast ; Takes just a drop to keep her spirits up, The bottle tilts, and gives too large a sup — " Pm choaVd," she cried, and sinking on the grass, Still squeezing tight the bottle and the glass — Drew them with weaker grasp towards her side, She gave a groan, clos'd up her eyes, and died. The fight now o'er the impatient victor flies With bloody nose, scratch'd face, and bung'd up eyes, On Sally's name for gin he quickly calls — Alas! no Sally answers to his calls. Quick thro' the circled ring his footsteps tread, And leaves the place where late his nose had bled ; Breaks thro' the mob. when, lo ! upon the ground, He sees his Sally dead without a wound. The sight no more his tender nerves could bear, Looks on the corpse, then falls down in despair, Kisses her clay-cold cheek, and heaves a sigh, Uplifts his hands to heaven, and prays to die — But turning round, he sees to his delight The bottles stand 'fore his enraptured sight. Then springing up with a staggering start. And all the drunkard kindled in his heart, " O heaven l" he cried, iC my first rash vow forgive ; These are my joys, for these I wish to live : Then standing up and putting on his coat, He pour'd the liquor down his swollen throat. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 233 THE WATER-FIENDS. On a wild moor, all brown and bleak, Where broods the heath-frequenting* grouse, There stood a tenement antique ; Lord Hoppergollop's country-house. Here silence reign'd, with lips of glue, And undisturbed maintained her law; Save when the owl cried, ' whoo! whoo! whoo!' Or the hoarse crow croak'd ( caw ! caw ! caw!' Neglected mansion ! — for, 'tis said, Whene'er the snow came feathering down, Four barbed steeds — from the Bull's head Carried thy master up to town. Weep Hoppergollop ! — Lords may moan, Who stake, in London, their estate, On two, small, rattling* bits of bone ; On LITTLE FIGURE, Or On GREAT, Swift whirl the wheels. — He's gone. — a Hose Remains behind, whose virgin look, Unseen, must blush in wintry snows, Sweet, beauteous blossom ! 'twas the Cook ! A. bolder far than my weak note, Maid of the Moor ! thy charms demand : Eeb might be proud to lose their coat, If skinn'd by Molly Dumpling's hand, t3 234 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Long had the fair one sat alone, Had none remain'd save only she ; She by herself had been — if one Had not been left, for company. 'Twas a tall youth, whose cheek's clear hue Was tinged with health and manly toil; Cabbage he sow'd ; and, when it grew, He always cut it off, to boil. Oft would he cry, i Delve, delve the hole ! And prune the tree, and trim the root ! And stick the wig upon the pole, To scare the sparrows from the fruit V A small, mute favorite, by day, Followed his steps ; where'er he wheels His barrow round the garden gay, A bob-tail cur is at his heels. Ah, man ! the brute creation see ! Thy constancy oft needs the spur ! While lessons of fidelity Are found in every bob-tail cur. Hard toiPd the youth, so fresh and strong, While Bobtail in his face would look, And mark'd his master troll the song, — ' Sweet Molly Dumpling ! Oh, thou Cook! ' For thus he sung — while Cupid smil'd ; PleasM that the Gardiner own'd his dart, Which pruned his passions, running wild, And grafted true-love on his heart. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 235 Maid of the Moor ! his love return ! True love ne'er tints the cheek with shame: When Gard'ners hearts, like hot-beds, burn, A Cook may surely feed the flame. Ah ! not averse from love was she ; Tho' pure as Heaven's snowy flake ; Both lov'd ; and tho' a Gard'ner he, He knew not what it was to rake. Cold blows the blast : — the night's obscure: The mansions crazy wainscots crack ; No star appeared : — and all the Moor, Like ev'ry other Moor — was black. Alone, pale, trembling*, near the fire, The lovely Molly Dumpling sat ; Much did she fear, and much admire What Thomas Gard'ner could be at Listening, her hand supports her chin ; But, ah ! no foot is heard to stir : He comes not, from the garden, in ; Nor he, nor little bobtail cur. They cannot come, sweet maid! to thee; Flesh, both of cur and man, is grass ! Lnd what's impossible, can't be ; And never, never, comes to pass! She paces thro* the hall antique, To call her Thomas from his toil; )pes the huge door ; — the hinges creak ; Because the hinges wanted oil. 236 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Thrice, on the threshold of the hall, She ' Thomas ! ' cried, with many a sob ; And thrice on Bobtail did she call. Exclaiming-, sweetly, 'Bob! Bob! Bob!" Vain maid? a Gardners corpse, 'tis said, Jn answers can but ill succeed; And dog's that hear when they are dead,. Are very cunning dogs indeed! Back thro' the hall she bent her way ; All, all was solitude Ground ! The candle shed a feeble ray, — Tho' a large mould of four to th' pound. Full closely to the fire she drew ; Adown her cheek a salt tear stole ; When, lo ! a coffin out there flew, And in her apron burnt a hole! Spiders their busy death-watch tick'd ; A certain sign that Fate will frown ; The clumsy kitchen clock, too, click'd: A certain sign it was not down. More strong and strong her terrors rose : Her shadow did the maid appal ; She trembled at her lovely nose, It look'd so long against the wall. Up to her chamber, damp and cold, She climb'd Lord Hoppergollop's stair % Three stories high — long, dull, and old. As great Lords' stories often are. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 237 All Nature now appeared to pause ; And 'o'er the one half world seem'd dead;' No ' curtained sleep $ had she — because She had no curtains to her bed. List'ning she lay; — with iron din, The clock struck twelve ; the door flew wide ; When Thomas, grimly, glided in, With little Bobtail at his side. Tall, like the poplar, was his size ; Green, green his waistcoat was, as leeks ; Red, red as beet-root, were his eyes ; Pale, pale as turnips, were his cheeks ! Soon as the spectre she espied, The fear-struck damsel faintly said, f What wotfd my Thomas ?'— he replied, ' Oh! Molly Dumpling! I am dead. * All in the flower of youth I fell, Cut off with health's full blossom crown'd ; I was not ill — but in a well I tumbled backwards and was drown'd, * Four fathom deep thy love doth lye; His faithful dog his love doth share ; We're Fiends ; — this is not he and I ; We are not here — for we are there. * Yes ; — two foul Water-Fiends are we ; Maid of the Moor ! attend us now ! Thy hour's at hand ; — we come for thee! " The little Fiend-Cur said • bow, wow ! * %83 THE GALLIMAUFRY. ■ ' To wind her in her cold, cold grave, A Holland sheet a maiden likes ; A sheet of water thou shalt have ; Such sheets there are in Holland Dykes/ The Fiends approach ; the maid did shrink ; Swift thro' the night's foul air they spin j They took her to the green welFs brink, And, with a souse, they plump'd her in. So true the fair, so true the youth, Maids, to this day, their story tell : And hence the proverb rose, that Truth Lies in the bottom of a well. THE RAMBLES OF TIMOTHY WHIPSTITCH. THE LONDON TAILOR. A London tailor (as 'tis said,) In buckram, canvas, tape, and thread, Sleeves, linings, pockets, silk, and twisty And all the long expensive list, With which their uncouth bills abound, Tho' rarely in the garments found ; With these and other arts in trade, He soon a handsome fortune made, And did what few had ever done, Left thirty thousand to his son; His son a gay young swaggering blade, Abhor'd the very name of trade, And lest reflection should be thrown THE GALLIMAUFRY. 239 On him, resolv'd to leave the town, And travel where he was not known; To Oxford first he took his way, With gilded coach and livery gay, The bucks and beans his taste admire, His equipage and rich attire, But nothing was so much ador'd As. his fine silver-hilted sword, Tho' short and small it was so neat^ The sight was deem'd a perfect treat, Beau Banter beg'd to have a look, But when the sword in hand he took, He swore, by gad, it was an odd thing, And look'd just like a tailor's bodkin ; His prde was hurt at this expression, Thinking he knew his sire's profession, Sheathing his sword he sneak* d away, And drove for Gloster the next day, Where soon he found fresh cause of grief, For dining on some good roast beef; They ask'd him which he did prefer, Some cabbage or some cucumber, The purse proud coxcomb took the hint, Thought it severe reflection meant, His stomach turned, he could nor eat, So made an ungenteel retreat ; Next day left Gloster in great wrath, And bid his coachman drive to Bath, There he expected fresh abuse, Because his dinner was roast goose, And that he might no more be jeer'd, Next day for Exeter he steer'd, £40 THE GALLIMAUFRY. 1 ■ * ' ■ ■ ii i j a>^—— I' i ■ m il • i i • SS There with some bucks he drank about, Until he fear'd they'd found him out, His glass not filFd as was the rule, They said 'twas not a thimble full, The name of thimble was enough. He paid his reckoning and went off; To Plymouth next day took a trip, And put up at the Royal Ship, Which then was kept by Caleb Snip, The host by name was often call'd ; At which his guest was so much gall'd ; Then soon to Cambridge he removed, There he unsuccessfully prov'd, For tho' he fill'd his glass or cup. He did not always drink it up ; The scholars mark'd how he behav'd, And said a remnant should be sav'd ; The name of remnant galFd him so, He then resolv'd for York to go, There fill'd his bumper to the top, And always fairly drank it up : " Well done/' says Jack, a buck of York, '" You go thro' stitch, sir, with your work.' 5 The name of stitch was such reproach, He rang the bell and calPd his coach, But here he first enquiry made, By what i)f eans they found out his trade ; i( You put the eap on and it fits/' Cried out one of the Yorkshire wits, « Our words in common acceptation, Could not find out your occupation, 'Twas you yourself gave us the clue THE GALLIMAUFRY. 241 To find out both the trade and you ; Vain coxcombs and fantastic beaus, In every place themselves expose. They travel far at vast expenee, To show their wealth and want of sense ; But take this for a standing* rule, There's no disguise can screen a fool." THE SPEECH OF BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF CAESAR. SHAKESPEARE. Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause ; and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly^ any dear friend of Caesar-s, to him I say, that Brutus's love to Caesar was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand, why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer : Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves ; than that Caesar were dead, to live all frecmea ? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, 1 rejoice at It ; as he was valiant, I honour him ; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour for his valour, and death for his ambition. Who's here so base, that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who's here so rude,, u 242 THE GALLIMAUFRY. that would not be a Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who's here so vile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. — I pause for a reply. None ? — then none have I offended— I have done uo more to Csesar, than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol: his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony ; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall re- ceive the benefit of his dying, a place in the common- wealth; as which of you shall not? With this I depart, that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, 1 have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. THE CAT-EATER. BY MR. COLLIN8. Tho* facts will swell as stories fly, 'Till truth outstretch'd becomes a lie, The tell-tale here no legend frames, Which more than moderate credence claims ; Nor bouncer-like a fiction broaches, For those who swallow lies like loaches : Nor sceptic dreads whose scowling eye At aught uncommon darts a lie, So can the tale, his heart's at quiet, Believe it, doubt it, or deny it. John Trot, a homespun country putt, Jack Sly, one morning, met full butt, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 243 Who, starting*, stared, and stammering said, " Lord ! Juh ! Juh ! Juhn ! arn't yoa dead ? •' Dead ! whoy ? " says John, " Dear heart/' quoth Sly, " Don't rave, I'll tell thee, the reason why : Dick Bam declares, who saw the sight, You eat up three loive cats last night." ° Eat three live cats/' quoth John, " odd rot it ; Proime news ! I wonder where he got, But I'll soon foind ; " so speeds to Bam, Who flatly swore f was all a flam ; " I could'nt say/' quoth Dick, " that you, Had eat three live cats, 'twas but two." — " Two, i'the neame and who, Has told/* says Trot, " this teale to you ?" u Bob Banter." " O he did," quoth John, I'll make him change his note anon:" So hies to Banter all agog, Whom thus he greets : — " You slandering dog, Who reake up lies to gull the flats, Did I last neit eat two loive cats ?" " Two," replies Banter, " that's rare fun, Eat me, if I said more than one." — " Than one, and dom it why sa} that; Why say, that I eat one loive cat?" " Your brother told me so/' says Bob ; " If so," says John, " I'll jolt his knob." So off went Cain in search of Abel, With mind whose index lack'd no label, As frowning- brow and flashing eye, To John's intents ne'er gave the lie; And had he then met Tom, his brother, Death might have levelled one or t'other ; u 2 244 THE GALLIMAUFRY. But fortunately, John, thus fool'd, No brother found, 'till passion cooPd ; When lighting* then on tattling Tom, He cried — iC Where got's thee that teale from ? Plague o' thy tongue, thou foul-mouth brat, That I last neit gobb'd up a cat ?" " A cat," cries Tom, "your sputtering spare, A puss, I said, a fine large hare, Mother herself here told me that/' " You lie, you rogue, not hare nor cat," Quoth Old Dame Trot — «' Now donna blab it, I only said John eat a rabbit, And that's a truth, Pll pledge my life, And here's my author, John's own wife." When John's meek spouse, demurely rose, And cried — " Good friends, this contest close ; For sure as women breed by marriage, Stories will always breed in carriage, And tho 5 three cats of English breed, 'Tis said poor John dispatched with speed, John supp'd, as oft he'd done before, On a welch rabbit, nothing more." DOCUMENT. This tale let mem'ry take in tow, 'Twill slack the strings of Slander's bow, Dumb found each fable broaching fool, And shake the props of Scandal's school ; For when foul blabbers raise a pack Of lies, to load a neighbour's back, Tell them you join no slanderous jeers, Nor to fools' tongues lend asses' ears, Nor make for flams, to impose on flats, Of one welch rabbit three live Cats. GALLIMAUFRY. 243 THE DOUBLET OF GRAY. Beneath the tall turrets that nod o'er the dell, A dark forest now blackens the mound ; Where often, at dawn-light, the deep-sounding bell Tolls sadly and solemn, a soul-parting knell, While the ruin re-echoes the sound. Yet long has the castle boen left to decay, For its ramparts are skirted with thorn ; And no one by moon-light will venture that way, Lest they meet the poor maid in the doublet of gray, As she wanders, all pale and forlorn ; " And why should she wander ? O tell me I pray. And, O ! why does she wander alone l 9} Beneath the dark ivy, now left to decay, With no shroud, but a coarse simple doublet of gray. Lies her bosom as cold as a stone. Time was when no form was so fresh or so fair, Or so comely, when richly array'd ; She was tall ; and the jewels that blaz'd in her hair, Could no more with her eyes' living lustre compare, Than a rose with the cheek of the maid. She lov'd — but the youth that vanquished her heart Was the heir of a peasant's hard toil; For no treasure had he ; yet, a stranger to art, He would oft, by a look, to the damsel impart What the damsel received with a smile. 244 GALLIMAUFRY. Whene'er to the wake or the chase she would go, The young Theodore loiter'd that way ; Did the sun-beams of summer invitingly glow, Or across the bleak common the winter winds blow, Still he watch'd 'till the closing of day. Her parents so wealthy, her kindred so proud, Heard the story of love with dismay ; They rav'd and they storm'd, by the virgin they vow'd, That, before they would see her so wedded, a shroud Should be Madeline's bridal array. One night, it was winter, all dreary and cold, And the moon-beams shone palely and clear, When she open'd her lattice, in hopes to behold Her Theodore's form, when the turret-bell toird, And the blood in her heart froze for fear. Near the green-mantled moat her stern father she And a grave he was making with speed ; [spy'd, The light, which all silver' d the castle's strong side, Display'd his wild gestures, while madly he cry'd, "Curs'd caitiff, thy bosom shall bleed." Distracted, forlorn, from the castle of pride, She escap'd at the next close of day, Her^soft blushing cheek, with dark berries all dy'd, With a spear on her shoulder, a sword by her side, And her form in a doublet of gray. She travers'd the court, not a vassal was seen, Through the gate hung with ivy she flew : The sky was unclouded, the air was serene, The moon shot its rays the long vistas between, And her doublet was spangled with dew. GALLIMAUFRY. 245 O'er the cold breezy downs to the hamlet she hied, Where the cottage of Theodore stood ; For its low roof of rushes she oft had desery'd, When she drank of the brook that foam'd by its side 5 While the keen hunters traversed the wood. The sky on a sudden grew dark, and the wind With a deep sullen murmur rush'd by ; She wander'd about, but no path could she find. While horrors on horrors ^ncompass'd her mind, When she found that no shelter was nigh. And now, on the dry wither'd fern, she could hear The hoofs of swift horses rebound ; She stopp'd, and she listen'd, she trembled with fear. When a voice most prophetic and sad met her ear, And she shudder'd, and shrunk at the sound. u 'Tis here we will wait, (cry'd the horseman) ; for see How the moon with black clouds is o'erspread. No hut yields a shelter, no forest a tree, — This heath shall young Theodore's bridal couch be, And the cold earth shall pillow his head. u Hark ! some one approaches : — now stand we aside, We shall know him — for see the moon's clear; In a doublet of gray he now waits for his bride ; But, ere dawn-light the carle shall repent of his pride, And his pale mangled body rest here." Again the moon shrouded in clouds o'er the plain, The horsemen were scatter'd far wide ; The night became stormy, the fast falling rain Beat hard on her bosom, which dar'd no^complaiu, And the torrent roll'd swift by her side. 24,6 GALLIMAUFRY. Now clashing of swords overwhelmed her with dread, While her ear met the deep groan of death ; *• Yield, yield thee, bold peasant, (the murderer said) This turf with thy heart's dearest blood shall be red, And thy bones whiten over the heath." Now shrieking, despairing, she starts from the ground, And her spear with new strength she lets go : She aim'd it at random, she felt it rebound From the sure hand of fate, which inflicted the wound, As it drank the life-blood of her foe. The morning advanc'd o'er the pale chilling skies, Soon the warm rosy tints circled wide ; But, O God ! with what anguish, what terror she flies, When her father, all cover'd with wounds, she descries, With her lover's pale corpse by his side ! Half frantic she fell on her parent's cold breast, And she bath'd her white bosom with gore : Then, in anguish, the form of her Theodore press'd— " I will yet be thy bride, in the grave we will rest,'* She exclaim'd ; and she suffer'd no more. Now o'er the wild heath, when the winter winds blow, And the moon-silver'd fern branches wave, Paie Theodore's spectre is seen gliding slow, As he calls on the damsel in accents of woe, 'Till the bell warns him back to his grave. And while the deep sound echoes over the wood, Now the villagers shrink with dismay ; For as legends declare, where the castle once stood, 'Mid the ruins, by moon-light, all cover'd wjith blood, Shrieks the maid, in her doublet of gray. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 249 EDWIN AND ANGELINA. BY DR. GOLDSMITH. ** Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon tapers cheers the vale, With hospitable ray. For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting* steps and slow ; Where wilds immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go." ' Forbear, my son/ 9 the Hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder phantom only flies To lure thee to thy doom. Here, to the houseless child of want, My door is open still ; And though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will. Then turn to-night, and freely share Whatever my cell bestows ; My rushy couch, and frugal fare, My blessing and repose. No flocks that range the valley free, To slaughter I condemn ; Taught by that Power that pities me* I learn to pity them. 250 THE GALLIMAUFRY. But from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring* ; A scrip, with herbs and fruits supplyM, And water from the spring*. Then, Pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ; All earth-born cares are wrong- : Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long-." Soft as the dew from heav'n descends, His gentle accents fell ; The modest stranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell. Far in a wilderness obscure, The lonely mansion lay ; A refuge to the neighbouring poor, And strangers led astray. No stores beneath its humble thatch Requir'd a master's care ; The wicket, opening with a latch, Received the harmless pair. And now, when busy crowds retire, To take their evening rest, The Hermit trimm'd his little fire, And cheer'd his pensive guest : And spread his vegetable store, And gaily pressM and smiFd: And skilPd in legendary lore, The lingering hours beguiPd, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 25l Around, in sympathetic mirth, Its tricks the kitten tries ; The cricket chirrups in the hearth, The crackling- faggot flies. Fut nothing could a charm impart, To soothe the stranger's woe ; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow. His rising cares the Hermit spy'd. With answering care opprest : " And whence, unhappy youth/' he cry'd, " The sorrows of thy breast * From better habitations spurn'd, Reluctant dost thou rove? Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, Or unregarded love ? Alas ! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay t And those who prize the paltry things, More trifling still than they. And what is friendship but a name ? A charm that lulls to sleep ! A shade that follows wealth or fame, And leaves the wretch to weep ! And love is still an emptier sound, The modern fair-one's jest; On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest. 252 THE GALLIMAUFRY. For shame ! fond youth, thy sorrows hush. And spurn the sex ! " he said ; But while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betray'd. Surpris'd, he sees new beauties rise, Swift mantling* to the view, Like colours o'er the morning skies, As bright, as transient too. The bashful look, the rising breast, Alternate spread alarms ; The lovely stranger stands confest A maid in all her charms, ' And ah ! forgive a stranger rude, A wretch forlorn/' she cry'd, ct Whose feet, unhallowed, thus intrude, Where heaven and you reside. But let a maid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray ; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way. My father liv'd beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he ;. And all his wealth was mark'd as mine ; He had but only me. To win me from his tender arms, Unnumber'd suitors came ; Who prais'd me for imputed charms^ And felt, or feign'd, a flame. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 253 Each hour a mercenary crowd With richest proffers strove ; Amongst the rest young- Edwin bow'd, But never talk'd of love. In humblest, simplest, habit clad, No wealth nor power had he ; Wisdom and worth were all he had ; But these were all to me. The blossom opening- to the day, The dews of heaven refin'd, Could nought of purity display, To emulate his mind. The dew, the blossom of the tree, With charms inconstant shine ; Their charms were his ; but, woe to me, Their constancy was mine. For still I try'd each fickle art, Importunate and vain : And while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumphed in his pain. Till quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride ; And sought a solitude forlorn, In secret, where he died ! But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay : I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. x $54 THE GALLIMAUFRY. And there, forlorn, despairing* hid, I'll lay me down and die : 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I. " Forbid it, heaven ! " the Hermit cry'd, And clasp'd her to his breast : The wondering fair-one turn'd to chide : 'Twas Edwin's self that prest ! " Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see, Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restor'd to love and thee. Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And ev'ny care resign; And shall we never, never part, My life — my all that's mine. No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true ; The sigh that rends thy constant heart, Shall break thy Edwin's too/' ALONZO THE BRAVE. BY M. G. LEWIS, ESQ, A warrior so bold, and virgin so bright, Convened as they sat on the green : They gaz'd on each other with tender delight, Alonzo the Brave was the, name of the knight, The maid was the Fair Imog-ene, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 255 M And ah ! " said the youth, " since to-morrow I go To fight in a far distant land, Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow, Some other will court you, and you will bestow On a wealihier suitor your hand." " Oh, hush these suspicions/' fair Imogene said, " So hurtful to love and to me ; For if you be living, or if you be dead, I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead Shall husband of Imogene be. " And, if e'er for another my heart should decide, Forgetting Alonzo the Brave, God grant, that to punish my falsehood and pride, Thy ghost at my marriage may sit by my side, May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride, And bear me away to the grave/' To Palestine hastened the warrior so bold, His love she lamented him sore; But scarce had a twelvemonth elaps'd, when, behold, A baron ? all cover' d with jewels and gold, . Arriv'd at fair Imogene's door. His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain, Soon made her untrue to her vows, He dazzl'd her eyes, he bewilder'd her brain, He caught her affections, so light and so vain, And carried her home as his spouse. And now had the marriage been blest by the priest, The revelry now was begun ; The tables they groan'd with the weight of the Mst, Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceas'd, When the bell of the castle toll'd— One ! X2 256 THE GALLIMAUFRY. 'Twas then, with amazement, fair Imogene found A stranger was plac'd by her side ; His air was terrific, he utter'd no sound, He spoke not, he mov'd not, he look'd not around, But earnestly gaz'd on the bride. His vizer was clos'd, and gigantic his height, His armour was sable to view ; All laughter and pleasure were hush'd at his sight, The dogs, as they ey'd him, drew back with affright, And the lights in the chamber burnt blue. His presence all bosoms appear'd to dismay, The guests sat in silence and fear, At length, spoke the bride, while she trembled — " I pray, Sir Knight, that your helmet aside you would lay, And deign to partake of our cheer. ,, The lady is silent — the stranger complies, And his vizer he slowly unclos'd— O Gods ! what a sight met Imogene's eyes ! What words can express her dismay and surprise, When a skeleton's head was expos'd ! All present then utter'd a terrified shout, And tutn'd with disgust from the scene ; The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out, And sported his eyes and temples about, While the spectre address'd Imogene : " Behold me, thou false one ! behold me \" he cried, "■ Behold thy Alonzo the Brave ! God grants that, to punish thy falsehood and pride, THE GALLIMAUFRY. 257 My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side, Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride, And bear thee away to the grave !" This saying, his arms round the lady he wound, While fair Imogene shriek'd with dismay ; Then sunk with his prey through the wide-yawning ground, Nor ever again was Fair Imogene found, O the spectre that bore her away. Not long lir d the baron, and none, since that time, To inhabit the castle presume ; For chronicles tell, that by order sublime, There Imogene suffers the pain of her crime, And mourns her deplorable doom. At midnight four times in each year does her sprite, When mortals in slumber are bound, Array'd in her bridal apparel of white, Appear in the hall with her skeleton knight, And shrieks as he whirls her around. While they drink out of sculls newly torn from the grave , Dancing round them pale spectres are seen: Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave They howl, " To the health of Alonzo the Brave, And his consort the false Imogene." THE MAGDALEN. A Fair one, frail, by love betray'd, Who long mourn'd her loss of fame, Took refuge in the House of Peace ; Emilia was her happier name. x3 258 THE GALLIMAUBRY. Wan was her cheek, her visage pale, Yet sweetly beam'd her languid eye ; Her faded form still own'd a grace, Which almost might with beauty vie. Her modest air, her decent grief, Bespoke her of no mean descent, Her tears, her never-ceasing pray'rs ; Evinc'd a heart with anguish rent. Two years in silent sorrow pass'd ; A reverend pastor press'd to know (In hopes to ease her lab'ring breast) The source of such relentless woe. u Why urge th' ungrateful theme," she cry'd ; " Guilt is the source of all my grief; " Pve stain'd a father's cheek with shame, " In vain you'd minister relief. " In vain the flatterer Hope would urge " A parent's heart is Mercy's seat ; " That he'd not see my tears unmov'd, " Unmov'd behold me at his feet. '* How could I dare to view that face, " Where once the kindest feelings shone ? " How dare to meet a father's look, " And know those kindest feelings gone? " You, Rev'rend Sir, who thus have wrung " From Guilt her melancholy tale, " When I am dead, oh ! shade my crimes " With dark oblivion's thickest veil ! " THE GALLIMAUFRY. 259 With tend'rest charity inspir'd, The holy man, with soothing- art, Thus calm'd the tumults of despair, And cheer'd the mourner's drooping art : " Hush'd be your sorrows, helpless fair ! " Remember these agonizing tears: " Your Earthly parent will forgive, " And love divine accepts your tears/' He then with steps of anxious speed, Hastes to the father's dismal home : " A suppliant for your child," he said, " To thee for pardon am I come." " Shame on the wretch !" the father cry'd ; (Yet forth escap'd one busting sigh :) " Pll not forgive ! — But take this gold ; " As from yourself her wants supply. " Oh! how my fond, my doating soul, " In her did ev'ry comfort And! n I thought, alas ! her beauteous face " An index of her perfect mind." " Faded," he said, " is now that face ; " Too soon the icy hand of Death " While you refuse her last request) " For ever stops Emilia's breath! " " Death," saidst thou ? No ! she shall not die ! (< Conduct me to my much-lov'd child: " Oh ! let me fold her in my arms, " And speak sweet Mercy's accents mild ! " 260 THE GALLIMAUFRY. He went, and with a parent's voice He spake sweet Mercy's accents mild: His love returned, within his arms, He long'd to strain his sorrowing- child. Mute on his face awhile she g-az'd : — " Ajid art thou, art thou come," she cry'd ; " Raptur'd with joy my spirits fall !" Then falling* at his feet, she died. GOOD WIVES; Or, Like and not Like. Good wives to snails should be a-krn, Always their houses keep within; But not to carry (fashion's hacks!) All they have upon tlieir backs. Good wives like echoes still should do, Speak only when they're spoken to ; Bait not like echoes (most absurd!) To have for ever the last word. Good wives like city-clocks should rhyme, Be regular, and keep in time; But not like city-clocks aloud, Be heard by all the vulgar crowd. THE GALLIMAUFRY. 261 THE DOCTOR AND HIS PUPIL, A Tale. A Pupil of the Esculapian school Was just prepar'd to quit his master's rule ; Not that he knew his trade, as it appears, But that he then had learn'd it seven years. Yet think not that in knowledge he was cheated ; All that he had to study still, Was, when a man was well or ill, And how, if sick, he should be treated. One morn he thus addressed his master: " Dear sir, my honour'd father bids me say, If I could now and then a visit pay, He thinks, with you, To notice how you do, My business I might learn a little faster/' ?* The thought is happy," the preceptor cries, " A better method he could ne'er devise ; So, Bob, (his pupil's name,) it shall be so, And when I next pay visits, you shall go." To bring the hour, alas ! time briskly fled ; With dire intent, Away they went, And now behold them at a patient's bed. The master doctor solemnly perus'd His victim's face, and o'er his symptoms mus'd ; Looked wise, said nothing — an unerring* way, When people nothing have to say ; 262 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Then felt his pulse, then smelt his cane, And paus'd, and blink'd, and smelt again, And briefly of his corps perform'd each motion ; Manoeuvres that for death's platoon are meant, A kind of make ready, and present ! Before the fell discharge of pill and potion. At length the patient's wife he thus addrest : " Madam, your husband's danger's great, And (what will never his complaints abate) The man's been eating oysters, I perceive/' " Dear! you're a witch, I verily believe, Madam reply'd, and to the truth confess'd. Still so prodigious Bobby too admir'd, And, home returning, of the sage inquir'd, How these same oysters came into his head ? <( Psha ! my dear Bob, the thing was plain ; Sure that can ne'er distress thy brain ; I saw the shells lie underneath the bed." So wise by such a lesson grown, Next day Bob ventur'd forth alone, And to the self-same suff'rer paid his court. But soon, with haste and wonder, out of breath, Returned the stripling minister of death, And to his master made this dread report. " Why, sir, we ne'er can keep this patient under, For such a man I never came across ; The fellow must be dying, and no wonder, For curse me if he has'nt eat a horse." " A horse!" the elder man of physic cried, As if he meant his pupil to deride ; THE GALLIMAUFRY. 263 . i( How came so wild a notion in your head ? M " How ! think not in my duty I was idle; Like you, I took a peep beneath the bed, And there I saw a saddle and a bridle!" THE DEVIL. From his brimstone bed, at break of day, The Devil a walking 1 had gone, To visit his snug little farm of the earth, Afid see how his stock went on. And over the hill, and over the dale, And flourishing over the plain. And backwards and forwards he switched his long tail As a gentleman switches his cane. And pray how was the Devil drest ? Oh, he was drest in his Sunday's best ; His coat was red, and his breeches blue, And a hole behind for his tail to come through. He passed by a lawyer, killing* a viper Gn a dunghill behind his own stable ; The Devil he laughed, for it put him in mind Of the story -of Cain and Abel. He met an apothecary on a white horse, Going forth on his vocation ; And the Devil was glad, for it put him in mind Of death in the Revelation. 264 the gallimaufry. He passed by a cottage with a double coach-house, A cottage of gentility ; The Devil did grin, for his darling sin Is pride that apes humility. He passed by a rich bookseller's shop ; Quoth he, we are both of one college, For I sat myself like a cormorant once, Hard by the tree of knowledge. As he passed by Cold Bath Fields, he saw A solitary cell, And the Devil was pleased, for it gave him a hint For improving the prisons of hell. THE YORKSHIREMAN and his FAMILY. Recited by Mr. Matthews, in his Mail Coach Adventures. A Yorkshireman saluted the guard of the coach with " I say, Mr. Guard, have you a gentleman for Lunnunin coach ?" " How should I know?" said the guard. " Well," said he, " I am ganging about four miles whoam, and I'll gang inside if you please, and then I can find him out mysen." On being ad- mitted into the coach, when seated, he addressed himself to the person opposite him, and said, " Pray, sir, ay 'ant you for Lunnun? " " Yes," said the gen- tleman. " Pray, sir, ay'nt you summut at singing THE GALLIMAUFRY. 205 line?" "What makes you ask?" said the gentle- man. u I hope no defence," said he ; — ** why, sir, you mun know, Fm building a mill, and in about three weeks I mean to have a sort of house-warming; and, as we are very musical in our parts — I plays on fiddle at church mysen, and my brother plays on a great long thing like a horse's leg painted, with a piece of brass crook stuck in the end, and puffs away like a pig in a fit ; and, as we have a vast of music- meetings, and those sort of things — I should like to open my mill with a tory rory, and wanted to ax you to come and sing at it." He then related a family anecdote: — "You mun know, sir, that my father died all on a sudden like, and never gave any body notice he was going to die ? and he left his family in complete profusion; and when I found he was dead, as I was eldest son, I thought I had a right to have all the money. I told neighbour so ; but he said, that, though I was eldest son, I had no right to all the brass ; but I said, that I was not the eldest, but handsomest into the bargain, for you never see'd five such ugly, carroty-headed devils among any litter of pigs, as my five brothers and sisters ; and, as I found they wanted to diddle me out of my internal estate, I was determined to take the law at top of the regicides." « And you applied to counsel no doubt/' said the gentleman. " Na, 1 did'nt," said he, " for I don't know him. I went to one Lawyer Lattitat, and paid him six and eight-pence, all in good halfpence, who wrote me down my de- structions." The gentleman read his destructions, as he called them, which ran as follows :— " You must 4 266 THE GALLIMAUFRY. £>o to the Temple, and apply to a civilian, and tell him that your father has died intestate, or without a will ; that he has left five children, all infantine, be- sides yourself; and that you are come to know if you can't be his executor." " Well," said the gentleman, C( what did you do V 9 " Why, sir/' said he, " I went to the Temple, and knocked at the door, and the gen- tleman cum'd out at door himsen ; and 1 said, Pray sir, ar'nt you a silly villain? and he ax'd me if I were cum'd to insult him ; and 1 said, Yes, I partly cum'd on purpose. I cum to insult you, to know what I am to do, for my fey ther has died detested and against his will : he has left five young infidels besides mysei^ and I've cum'd to know, if I can't be his executioner S r THE FARMER'S BLUNDER. A Farmer once to London went, To pay the worthy 'Squire his rent; He comes — he knocks — soon entrance gates; Who at the door such guest detains ? Forth struts the 'Squire exceeding smart ; So Farmer, you're welcome to my heart ; You've brought my rent then?— To a hair The best of tenants, I declare," The Stewards call'd, accounts made even, And money paid, receipt is given. "Well, quoth the 'Squire, "you now shall stay And dine with me, old friend, to-day; THE GALLIMAUFRY. 26T I've here some ladies wond'rous pretty, And pleasant sparks too, that will fit thee." Hob scratch 'd his ears, and held his hat, And said, fl No, zur, two words to that, For look, d'ye zee, when ize do dine With gentlefolk zo cruel fine, Ize use to make (and 'tis no w r onder) In deed or word some plaguy blunder : Zo, if your honour will permit, I'll with your zarvants pick a bit." " Pho," says the 'Squire, " it shan't be done/' And to the parlour push'd him on. To all around Hob nods and scrapes, Not waiting-maid or butler scapes ; With often bidding takes his seat, Bat at a distance mighty great: Tho' often ask'd to draw his chair, He nods, nor comes an inch more near : By madam serv'd with body bended, With knife and fork, and arms extended, He reached as far as he was able, To plate, that over-hung the table: With little morsels cheats his chops, Aod in the passage some he drops: To she \** where most his heart inclined, He talked and drank to John behind. When drank to in the modish way, " Your love's sufficient, zur," he'd say ; And to be thought a man of manners, Still rose to make his awkward honours, u Pish," says the Squire, " pray keep your sitting/ w No, bo," Hob cries, ' zur, 'tis not fitting; Y2 $68 THE GALLIMAUFRY. Tho' Pm no scholard, vars'd in Otters, I knaws my duty, to my betters/' Much mirth the farmer's ways afford, And hearty laughs go round the board. Thus the first course was ended well, But at the next — ah ! what befell ! — The dishes now were timely plac'd, And table with fresh lux'ry grac'd. When drank to by a neigb'ring charmer, Up, as was usual stands the farmer. A- wag, to carry on the joke, Thus to his servant softly spoke : " Come hither, Dick, step gently there, And pull away the farmer's chair. ,, u Tis done, his congee made, the clown Draws back, and stoops to sit him down; But by posteriors over-weigh'd, And of his trusty seat betrayed, As men at twigs in river sprawling, He seiz'd the cloth to save his falling. In vain: — sad fortune ! down he's swallow'd, And, rattling, all the dishes follow'd. The foplings lost their little wits, The ladies squalFd, some fell in fits ; Here tumbled turkies, tarts, and widgeons, And there mine'd pies, and geese, and pidgeons A pear-pie on his belly drops, And custard-pudding meets his chops. Lord, what ado 'twixt belles and beaux ! Some curse, some cry, and wipe their clothes. This lady raves, and that looks down^ And weeps and wails her spatter'd gown : THE GALLIMAUFRY* 269 One spark bemoans his greased waistcoat, One, rot him, cries, he's spoiPd my laced coat. Amidst the rout, the farmer long The pudding suck'd and held his tongue. At length he gets him on his breech, And scrambles up to make his speech ; Scrapes eyes, and mouth and nostril twangs, Then smacks his fingers, and harangues: ''Plague tak't — Pze told ye how't wou'd be, Luck, here's a pickle, zur, d'ye zee? And zome, Pll warrant, that makes this clatter, Have cloathes bedaub'd with grease and batter, That cost" — He had gone on, but here Was stopt at once in his career. " Peace, brute ! be gone," the ladies cry, The beaux exclaim, "Fly, rascal, fly!" u Pll tear his eyes out," squeaks Miss Dolly,— " Pll pink his soul out," roars a bully. At this the farmer sweats through fear, And thinking t'was ill tarrying here, Steals off, and cries, " Ay, kill me then, Whene'er you catch me here again." So home he jogs, and leaves the 'Squire To cool the sparks and ladies' ire. Thus ends my tale, and now Pll try, Like Prior, something to apply. This may teach rulers of a nation, Ne'er to place men above their station ; And this may shew the wanton wit, That whilst he bites he may be bit. Y3 tYO THE GALLIMAUFRY. I I Mill. . ■■ «> «_|U !■■!■■ I ii - i " ■'■ ■ ■» I I THE SCULLION SPRITE. A ST. GILES'S TALE. ei Ah ! who can see, and seeing not admire. Whene'er she sets the pot upon the fire ; Her hands outshine the fire, and redder things! Her eyes are blacker than the pot she brings." SHBNS'TOKB. *Twas at the hour, when sober cits, Their eyes in slumber close ; In bounc'd Bet Scullion's greasy ghost, And pinch'd Tom Ostler's toes ! Her flesh was like a roasted pig's. So deadly to the view ; And coal-black was her smutty hand, That held her apron blue. So shall the reddest chops appear, When life's last coal expires ; Such is the garb that cooks must wear, When death has quench'd their fires. Her face was like a raw beef-steak, Just ready to be fried : Carrots had budded on her cheek, And beet-root's crimson pride. But love had, like the fly-blow's power, Despoil'd her buxom hue : The fading carrot left her cheek ; She died at twenty-two ! I THE GALLIMAUFRY. 271 " Awake/' she cried, u Bet Scullion bawls ! Come from her garret high ; Now hear the maid, for whom you^corn'd A wedding-ring to buy. " This is the hour, when scullion-ghosts Their disclouts black resume: And goblin cooks ascend the loft, To haunt the faithless groom ! " Bethink thee of thy tester broke, Thy disregarded oath ; And give me back my mutton-pies, And give me back my broth. " How could you swear my sops we?e nice, And yet those sops forsake ? How could you steal my earthen dish, And dare that dish to break? " How could you promise lace to me, And give it all to Nan ? How could you swear my goods were safe, Yet pawn my dripping-pan? (i How could you say my pouting lip, With purl and Hollands vies? i\nd why did I, sad silly fool, Believe your cursed lies ? " Those sops, alas ! no more are nice ! Those lips no longer pout ! And dark and cold's the kitchen grate ! And every spark is out. 272 THE GALLIMAUFRY. "The hungry worm my master is, His cook I now remain ; Cold lasts our night, till the last morn Shall raise my crust again! " The kitchen clock has warn'd me hence, Pve other fish to fry ; Low in her grave, thou sneaking cur, Behold Bet Bouncer lie!" — The morning smil'd ! the stable boys Their greasy night-caps doff 'd ; Tom Ostler scratch'd his aching head ; And swearing left the loft. He hied him to the kitchen grate ; But, ah ! no bed was there ! He stretch'd him on the hearth where, erst* Poor Betty plied her care ! And thrice he sobb'd Bet Bouncer's name, And blew his nose quite sore ; Then laid his cheek on the cold hob, And horse rode never more. R. Wafovyn, Printer, 68, Wood-street, Cheapside* NEW SONGS. DOROTHY DUMP. THERE was Dorothy Dump would mutter and mump, And cry, ' my dear Walter, heigho !* But no step she could take, could my constancy- shake, For she had a timber toe. There was Rebecca Rose, with her aquiline nose, Who cried, i for you, Walter, I die;' But I laugh'd at each glance she threw at me askance* For she had a gimblet eye* There was Tabitha Twist had a mind to be kiss'd, And made on my heart an attack, But her love I derided, for she was lopsided* And cursedly warp'd in the hack. There was Barbara Brian who always was crying s ' Dear youth, put an end to my woes!' But to save in. her head all the tears that she shed 8 Nature gave her a bottle nose. Josephine came at last, to nail my heart fast, Firm as oak will I prove to my dear, And when Parson Feather has tack'd us together* Some chips of the block may appear. GEORGE BARNWELL. Sung by a Prime Kiddy, at the Heavy Whet and Rum Ones, Black Dog, St. James's Market. GEORGE BARNWELL stood at the shop door, A customer hoping to find, sir; His apron was hanging before, But the tail of his coat was behind, sir. A lady, so painted and smart, Cried, * Sir, I've exhausted my stock o'late, I've got nothing left but a groat, Could you give mc faur-penn'orth of chocolate. 1 Rump ti iddity, &c. Her face was roug*d up to the eyes, Which made her look prouder and prouder. His hair stood an end with surprise, And her's with pomatum and powder. The business was soon understood, The lady, who wish'd to be more rich, Cries, * sweet sir, my name is Mihvood, And I lodge at the gunner's, in Shroreditch/ Now, nightly he stole out, good lack ! And into her lodging would pop, sir, And often forgot to come back, Leaving master to shut up the shop, sh« Her beauty his wits did bereave ; Determined to be quite the cra Ri tol, &c. The dreadful secrets which 1 know, Tiddle lol, &c. I could such a dismal tale unfold, As would make your precious blood run cold. But ah ! those things must not be told. Ri tol, &c. Your father suddenly you miss'd, Ri tol, & c. I'll tell you how ; list ! list ! O list t Tiddle lol, &c. 'Twas given out to all the town, That a serpent pull'd your father down, But noiv that serpent wears the croivn, Ri tol, &c. Your uncle is the man I mean, Ri tol, &c. That diddled me out of my crown and queer. Tiddle lol, &c. O what a falling off was there ! But brief let me be, I must back repair. For methinks I scent the morning air, Ri tol, &c. 9 One afternoon, as was uiy use, Ri tol, &c. I went to the orchard to take a suoose, Tiddlelol, &c. When your uncle into my ear difl pour, A bottle of cursed hellebore. How little did I think I should wake no more, Ri tol, &c. Doom'd by a brother's hand was I, Ri tol, &c. To lose my crown, ray wife, to die fiddle lol, &c. I should like to have settled my worldly affairs, But the rascal came so unawares, That I hadn't even time to say my prayers. Ri tol, &c. Torment your uncle for my sake, Ri tol, &c. Let him ne'er be at peace, asleep or awake. Tiddle lol, &c. Your mother's plague let her conscience be, But 1 must be off, for day-light I see, Adieu J adieu J adieu! remember me ! Ri tol, &c. ODSBOBBiNS! IZE GO FOR A SODGER. FROM a chick I were always a notable boy, Took 'cutely my learning at school ; And granny, she said, her eyes sparkling wV joy, * I never should turn out a fool.' And « Ralph/ says she, * pr'ythee, boy, hold up thy head, Of thy face thou need'st ne'er be asham'd ;' And i'fackins, I minded still what granny said. For still at prefarment I aim'd. To wrastle and run, Make at single-stick one, »3 10 I beat Cloddy, and Robin, and Roger; And so upright I'd walk, It were the town-talk That Ralph were cutout for a sodger. Row de dow — fal de ral, Wi* the girls I were always a fav'rite, I know ; And, as red-coats they never refuse, Mayhap, if so be for a sodger I go, I, among 'em, may then pick and chuse. When I go to the wars for my country and king, Ize kill ev'ry Frenchman I see; , But, hold — mayn't it turn out another guess thing, The Frenchmen, mayhap, may kill me. No matter for that, Wi' cockade i' my hat, Ize strut above Robin and Roger; And if I come back, Of my glory I'll crack : Odsbobbins ! Ize go for a sodger. Row de row — fal de rai. OH! FANNY, WILT THOU GANG WITH ME? To the same Tune. OH ! Fanny, wilt thou gang with me? At Greenwich hill we'll tumble down ; Can dull Chick-lane have charms for thee, That stinking cap and greasy gown? No; you shall dress in silken sheen, Ah! y©u shall deck with jewels rare; Come, hasten to the merry scene, And flounce it through the gaping fair. And Fanny, when you're far away, And left those kennels all behind; Wilt thou not hail the parching ray, Which in the brick-fields you could findi 11 Say, shall the whip or cursed cane, The hardships those in Bridewell bear, 'Ere damp the joys, upon the green, Of coal-sack Joe aud Fanny fair ? Oh ! Fanny, I love none but you, Thro* perils keen for you I'd go; But if thy Joe mishap should rue, Say, would you seek to mill his foe ? Or, should the traps your Joe enthral, At Hatton-garden would'st thou swear; And on perdition loudly call, If I was ever at the fair. And when to Bagnigge Weils we hie, Oh ! how xve'il Jlash the pilfer'd wealth, While those at Smithfield fair shall cry, * To Poll and Joe we'll drink a health.' No more you'll wheel the moulded clay, Or, for thy hardships drop a tear, And but regret each rainy day Which keeps two lovers from the fair. THE PRAYER WARM FROM THE HEART OF THE GIRL THAT HE LOVES. WHAT nerves the soldier, when danger surrounding Scowls o'er the field that his valour must win? What cheers his heart, when the war note resounding, Swells with the signal of battle's loud din ? 'Tis a sweet charm, that, while homeward still bending, Fancy presents, and his danger removes; Tis a fond pray'r then in silence ascending, Warm from the heart of the girl that he loves. When to his hope is the pleasure that's nearest, Safety and Victory crowning his toil? Tis to behold on the cheek of his dearest, Sorrows bewailing dispers'd with a smile. While the green laurel his country is weaving, Dear to his heart, tho' the joy that it proves ; Dearer, far dearer, the tender thanksgiving Breath' J from the lips of the girl that he loves. 12 THP CHAPTER OF TODDLING. Tune.—' The Grinder: WORDS, like fashions, have each had their day, ' Bang up/ * That's the go/ < Tippy/ ■ Twaddle ( * Keep it up/ * * Go it boys/ * Dash away/ Butiiow they must give up to toddle. Terri heigho, heigho, Tho' wise ones their heads may be noddling, The word that is now all the go, Go wherever you will, sir, is toddling. The lover he toddles to court The fair who runs first in his noddle ; And the huntsman, pursuing his sport, Over hedges and ditches will toddle. Terri heigho, heigiio, &c. The Cit toddles off quite elate, When a turtle-feast runs in his noddle; And Sal Dab, when she comes from the Gat , To the gin shop iorjackey will toddlt. « Terri heigho, heigho, &c, Buonaparte, as great as may be, With victory so loaded his noddle, That he swore he'd drive us in the sea, But Wellington's fore* d him to toddle. Terri heigho, heigho, &c\ Now, my song, sirs, Til bring to an end, By telling what runs in my noddle ; That 30/«fe / Aafle you for my friend, Contented th ro* /j/e I shall toddle. Terri heigho, heigho, Tho' wise ones their heads may be noddling* To finish, I'd better, you know, Make a bow, say* Good night/ and be toddling. i3 TOM AND POLL, THE wind blew low, the sea was calm ? When Tom and Poll first parted; She hung upon his irembling arm, And vow'd to be true-hearted: The tears flow'd down her lovely face. And sorrow mark'd each feature; He kiss'd her oft', and did embrace This charming tender creature. 1 My lovely Poll/ Tom faintly cries, 4 Thy poignant grief dispel; Wipe off those tears which dim thine eyes ;* Then sigh'd and bade farewell : But, ah! e'er long poor Tom had left His Poll and native shore, When by a shot of life bereft, He fell, to rise no more* The fatal hews, Tom's death to tell, Resounded from afar ; And told how brave in battle fell This gallant British tar. Poor Polly now, with piteous sighs, Tom's dismal end relate; And to some desert spot she flies, To mourn his hapless fate. A RUSSIAN WELCOME; OR, BONEY TOO FAR NORTH. Tune.—* John Hobbs. 9 THE emperor, Boney, huzza, huzza, The emperor, Boney, huzza, He assembled his legions, Like poultry, or pigeons, For the cold northern regions, huzza, huzzn, For the cold northern regions, huzza. Straight forward to Russia, huzza, huzza, Straight forward to Russia, huzza, His forces he led on, Though some were left dead on The ground that they sped on, huzza, huzza, The ground that they sped on, huzza. 14 Till at Moscow arriving, huzza, huzza, Till at Moscow arriving, huzza, With a welcome entire, As the winter grew nigher. They found a good fire, huzza, huzza, They found a good fire, huzza. The Bears are queer play-mates, huzza, huzza, The Bears are queer play-mates, huzza, * For in spite of sharp breezes, The warmth of their squeezes Very few Frenchmen pleases, huzza, huzza, Very few Frenchmen pleases, duzza. Not liking their quarters, huzza, huzza, Not liking their quarters, huzza, Nor with soup meagre pamper'd, But cossack-fare, d \\ hard, They back again scamper'd, huzza, huzza, They back again scamper'd, huzza, A BUNDLE OF PROVERBS. WHEN I was near manhood, I grew sick of home, And to bettei my state, was determin'd to roam. As my father from evils was anxious to save me, This wholesome advice, 'ere I left him, he gave me. Derry down, &c # At first setting out, boy, be frugally bent, For 'tis too late to spare, when, alas ! all is spent, And old age will come, so before youth declines, You must learn to make hay, while the sun brightly shines. If you'd avoid troubles, and live without wrath, Always cut your coat, as it best suits your cloth, And ne'er be like to those men who themselves do en- thral, Nor like some who rob Peter to pay Master PauL Be not (if with good sense you'd always appear,) Penny wise, and pound foolish, as too many arc, And take care you ne'er say what you're told you should not For all will allow a foal's bolt is soon shot. 15 If wisely you'd act when ill-treated you are, Ne'er seek that by foul means, you can do by fair, Nor insult any one, lest you meet with your match, For he who harm watches, doth often harm catch. Think not all men friends, tho' they seem you to prize, For ifdaub'd with honey, you'll never want flies, But should Fortune frown you'll be soon left to chance, For it's no longer pipe, alas ! no longer dance. But if a man's kind to you, be to him a kind bro- ther, For surely one good turn's deserving another, But if men are ungrateful, with wine never treat them, Nor, fool-like, make feasts 3 boy, for wise men to eat them. BILLY GOOSE AND THE DFVIL. BIALY GOOSE was a tailor, and ah J woeful tale, With an unmarried lady, liv'd he; She tormented him sorely, no words could prevail, She was louder than he, and she fought tooth and nail ; Till at last he resolv'd to be free : With a horrible oath he was thus heard to say, As he kick'd her at last from the door: « May the devil himself come and fetch me away, With tape, buckram, and sheers, if you longer shall Stay, Or if ever I take you back more I But women can wheedle us all, as we know, And coax and persuade us to evil : She pray'd, and she promis'd, as women know hm. *Poor Billy was very soon false to his vow, Quite forgetting his oath md the devil : 10 And now all their friends were invited to sup, Beef and cabbage were plac'd for each guest; When, lo ! a tall stranger appearM— r-drain'd his cujk He eat all the cabbage and cucumbers up, And nothing was left for the rest. Oh! then Billy Goose — while his hair rose on high> Cried, ' Sir, who, pray the devil art thou?' 1 Sure enough/ was the answer, • the devil am I; You wish'd me to come, and away with you fly, _ If you were untrue to your vow. Come away, then, false taylor, that woman to shun 3 You have broken theoath made upon her; 1 Sir/ Billy exclaim'd, i after all's said and done, As out of two evils, I'm forc'd to chuse one, J'm quite ready to wait on your honour* GIRLS, LOOK 'ERE YOU LEAP, A PLAGUE upon man, and his flattering tongue ; What a fool is a maid to believe him : If she plays »well her cards when she's handsome an«i young, She'll laugh at his oaths, and deceive him* But when she's a wife, IJvery comfort in life She must yield to her tyrant tormentor. Sure wedlock to me, Seems a patent to be, And the devil himself the inventor. Why should woman submit to man's slavery stiji> When it peeds but a little resistance To teach the proud tyrant to bend to her will, And to beg in good turn for assistance. Then, girls, single keep, Or look well 'ere you leap, Or if husbands yau have, vex and fret 'em i And remember this rule, Ever marry a fool, And hold fast by the reins when you get them, 17 THE DINNER* BY the world it is said, as we've all heard and read, That our nation 5 * much given to think ; Yet we cannot disown, that John Bull's also prone, To love plenty to eat and to drink. Be the bus'ness what it may f That engrosses all the day, A feast brings each man to his tether; All our plans we digest, With the food we love best, And draw corks and conclusions together. {Spoken in different voices.) Thus, when we dine at a meeting of creditors, the conversation will most probably be, shall we have a good dividend? how do you think the poor man will cutvp? better than you do, I hope, sir, for you've spoiled that duck entirely; 4 now I can't think what has ruin'd him/ 1 Champagne, if you please, sir, what's your toast ?'-*« * ' I really think he must have been done up by the ladies/ — '■ the ladies! you astonish me; but talking of n\\n~~who pays for the supper? it will make a great deficit in the defaulter's effects, and I hate extravagance, so fill me a glass of Burgundy, Mr. President/ — -* with all my soul, sir/— and .I'll give— • {Irishman,) — * May the poor man, who gives up every thing, keep his honesty,, and the rich man never tiy to deprive him of it.' Thus bobbing, nobbing, song, and toast, And sentiments combining ; We troubles, cares, and fears forget, While merrily we're dining. If things of great weight, in the law, church, or state, Are thus followed by feasts, as we hear, On occasions so gay, as a snug wedding-day, We've a right to expect some good cheer ; And some time after that, When with frolicsome chat, e 18 At the christ'ning each gossip so merry ; To the hostess and host, Freely quaff every toast, In claret, Madeira, and sherry. (Spoken in different voices.) ' What a happy couple, what a delightful entertainment ! — very happy indeed, ma'am, and as for the husband/—* ' I think I never saw such a goose in my life/— * How that young lady takes wine.' — ' I wonder Miss Yellow leaf don't get a husband.' — *' She's been help'd three times already.' — 4 Those birds are well trass'd.' — ■ How are all your young ladies ?' — ' Rather too little drest, I'm afraid, sir/— ' Come, miss, I'll thank you for a merry thought/ — i I'll take a glass of matrimony,' — * will you/ — then I'll give you success to the cause of our meet- ing this evening. — Thus hobbing, nobbing, Sec. When politics teaze, or when law-suits displease, By advertisement gaily we meet; And each voice that we raise, to dislike or to praise, Yet by all 'tis agreed we must eat : When an old friend of mine, Where I oft' us'd to dine, Left this world, which he once was the pride of, His heirs gave a feast, To ten doctors at least, To consult about what 'twas he died of. {Spoken in different voices.) Well, gentlemen, if you can't come to an opinion, I suppose you can come to table, you all agree the gentleman is dead ? — Dead! — * yes, so will that wine be, if you don't put a stopper in the decanter/ — ' Now 1 iJiink his complaint must have risen from — too much pepper in that ragout, doctor — or its probable he died of— a devil-gizzard for doctor Jelly-bag, — 1 only wish I had been call'd in sooner, — * so do I — for the $ nee a thing worth eating is there left on the 19 table. 5 — 'Well, every thing that could be done, was done;'— I diffVr from you there — for the pork gri- skin wasn't warm thio'. — But what would you have recommended, doctor? — * A bumper, if you please, sir/ — and as our friend made a large for- tune and left two and-twenty children, I'll give you — i May the industrious man's heir never disgrace his patrimony. Thus hobbing, nobbing, &c. THERE'S LITTLE PLEASURE IN THE HOUSE WHEN OUR GOODMAN'S AWA. A POPULAR OLD SCOTS BALLAD. AND are ye sure the news is true, And are ye sure he's well, Is this a time to tawk of wark, Mak haste set by your wheel, Is this a time to tawk of wark, When Colin's at the door. Gie me my cloak, Til to the quey, And see him come a-shore. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house, When our goodman's awa. Rise up, and make a clean fire-side, Put on the muckle pat, Gie little Kate her cotton gown, And Jock his Sunday's coat, And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Their hose as white as snaw. It's a' to please my ain good man, For he's been long awa. And there's nae luck, &c. There is twa hens into the bauk, S'been fed this month and mair, Mak haste and thrae their necks about, That Colin well may fare; C 2 20 And spread the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look bra, It's aw for love of my goodmah, For he's been lang away. Ah, there's nae luck, I O, gie me down my big bonnet, My bishop's sattin gown, For I maun tell the bail lie's wife, That Covin's come to town ; My Sunday's shoon they maun gae My hose o' pearl blue, It's aw to please my ain goodman, For he's baith leel and true. Sure there's nac luck, &c Sae true's his words, sae smooth's his speech. His breath like caller air, His very foot has music in't, When he come? up the stair; And will I see his face Hgnitl, And will I hear him speak, I'm downright dizzy wee the thought, In troth I'm like to greet. For there's nae luck, &c» The cauld blasts of the winter wind, That thrilled thro' my heart, They're aw blawn by, I hae him safe, Till death we'll never part ; But what puts parting in my head, It may be far awa, The presant moment is our ain, The neist we never saw. And there's nae luck, &c. Since Colln's well, I'm well content, I hae na mair to crave, Could I but live to mak him blest, 'm blest aboon the lave ; 21 And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak, I'm downright dizzy wee the thought, In troth I'm like to greet. And there's nae luck, &c. CHARMING FAIR, WE CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT YE. TIME is ever changing, Ev'ry hour new feeling brings; Love and truth estranging, Women are but giddy things ! Then why such coil and noise about ye? Why e nt re nous — Ye fair, 'tis true, We may live with, but not without^ ye. Teasing, pleasing, charming fair, We cannot live without ye. Venus-like, still ranging, Still an ev'ning star ye'l) stray ; With the moon still changing, The moon each month ; but ye each day. Then why such coil and noise about ye ? Why entre nous — Ye fair, 'tis true, We may live with, but not without, you» Teasing, pleasing, charming fair, We cannot live without ye. MOLLY, THE FAIR. A BURLESQUE PARODY ON ROBrtf ADAIR. WHAT's Billingsgate to me? Molly the fair ! What, tho the briny sea Flow'd with strong beer ? 22 What's all the roach and dace, Salmon, ling, cod y and plaice? If they're not cried by thee, Molly, the fair What made the gin-shop shine ? Molly, the fair ! What makes the market fine ? Molly was there. What made my face so sore, Black, blue, and red, all o'er? Oh ! it was milling thee ; Molly, the fair! But, now thou'rt dead and gone, Molly, the fair! Don't come to bed to me, Molly, the fair! Tho' I lov'd fishy charms Yet, in thy clay-cold arms, Oh! I can't love thy ghost, Molly, the fair ! SANDY GREY. A COMIC SCOTCH BOKO. SANDY GREY was a bit of a ranter O, he was the Highlander gay, When M'Gregorhe turn'd up his chanter. For footing a strathspey away. Himself, too, could pipe like a throstle ; But then, if gudeale 'spied the chiel, He'd so often be wetting his whistle, While he pip'd, he'd be dancing a reel. With his toodle roodle. Making poetry, too, was his pleasure, But wi' Helicon ne'er faish'd his lug; Like a poet, was fond o' gude measure. Provided 'twas ale in a mug. 23 He'd empty a flash down his throttle, And then, like a poetic ass, If you ask'd him the rhyme to a bottle, Ten to one but he'd answer you 'glass/ Toodle roodle, &(\ Quickly he got dole for his drinking, (Sorrow you sots -a! sup, be assur'd ;) He, a'night when the moon was na blinkin. Fell in a dyke an' was smoor'd, His mind he'd to muggin a' been giving, An' could na fra' dancing reels stop ; So, as by the malt he stuck living, His fate was to die by the hop. Toodle roodle, &e. GAY TOxM TICKLE, THE CARRIER. GAY Tom Tickle, the carrier, (a wag of renown,) Met spruce Betty, as he was returning from town. Says she, * Tom, you're good-natur'd, arid never i refuse, When you come down from London, to tell us the news.' ' For a kiss,' ? well, take this,' 1 Now, sweet miss, thus it is : Monday next, don't be vex'd, Or pcrplex'd ; the pretext On what odd fancy founded, I really can't tell, But the king's proclamation for you will make well.' 1 Now, this strange proclamation,' says Tom, * will be sent In two days, round the nation, — thus is its intent : That all maids who have got little mouths must pre- pare, Monday next, to present themselves 'fore the Lord May'r, Where there'll be, you will see, (Oh dear me) in high glee, 24 And grand state, quite elate, To await their own fate, All young bachelors likewise, from whom, if they please, All these maids with small mouths may pick out tuo a-piece.' Betty's lips were contracted, and bridled her chin, As with simpering grace she this strain did begin : Crying, ' hem ! but pray what must the poor huge ones do To get husbands, when we little ones shall have two ?' ' Oh!' says he ; i each huge she Shall have three! 9 instant he, Bet's mouth spy'd, side to side A foot wide, as she cry'd ; 4 Ah! the case then is changM ! would the three were a score ; For, in gaping for husbands, no girl can gape more.' A BUNDLE OF PROVERBS. Chapter the Second. SHOULD employment you want, ne'er stand idle about, 'Tis better to play at small game, than stand wholly out; And, if you prefer the pure gold to the dross, Remember, the rolling stone gathers no moss. Derry down, &c. Some marry in haste, and plunge headlong in woe, But don't you forget money makes the mare to go ; And forbear 'till you're wed to rejoice and to skip, For many things happen 'tween the cup and the lip In the clutches of gamblers be sure you ne'er get, For all's fish, remember that comes to their net. And, when green horns they've plunder'd, they'll then at them laugh, But they cannot, I tell you, catch old birds with chaff. 25 Of doctors, my boy, to bring grist to their mill. For they'll make a mountain out of a mole-hill ; When they kill men with physic, undertakers find wood ; So you see its an ill wind that blows nobody good* Of lawyers, likewise, I'd have you beware, For they'll run with the hounds, boy, and hold with the hare; And, if you'd not bring o'er your head an old house, You must ne'er sue a beggar to catch a poor louse. The advice of the parson you must never forsake, Who says, as you brew so of course you must bake; But ne'er copy his deeds, should a toper he be, For a wolf in sheep's clothing we frequently see. In acts of injustice some wretches will dive, But wealth that's ill-gotten was ne'er known to thrive; Then ne'er what's unjust, mean, or sordid, pursue, But do unto all men as you'd be done unto* I HAD A WIFE OF MY OWN. A VERY OLD POPULAR BALLAD. I HAD a wife of my own, Still with her tongue she chatter'd on, Never would let me alone, For she clamper'd, scolded, and clatter'd on. Blockhead, ass, cuckold, and drone, With these pretty words she flattered on, Not in my body one bone, But with her knuckles she batter'd on. Why, she kept me quite under her thumb, Toss'd my hat and my wig about, And if I said ought but mum, TwiiTd me just like a gig about. 26 Making my body her drum, Trivially beating and jig aboutj So I was forcM to go glum, Grunting like an old pig about. Ah! when next she pays off the old score, 1 know well who'll ieel the effects of it, So I shall swear, that I'll do so no more, Tho* severely she often reflects on it. For I'm sure that my bones are all sore, From my last beating these are the dregs of i Oh ! she's a monstrous large bore, Tho' the hen that I've had many eggs from it. Her tongue, lud ! that never stands still ; The perpetual motion's a fool to it, Why, its just like the clack of a mill, When old Time he has worn a large hole thro' it. And of drinking she will have her share, Tho' she'll give not a soul, sir, a drop of it, Unless it perchance is strong beer, Then egad, sir, I will have my pot of it. And when I get that up to my nose, Tho' the drop it be ever so small of it, And kindly say, ' lovee, here goes V Oh ! she bawls out, * now don't drink all of it !' And my house, that so stately I chose, The parlour, the kitchen, the hall, of it, Quite neglected and diriy it grows, Lord, 6he makes quite a cobler's stall of it. Oh ! once who was so happy as I, With my ale, and my beer, and my cherry-bounce, Child on knee, and my pig in the stye ; And my friends who could dance ye the merry rounds, Why, last Christmas, quite merry, says I ; Come, now, my dear friends, let us have a dance, With the stool she tipp'd me a black eye, And she cried out, * oh I curse your extravagance/ 27 NEPTUNF/s REPROOF. Tune.— 'When Vulcan for g'd the bolts of Jove? WHEN Neptune, in his choral grot, With Am phi trite reclin'd, The cares of state, the world forgot, For love employ 'd his mind. A message from his brother Jove Requir'd his 'tendance up above. With hasty hand he seis'd the rein, And rose its sovereign o'er the main. The skies receiv'd the ocean's king, Who paid the homage due, When Jove, a sight of poignant sting Presented to his view. 1 Is't thus,' he cried, c the world you treat, To let the puny Gallic fleet, Like robbers, skulk the liquid plain, When Britain's doom'd to rule the main ?* 1 Enough,' the indignant god replied, 4 To Love this fault I owe, But soon my vet'ran hero tried, I'll lead to meet the foe. Yes, Nelson and her valiant sons Shall speak my vengeance with their guns; And soon the world shall own, with pain, That Britons only rule the main.' Swift from the starry plains he sped, And Nelson thus bespoke, The foe too long my chief misled, To end in harmless smoke. Swift guide thy navy o'er the flood, Haste, dye my ocean's foam with blood ; Let fell ambition rave in vain, That still Britannia rules the main. The hero hasten'd to obey, But 'ere the fight began: England expects you'll do to-tay Your duty, to a man. So spoke the chief, with cheers each tar Commence the dreadful thund'ring war; 28 But Fate had doom'd his course was o'er, The hero fell to rise no more. He livM to hear the battle won, Then clasp' d his hands and died ; Brave Collingwood the fight led on, Now slumbering by his side; With glory crown d they'll mount on high, And rise the fav 'rites of the sky, While Britain can like heroes claim, Britannia still must rule the main. AN IRISH CHARACTEIUSTICAL RHAPSODY. TW r AS one frosty morning, in the height ofjuy,; As I stood shivering in the heat of the sun, As Norah was walking, on a horse she rode by, Just as I met her at her own door at home, Thestrength of her charms knock'd me flat on my face, Away, in a phrenzy, a full mile I run, And 1 swear, by Moll Kelly, 1 ne'er stirr'd from the place, 'Till I'd some whisky at the sign of the gun. Och, then I walk'd off and began for to woo her, By your sweet rosy cheeks of lily white hue, And by your black eyes, which no skies can be bluer, No one that is false can e'er be more true ; jf, Norah, you smile, I will die, and be buried, And sing Paddy whack the rest of my life; But, should you frown, O, then we'll be married, And then you'll be made another man's wife. Says she, i Paddy, be quite, and leave off your pother, Hold up your hat, and pull off your head, The priest will refuse to join us to each other, Because you know, we've not been to bed/ Away then they tripp'd to father O'Casey, Each told both their wishes, and still held their tongue, And he swore they were both sensibly crazy, And he mutter'd out grace, and so ends my song. JiNIS. Plummeraad Brtvii, IYinun, Lov« Lime, Eastchenp. THE HARP OF SCOTIA, 85 TAM GLEN. My heart is a-breaking, dear titty, Some counsel unto me come len' 5 To anger them a 9 is a pity, But what will I do w? Tarn Glen ? I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fallow, In poortitli I might niak a fen'^ What care I in riches to wallow, If I manna marry Tarn Glen There's Lowrie, the laird o' D 'ummellyer, ' Good day t© you,' (coof) he Comes ben $ He brags and he blaws 0* his siller, But when will he dance like Tarn Glen ? Bly minnie does constantly deave me, And bids me beware o' young men 5 They flatter, she says, to deceive me, But wha can think sae o 9 Tarn Glen? My daddle says, gin I'll forsake him, He'll gie me gisde Ininder marks ten 5 But if it's ordain'd-I maun tak him, O wha wiil I get but Tarn Glen ? Yestreen at the Valentines dealing, My heart to my mou' gied a sten $ For thrice I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written 6 Tarn Glen ! • The last Halloween I was waukin My droukit sark-sleeve as ye ken 5 His likeness cam op the house stalkin, And the very grey breeks 0' Tarn Glen ! 8 H 86 THE HARP OF SCOTIA. Come connse), dear tittie, don't tarry ; I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, Gin ye will advise me to marry The lad I loo dearly, Tam Glen. COME ALL YE JOLLY SHEPHERDS. Come all ye jolly shepherds that whistle thro' the glen, I'll tell ye of a secret that courtiers dinna ken : What is the greatest bliss that the tongue of man can name? 'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie when the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, when the kye come hame, 'Tween the gioaming an' the mirk, when the kye come hame. 'Tis not beneath the burgonet, nor yet beneath the crown, 'Tis not on couch of velvet, nor yet in bed of down, — 'Tisbeneaththespreading birch, in the dell without the name, Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie, when the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, when the kye come hame, 'Tween the gloaming an' the mirk, when the kye come hame. There the blackbird bigs his nest for the mate he loos to see, And up upon the topmost bough, oh, a happy bird is he ! There he pours he's melting ditty, and love 'tis a' the theme, And he'll woo his bonnie lassie when the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, when the kye come hame, 'Tween the gloaming an' the mirk, when the kye come hame. When the bluart bears a pearl, and the daisy turns a pea, And the bonnie luiken gowan has foldit up his ee, Then the lavrock frae the blue lift drops down, and thinks nae shame To woo his bonnie lassie when the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, when the kye come hame, 'Tween the gloaming and the mirk, when the kye come hame. THE HARP OF SCOTIA. 87 Then the eye shines bright, the hale soul to beguile, There's love in every whisper, and joy in every smile : O wha wad choose a crown, wi' its perils and its fame, And miss a bonnie lassie when the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, when the kye come hame, 'Tween the'gloaming an* the mirk, when the kye come hame. See yonder pawkie shepherd, that lingers on the hill, His ewes are in the fauld, and his lambs are lying still \ Yet he dovvna gang to bed, for his heart is in a flame To meet his bonnie lassie when the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, when the kye come hame, 'Tween the gloaming an 9 the mirk, when the kye come hame. Away wi' fame and fortune, what comfort can they gie ? And a' the arts that prey on man's life and liberty : Gie me the highest joy that the heart of man can frame, My bonnie, bonnie lassie, when the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, when the kye come hame, 'Tween the gloaming an' the mirk, when the kye come hame. OWRE THE MUIR. On by moss and mountain green, Let's buckle a', and on thegither, Down the burn, and through the dean, And leave the muir amang the heather. Owre the muir amang the heather, Owre the muir amang the heather j Whae'er flee, it winna be The lads frae 'mang the hills o' heather. Sound the trumpit, blaw the horn, Let ilka kelted clansman gather j We maun up and ride the morn, And leave the moor amang the heather. Owre the muir amang the heather, &c. 88 THE HARP OF SCOTIA. Young Charlie's sword is by his side, Come weel, come woe, it makesna whither, We'll follow him, whate'er betide, And leave the muir amang the heather. Owre the muir amang the heather, &c. Fareweel, my native valley, thee " I'll never leave for onie it her ; But Charlie king of Scots maun he, , Or I'll lie low amang r.he heather. Owre the muir ammg-the heather, &c» Fareweel a while, my auld cot-house, When I come hame I'll big anitner j And vow but we will he right c rouse, When Charlie rules our hills o' heather. Owre the muir amang the heather, &c* Hark! the bagpipe sounds amain ! Gather, ilka leal man, gather : These mountains a' are Charlie's ain, These green-sward dells, and muirs o' heather. Owre the muir amang the heather, Owre the muir amang the heather ; Wha wadna fight for Charlie's right, To* gie him back his hills o' heather. ANDREW AND HIS CUTTIE-GUN. BLYTHE, blythe, blythe was she, Blythe was she but and ben * y And weel she liked a Hawick gill j And leugh to see a tappit hen. She took me \x\ r and set me down, And heght to keep me lawin-free ; But cunning carl in that she was, She gart me birle my bawbee. THE HARP OF SCOTIA* 89 We loo'd the liquor weel enough, But, waeg my heart ! the cash was done Before that I had quench'd my drowth, Aral I v/as iaith to pawn my shoon ! "When we had three times toom'd our stoup, And the neist chap pin new begun, In started, to heeze up our hope, Young Andrew \\V his cuttie-gun. The carl in brought her kebbock ben, Wi' girdle- cakes weel toasted brown I Weel does the cannie kimmer ken They gar the swats gae glibber down*, We ca'd the bicker aft about, Till dawning we ne'er jee'd our bum| And ay the clearest drinker out, Was Andrew wi' his cuttie-gun* He did like ony mavis sing, And as I in his oxter sat, He ca'd me ay his bonnie thing, And monie a sappie kiss I gat. I hae been east, I hae been west, I hae been far aytiwt the sun, But the blythest lad that e'er I saw, " is cuttie-gun. BY ALLAN STREAM. Air — Jingling JoJiriie. By Allan stream I chanced to rove, While Phoebus sunk beneath Benledi $ The winds were whispering through the grove. The yellow corn was waving ready : I listen'd to a lover's sang, v And thought on youthful pleasures many j And ay the wild wood echoes rang, * O dearly do I loo thee, Annie*' 90 THE HARP OF SCOTIA, O happy be the woodbine bower, Nae nightly bogle make it eerie \ Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, The place and time I met my dearie ! Her head upon my throbbing breast, She, sinking, said, * I'm thine for ever !' While many a kiss the seal imprest, The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. The haunt b' spring 's the primrose brae, The summer joy 's the flocks to follow % How cheerie, thro' her shortening day, Is autumn in her weeds o' yellow : But can they melt the glowing heart, Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure ? Or through each nerve the rapture dart, Like meeting her, our bosom's pleasure ? GIN A BODY MEET A BODY. Gin a body meet a body Coming through the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry ? Ilka body has a body, Ne'er a ane hae I j But a' the lads they loo me weel, And what the waur am I? Gin a body meet a body Coming frae the well, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body tell ? Ilka body has a body, Ne'er a ane hae 1 5 But a' the lads they loo me weel, And what the waur am I ? THE HARP OF SCOTIA. S* 1 Gin a body meet a body . Coming frae the town, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body gloom ? Ilka Jenny has her Jockie, Neer a ane hae I ; But a' the lads they loo me weel, And what the waur am I ? THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN. Air — Avid Langsyne* When silent time, wi' lightly foot, Had trode on thirty years, My native land I sought again, Wi' monie hopes and fears* Wha kens gin the dear friends I left Will still continue mine, Or gin I ere again shall meet The joys I left langsyne. As 1 drew ne'er my ancient pile, My heart beat a' the way 5 Ilk place I pass'd seem'd yet to speak Of some dear former day : Those days that follow'd me afar, Those happy days 0' mine, Which made me think the joys at hand Were naething to langsyne. My ivied tow'rs now met my view, Where minstrels us'd to blaw > Nae frien' stept forth wi' open arms, Nae weel-ken'd face I saw, Till Donald totter'd to the door, Whom I left in his prime, And grat to see the lad come back He bore about langsyne. 92 THE HARP OF SCOTIA. I ran through ilka wee] ken'd room, In meet friend^ there } I saw v e us'd to sit, And ka chair. Till saTt oblivion drew her veil Ac. o' mine, I rj e door, and sabb'd aloud, As 1 yne. A new sprung race o' motley kind, Would now their welcome pay, Wha Miuddei'd at my gothic wa's, And wish'd my groves away. Cut, cut, they cried, yon gloomy treesj Lay low yon mournfu 1 pine! Ah no ! your fathers' names grow there- Memorial* o' langsyne. KIRN-MILK GEORDIE. It's Jiimes and George tliey were twa lord's, And they've coosten out about the kirn \ But Geordie he proved the strongest loon, And gait Jamie stand ahin\ And hey now, Geordie, Geordie, Geordie, Ply the cuttie as Iang as ye can j For Donald the piper will win the butter, And nought but kirn-milk for ye than. And ay he suppit, and ay he swat, And ay he gae the tither a kirn, And ay he fykit, and ay he grat, When Donald the piper ca'd round the kirn* And up wi' Geordie, kirn-milk Geordie, He is the king-thief o' them a'j He steal'd the key, and hautit the kirn, And siccan a feast he never sawe THE HARP OF SCOTIA. 93 He kicked -the butler, hanged the groom, And turnM the true men out o* the ha 7 ; And Jockie and Sawney were like to greet, To see their backs set to the wa\ And up xvV Geordie, kirn-milk Geordie, He has drunken the maltnian's ale ; But he'll be nick it ahiut the wicket, And tugglt ahiat his grey mares tail* Young Jamie has raisM the aumry cook 3 And Jockie has sworn by lippie and law, Douce Sawney the herd has drawn the sword, t And Donah! the piper, the warst ofa'. And down \vV Geordie, kirn-milk Geordie, He maun hame hut stocking or shoe, To nnmp his neaps, his syhows and leeks, And a wee bit bacon to help the broo. The cat has clomb to the eaglets nest, And siickit the eggs, and scar'd the dame 5 The lordly lair is daubed wi' liair j But the thief ma , and the hawk come hame© Then up viY Geordie, kiror-mijk Geordie, Up wi' Geordie' hie in a tow j At the last kick of a foreign foot, We'se a 5 be ranting roaring -fou. IZE OF YARROW. * TllY braes were bontlie, Yarrow stream, When first on tli Dt my lover; Thy braes, how dreary, Yarrow stream, When now thy waves his body cover! For ever now, O Yarrow stream ! Thou art to me of sorrow; For never on th, (jail I Behold my love, the flower of Yarrowc 94 THE HARP OF SCOTIA. * He promised me a milk-white steed To bear me to his father's bowers j He promised me a little page To 'squire me to his father's towere : He promised me a wedding-ring, The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow \ Now he is wedded to his grave, Alas ! his wat'ry grave in Yarrow. * Sweet were his words when last we met \ My passion I as freely told him : Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought That I should never more behold him. Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost, It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow ', Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow. 4 His mother from the window look'd, With all the longing of a mother *, His little sister, weeping, walk'd The green-wood path to meet her brother. They sought him east, they sought him we6t, They sought him all the forest thorough; They only saw the cloud of night, They only heard the roar of Yarrow. * No longer from thy window look, Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! No longer walk, thou lovely maid, Alas ! thou hast no more a brother ! No longer seek him east or west, And searce no more the forest thorough j For, wandering in the night so dark, He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow. * The tear shall never leave my cheek, No other youth shall be my marrow * 7 I'll seek thy body in the stream, And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow. THE HARP OF SCOTIA, 95 The tear did never leave her cheek, No other youth became her marrow J She found his body in the stream, And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. THE LEE KIGG. Will ye gang o'er the lee rigg, My ain kind dearie, Oj And cuddle there fu' kindly, My ain kind dearie, O ? At thornie bush, or birken tree, We'll daff, and never wearie, 0$ They'll scug ill e'en frae you and me, My ain kind dearie, O. Nae herd wi' kent or collie there, Shall ever come to fear ye, Oj But lav'rock's whistling in the air Shall woo, like me, their dearie, O- While ithers herd their lambs and ewes, And toil for warld's gear, my jo t Upon the lee my pleasure grows Wi' thee, my kind dearie, O. At gloamin' if my lane I be, Oh, but I'm wond'rous eerie, O; And monie a heavy sigh I gie, When absent frae my dearie, O: But seated 'neath the milk-white thorn, In ev'nin£ fair and clearie, O, Enraptur'd a' by cares I scorn, Whan wi' my kind dearie, O. Whare thro' the birks the burnie rows, Aft hae I sat fu' cheerie, O, Upon the bonnie greensward-howes, Wi' thee, mj kind dearie, (X 96 THE , HARP OF SCOTIA* I've courted tfll I've heard the craw OE honest chanticleerie, Q, Yet &™y sleep ava, WhaiVtvl 1 niv Wl - The Love Vale* How foolish are h io lock for perfection In any poor cli angling under the sun ! By nature, or habit, or want of reflection, To vices or folly we needlessly run. The, man who is modest and kind in his nature, Anil open and cheerful in every degre Who feels for the woes»of his own fellow-creature, Though subject to -failings, is dear unto me. Far dearer to me h the huml^e ewe-gowan, The sweet native violet, or bud of tjie Ljcom, Than fine foster'd flowers in the garden a-growing, Tho' sweet be their savour and bonnie their bloom. Far dearer to me is the thrush or the linnet, Than any fine bird from a far foreign tree 5 And dearer my -lad, with his plaid and blue bonnet t Than ail our rich nobles or lords that I see* THE HARP OF SCOTIA. 301 THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. The Lawland mafds gang trier and fine, i>ut aft their soor and unco ^aueyj Sa*- proud they never can he kind, Like an- g~»od-l.uti.onr'ri Highland lassie. O my honnie. honnie Highland lassie, My hearty smiling Highland lassie j Mav never care make thee less fair, But bloom of* youth still bless my lassie* Than onie la*s in burrows- town, \Yb < mak their cheeks wi' patches motie, I'd t«k my Katie but a gown, Barefooted* in her lit fie coatie. O'-mv boon re, honnie Hi. h land lassie, My hearty smiling Highland lassie j Mav never care mak thee less fair, But bloom of youth still bless my lassie. Beneath the brier or brecken bush, Whene'er I kiss and court mv dawtie, Happv and blythe as ane wad wish, My flighfrrin heart iraug* pittie-pattie. O my honnie, honnie Highland lassie, My henry smiling Highland lassie J May never tare make thee less fair. But bloom of youth still bless my lassie. There's nane shall dare by dte<) op word, 'Gainst her to wag a tongue or finger, While I can wield my trusty sword, Or frae my side whNk out a whinger. O my honnie, honnie Highland lassie, My hearty smiling Highland lassie^ May never care make ther less fair, But bloom of jouth still bits* my lassie. 26 cc 102 THE HARP OP SCOTIA. OVr highest heathery hills I'll step, WP cock it ^un and ratches tenty, To diive t lie dec r out of their r wishful those gay scents recal, Where thou wast fairest of the fair ? And when at la^t thy love shall die, Wilt thou receive his parting breath? Wilt thou repress each struggling si^h, And cheer with smiles the bed of death ? And wilt thou o'er his much-loved clay, Strew flowers and drop the tender tear ? Nor thr-n regret those scenes so yay, Wuexe thou wast fairest of the fair? «• KATE OF ABERDEEN. ^ Air 0/ a% the airl* the wind can blaw. The silver moon's enamourM beam Steals softly thro' the night, To wanton with the winding stream, And kiss reflected light. To beds of state, go, balmy sleep ! (Tis where you've seldom betn,) May's vigil while the shepherds keep With Kate of Aberdeen. *!$ T*p HARP OF SCOTIA* Upon the green the virgins watt, In rosy chaplets gay. Till morn unbar her golden gate, And give the promised May. Methinks I hear the maids declare The promised May, when seen, Not half so fragrant, half so lair, As Kate of Aberdeen, Strike up the tabor's boldest note% We'll muse the nodding grove j The nested birds shall raise their throats, And hail the maid 1 love : And see — the matin lark mistakes, He quits the tufted green : Fond biro! 'tis not the morning breaks, •Tis Kate of Aberdeen. Now lightsome o'er the level mead, Where midnight fairies rove, Like them, the jocund dance we'll lead, Or tune the reed to love : For see the rosy May draws nigh $ She claims a virgin queen: And, hark ! the happy shepherds cry, \ f Tis Kate of Aberdeen. THE THREE MEN OF MORISTON. Air — Fy let u» a to the Bridat. NOW cease of auld feifies to tell us, That happenM nane living ken- when J I'll sing you of three noble fellows Wha lived in the wild Highland glen. The times were grown haul to brave Donald, For lo^t was CulIoden*s sad day ; Tbe hearts o' the chiefs w*re a 1 broken t And oh ! but poor Donald was wac* THE HARP OF SCOTIA* SOT They keeket out oVr the wild corei. The towers of Clan Ronald were'gobe'}.' The reek it hung red o'er Glengaiy, Lochaber was hen if d and lone. They turned about on the mountain, The last o' their shealings to see: • O hon a rie ! '—cried poor Donald, 4 There's n tething but sorrow for me!' Now our noble three lads are in hidings Afar in GlenmuriMon'a height *, In the rock, a' the day they are biding, i And the moon is their candle by night* And oft their rash rising tney rue it, As looking o'er ravage and death, And blamed their ain Prince Chailie Stuart For causing the Highlands sic skaith* * Ae night they sat fearfu' o' i\a.n^er 9 And snappet their kebbuck fa' keen, "When in came a stately young stranger, As ragged as man e'er was seem They hadna weel looket around them, 'Till tears came happing like rain, * Your welcome, young Dugald M'Cluny, For a' you see here is your ain.' Each ken'd the brave wreck of Culloden, But dared not to mention his name, Lest one of the three had betray'd him, And cover'd their country with shame. They served him with eager devotion, They clad bim from shoulder to tae j Spread his boaid from the moor and the ocea*. And watch'd o'er him a' the lang day. They had not a plack in their cufTer, They had not a ewe on the brae*. Yet ken'd o' mair gowd in their offer Than they could have carried away* SOS THE HARP OF SCOTIA. Now crack o' your Grecian and Roman, We've cast them a* back in the shade) Gie me a leal-hearted JVlacdonald Wi' nought but his dirk and his plaid. The sun shines sweet on the heather, When tempests are over and gane; But honour shines bright in all weather, Through poverty, hardship, and pain. Tho' we had ne'er heard V Chin- Ronald, Nor gallant Glengary's wild sway, The names of the loyal Macdooaids Had flourish'd tor ever and ay. BARBARA ALLAN. It was in and about the Mart'mas time, When the green leaves were a falling, That Sir John Graeme, in the west countrie, Fell in love with Barbara Allan. He sent his man down through the town, To the place where »he was dwelling, 4 O haste, and come to my master dear f Gin ye be Barbara Allan.' i O hooly, hooly gaed she up To the place where he was lying j And when she drew the curtain by,— 4 Young man, I think you're dying ! f 44 O I am sick, and very sick, And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan !" 4 O the better for me, ye'se never be, Though your heart's blood were a.spiling ! THE HA UP OF SCOTIA. 309 *0 dinna ye mind, young man,* sard she, * When merry in the hail ye feasted, That ye made the healths gae round and round, And Barbara Allan slighted.* He turn'd his face unto the wall, For death was with him dealing: ** Adieu! adieu ! my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allan." And slowly, slowly raise she up, And *lt»wly, slowly left him : And, sighing, said, * She couid not stay, * Since death ol liie had nit him. 1 She had not gane a mile but twa, When she heard the dead -bell tollin, And ev'ry jow that the dead-bell gied, It cried, * Woe to Barbara Allan ! • 1 O mother, mother, make mv bed, O make it soft and narrow, Since my love died for me today, I'll die for him to-morrow.' O GIE MY LOVE BROSE, BROSE* Air — Bro$e and Butter, O GIE my love brose, brose, O &ie my love biu^c *ud butter J O &ie my love bioac, Uio,c, lesiietu he uaoicti |u a &upper# Thtrlc's some £01 r .»»UMi ami uillk f AuU ajiiic i>ui si/>u,,.-, aul i succar* f Anu some got tatoes and baur, But he fcut naeihi»£ **>r *upper» 810 THE HARP OF SCOTIA. For Charlie be drew the braid sword* For Charlie he lost house and haddia, For Charlie he fought on ihe sward, For Charlie he bit* H at Culloden. O gie my love brose, brose, O gie my love brose and butter } O gie my love brose, brose, Yestreen he wanted his supper* The chief that was true to his Prince May yet hae a hame and a steading But the whigums that had tittle mense, Will dree the weird o' their reidio» O gie my love brose, hiose, O gie my love brose and butter ; O gie my love hi ov* f brose, Yestreen he wanted his supper. MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL. Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, The wretch's destinie ! Macpberson's time will not be long,— • On yonder gallows tree, Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gai-d he ; He play'd a spring, and danced it round, Below the gallows-frt e. O what is death hut parting breath ?— On many a bloody plain I've dared his face, and in this place I scorn him yet again? Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gaed he ; He play'd a spring, and danced it round, Below the gallows-tree. THE HARP OF SCOTIA* Untie *liese f s bands fiom off my hands, And bring to me mv swniri; Ami there \ nn a man in all Scotland, Bur 1*11 lirave him at a word. Sae rajltrngly, sat* wantonly, Sae ffeuotinglv gaed he; He pi «yM a spring, and danced it round, .Below the gallows-tree. I've lived a life of sturt and strife, I Hit* hy treacherie ; It burns my heart F must depart And not avenged be. Sae rant int. 1 1 v , sae wanto.ily, Sae dauntingly gaed he \ He piay'd a spring, and danced it round, Below the gallows-tree. Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, And all beneath the sky ! May coward .shame distain his name, The wretch that dares not die! Sae rantinHy, sae wantonly, Sae h\f wP waildly cares, I drown them in a coggie. Thus merrily my time I pass, With spirits brisk and voggie, Bl'st with my bttiks and n y sweet lasss, My cronies and my coggie. Then baste, and gie's an auld Scots sang, Sic like as Katbrine Ogiej A gude Scots sang comes never wrang, Whan o'er a social coggie* THE DRUMMER LADDIE; OR, THE SOLDIER'S MOTHER. DOOM OF ST. NICHOLAS. & Cavrtrft Eesentr. INGRATITUDE & SEDUCTION. GLASGOW: PUBLISHED BY JOHN SMITH, 62, NELSON STREET. DRUMMER LADDIE; OR, THE SOLDIER'S MOTHER. My gudeman has friens in East Lothian, and upon a notion of visiting them between haytime and har'st, I set out frae hame, about three weeks syne, taking my passage in the steam-boat at Ar- drossan for Glasgow, where I staid with my cousin, Mrs. Treddles, the manufacturer's wife, and next day went to Port-Dundas, whence I sailed on the canal in the trackboat to Falkirk, with this bundle in my hand. Being a lanely widow-woman, I was blate amang strangers in the boat; but there was a drummer- laddie, with a Waterloo crown hanging at his bo- som, and I made up to him, or rather I should say, he made up to me, for he was a gleg and birky callan, no to be set down by a look or a word. I No. I. A 2 wasna only a widow-woman, but a bairnless mo- ther, which made me kindly to a' rampler weans; for my ain were laddies, stout and stirring, though only ane of them came to manhood. But it was no because I was a forlorn widow that no ither noticed, nor because I was gladdened with the bold and free spirit of the drummer-laddie that I gave him a share, no unasked, its true, of the store in my bundle — I had a far deeper reason. For my only son had many a year before gone off with the soldiers, and I could never hear aught con- cerning him. He was a braw and brave lad, a sightlier was not to be met with in a' Carrick, Coil, or Cunningham; but he was of a w T ild and roving disposition, and wou'd never settle to the plough. It is his bastard bairn that I am bring- ing up for the mailing. Many a sore heart he gave me; but there was a winsome way about him, that soon made me forgive and forget his faults. Perhaps in that I was overly lenient; but it was a sin that I hope the Lord, in his mercy, will re- member in gentleness; for in the wisdom of his dispensations, he had taken from me all his other gifts — the four elder brothers of my gallant and light-hearted prodigal. But what mother can remember the errors of her fatherless bairn? — I have forgotten a' those of my roving Willy, for he was no man's enemy, but his own. He gaed to the Ayr races in the year fourteen; and forgathering there with some other free-natured lads like himself, they sat lang singing the sangs of Robin Burns, and dipping o'er deep in the barley bree. In coming out to gang to their lodgings, they happened to fall in with some of the ne'erdoweel gentlemen that was at the races; whether it was in a house or the crown of the causeway, I never heard the rights o't; but they fell out and fought, and my unlucky bairn, being at the time kindled with drink, and of a natural spirit that wou'dna brook the weight of the king's hand, far less a blow in the face from Sir Patrick Malice; he struck the poor divor with such a dreadful arm, that he made his head dash against the stanes of the causeway. Every body thought Sir Patrick was killed outright. He lay lang senseless, and the fright caused so- briety to a' present. Both sides cried to Willy to flee, for the gentlemen w r ere as convinced of their error as the farming lads. My Willie fled straight to Glasgow, which he reached in the morning. We had credit with our friends the 4 Treddles; there they supplied him with siller, and he went off to London the same day. Pur- sued by his own conscience, thinking he had com- mitted a murder, and fearing to let any body know where he was, we never had a scrape of a pen from him, till he was on the eve of embarking as a dra- goon soldier at Portsmouth for Flanders. Nor would he have written then, but he happened to see as it were a ghost, — Sir Patrick alive and weel, in the Isle of Wight, where he was for the benefit of mild air, having run out his health and fortune. This was the last and only letter 1 had ever from him, for he was slain in the great day of Waterloo, and, as one of his comrades wrote to me, died, not leaving a braver heart, or a better man, in the British army. — It was a strange thing; but instead of sorrow, this letter made my heart triumph; and from that day, though the king may boast the victory, and the duke of the fame, there's no a breast in a' the three kingdoms that thinks of Waterloo with more pride than mine. I put on mournings, it's true, but they were to me as garments of praise, — and I thanked the Lord for the manner in which he had rewarded me for the cares and anxieties of being a mother. This was the chief cause of my discoursing with the drummer-laddie, who I saw had been at Waterloo; and from him I learnt it was neither so far off, nor in a Pagan Ian', that the battle was fought, as I fancied. He said I had only to take the smack at Leith for London, and then the coach there for Dover, and I would be in no time at Brussels, where every body could shew me the road to the field of battle. After getting into the coach, at Lock No. 16, for Edinburgh, I thought of what the laddie had said, and I felt it would be a satisfaction to my heart to visit the grave of my brave Willy. As I had come provided with siller to buy some ar- ticles on my return at Glasgow, I was in want of nothing for the journey, so instead of going to our cousins in East Lothian, I went directly to Leith, and embarked in a smack, that was to sail the next morning for London. We had a pleasant voyage, and the captain, who was a most discreet man, saw me safe in a coach for Dover. I did not tell him where I was going, but on my coming back, when I said where I had been, he thought it for me a wonderful undertaking, I having no guide nor knowledge of the language. But I fol- lowed the drummer-laddie's direction, for after 6 passing the sea in the packet at Dover, I just pointed to the folk that came round me, and said Waterloo, which they all understood. A grand English gentleman came up to me on the shore, as I was standing inquiring my way, and he told me, that I ought to have had a passport; but when I said that I was the mother of a Scotch Grey, going to see my son's grave at Waterloo, he was wonderful affected, and said, that neither money nor interest would be wanting to help me on. I told him, however, that I stood in no need of money; and that it was an old saying, that a woman with a Scotch tongue in her head, was fit to gang over the world. It was surprising the at- tention he paid me; for being obligated, on ac- count of coming without a pass ticket, to go be- fore a magistrate, he went there with me, and told the magistrate in French all about me, and where I was going, by which he got the magis- trate, not only to give me a pass, but likewise he gave me himself a letter to a friend of his own, a high man that was living about the Court at Brus- sels. Thus did I experience, that it was only ne- cessary for me to say I was going to Waterloo, in order to be well treated. By the advice of the English gentleman, I went with some French ladies in a coach to a canal, where we embarked in a schuyt, as they called the trackboat; and, after stopping and changing at various places, and ancient grand towns, which, however, I did not look much at, we came to the city of Brussels, where one of the ladies kept a bookselling shop, who very civilly invited me to stay at her house, and would take nothing for the trouble, saying only, for she could speak no Eng- lish,—" Waterloo" — meaning as I thought, that she was paid already by what the bravery of my Willy had helped to do there. On the next day, she went with me herself to the house of the English gentleman's friend, who was likewise from London, with his lady seated among a nest of bonny bairns, with fair curly heads, that were far more beautiful than clusters of pearl. They read the letter, and treated me as if I was a warld's wonder, saying they would take me in their coach to Waterloo. But I told them I would not put them to that trouble, for my thought was to go alone; but it was a proud thing for me that gentry in their station of life could be so civil, because I had a son lying at Waterloo. They insisted, however, that I should take a re- 8 freshment of wine, and wait until they could pro- cure a proper person to go with me to the place. That day I staid at Brussels, and they sent one of their servant lasses, a French maiden that could speak some English, round the town with me, and she described to me the panic that she was in at the time of the battle, and how the wag- gons, horses, and cannon, and wounded soldiers, filled the streets. It was indeed such a thing to hear of, that the like is not to be met with in any book out of the Bible. The English family got a man to go with me, who had been a Highland soldier, from Moidiarb in Lochaber. He lost an arm at Waterloo, and afterwards married a Dutchwoman that keeps a tobacconist's shop in the market, forenent the Town-house, and was settled with his pension at Brussels. Him and me set out on our feet soon in the morning, and as we were walking along, he told me many particulars, but he said overly mickle anent the Highlanders, as if he would have given to them all the glory of the day, although it is well known the Scotch Greys were in the front and foremost with the victory. Except in this, Cor- poral Macdonald was a sensible man, and shewed me both far and near where the fray was bloodiest, j 9 and where the Duke fought and Bonaparte began to run away. But the last place he took me to was a field of strong wheat. " There," said he, "it was that the Scotch Greys suffered most. Their brave blood has fattened the sod, that the corn springs here so greenly." — I looked around with the tear in my e'e, but I could see no hillock to mark where the buried lay, and my heart filled fu', and I sat down on the ground and Macdonald beside me, and he said nothing, but continued for a time silent, till I had poured out my sorrow. As we were sitting, communing with the dead and gone, he happened to notice a bit of a soldier's coat, and, pulling it out of the yird, drew with it an old rusty gully knife. " This," said Macdo- nald, as he lifted it, " has belonged to some brave fellow." But think what I felt, when, in that same identical knife, 1 beheld a prcof and testimony that my poor Wiily could no be far from the spot where we then were. It was a knife that his father bought, and I knew it by the letters of his name, burnt out upon the horn of the heft. I seized upon it in the hands of the corporal, as if it had been a precious relic of a great price, and I have it now in my bundle. But I would weary you to sleep, 10 were I to recount only the half of what I saw and felt on the field of battle at Waterloo. It was far in the afternoon, indeed gloaming, before we returned to Brussels, and the English family had sent three times to inquire if I had come back. I was fatigued and my heart was heavy, so I did not go to them that night, but took a dish of tea with Mrs. Macdonald, the cor- poral's Dutch wife, who was a remarkable civil woman; but having no knowledge of one ano- ther's tongue, we could hold but small discourse, At night I went back to the house of Madam Buckenbacht, the bookselling lady that had been so discreet to me, and there found the servant lass that gaed round the town with me, to interpret be- tween us. By her I heard, that the day following, a French millender lady of her acquaintance, was going to London to buy goons; and meaning to take Mechlin in her way, it would be a fine op- portunity for me to go with her, which I was glad to hear of — so Madam Vaurien and me came off by break of day, in a schuyt on the canal; but, although she could speak but little English, and me no French, I soon saw that she was a pawkie carlin, the true end and intent of her journey be- ing to take over a cargo of laces to the London 11 market. For after dark, in the public-house at Mechlin, where we sleeped that night, she per- suaded me to sew to my sark tail, and other canny places, mony an ell of fine Flanders lace; and it was well for her I did so, for when we got to the English coast at Harwich, by which round-about gate she brought me, the custom-house officers, like so many ravens, turned Madam Vaurien, with all her bags and bundles, as it were inside out, calling her an old stager; in the doing of which they seized upon all she had, but having no jea- lousy of me, I escaped untouched, and brought safe to hand in London all the lace about me. At first, Madam Vaurien made a dreadful cry, and when the men were handling her, declared she was a ruined woman, but when she got me and herself safe out of the coach, and into her lodgings in London, she said that she did not care for what had been taken, the same being of no value, compair'd with what was about me. I was not overly content with Madam Vaurien for this, nor did I think, upon consideration, that either Madam Buckenbacht was so disinterested in her kindness, when I came to understand that the two Madams were gude-sisters. But I had been at Waterloo, I had sat near the grave of my 12 gallant Willie, and I had brought with me a to- ken more precious than fine gold — and all other things were as nothing. On the next day Madam Vaurien, who was well acquaint with the ways of London, got a per- son to go with me to Wapping, and I saw, in passing, many a farlie and fine thing, such as St. Paul's and the Tower, till we came to the Smack's place on the river, where I found the bark I had come in ready to sail that very night. As I car- ried my bundle aye in my hand, I had nothing to make ready for the voyage, so I stepped on board, and, in four days after, was set on shore at the pier of Leith, and now I am so far on my way back to my own dwelling. Galt. PUBLISHED BY JOHN SMITH, CIRCULATING LIBRARY, 62, NELSON. STREET. THE DOOM OF THE ST. NICHOLAS. & Camtft 3L*s*nlr. ** You hae been up the glenmakin' merchandise/' said the mistress of a hedge hostelry to a young man with a pack on his shoulder. u I hae been up as far as Glennap, but there's no muckle siller a-steerin'," replied the pedlar, lean- ing his burden upon a large stone that stood at the door. " Will you no come in? You canna be gaun muckle farther this night." " Was there no an elderly man here wi' a large green pack, within this day or twa?" inquired the pedlar. The woman hesitated. — " An elderly man, wi' a large green pack — No, my bairn," was the reply. * c He was to hae met me at the Nick o' the Bal- loch four days ago. I wonder what can be the matter, for he's aye sae punctual to his trysts; I hope no accident has happened to my father." " What is his name, my bairn?" " His name is Simon Fraser, guidwife." " Hech, sirs! is Simon Fraser your father? Then you shanna steer ae step farther this ni&ht; No. II. B 14 for if your father is in this neighbourhood, this will be his quarters." The youth now stepped into the kitchen, and gave his pack in charge to the landlady, (which was the custom in those days.) It was in the lat- ter end of October. The weather had been very boisterous for some days; and the night, which was fast approaching, appeared to be gathering into a storm of violence. — There was a large fire blazing in the kitchen, near to which the landlady drew a seat, and the lad sat down. He was ra- ther surprised, however, to see none but herself in the house. She went into an adjoining closet, and returned with a quaich full of brandy. " Here, bairn, tak' a mouthfu' o! that, it will do you guid. The lads are awa' down at Ballantrae. You hinna drawn muckle siller, you was sayin'?" " No, guidwife, siller's very scarce now-a-days." " Troth is't," replied the landlady. " We hae sair altered times since the doctrine o' that Ger- man well-houker, Johnny Calvin, has got amang us; an* that priest-killing, temple-razing, bedlam- ite o' a reformer, John Knox. O ! the days when Abbot Kennedy, Father Ingulf, an' a dizen mair, tenanted the holy cloisters of Crosraguell ! After a while's daffin', we had nought to do but gang an' get shrived an' a' was right. Gentle an' semple, rich an' puir — east, west, northj an' south — ay, frae the holy city o' Rome hae they come a pilgrimage to Saint Ninian's shrine ! An' 15 then the braw braid gouden bits that were current at that time! Twa or three saint's days were worth as mony Kirk-Dominie fairs now-a-days. It was worth gaun twenty miles to see the venera- ; ble Abbot sailin' down the aisle in his sanctified robes, wi' the gouden mitre on his head; an' [ then the fat rosy-gill'd Fathers — by Saint Brid- get! there was a graciousness about them that did a body's vera heart guid. As for Father In- j.gulf, he was seldom in this neighbourhood with- out tasting our gammon and capon; but a goose pie was his favourite dish, an' then a flask of Ca- I nary to wash it down, There was a bonny wang- ling at Minnybole, wi' Johnny Knox an' the Ab- bot. A' the gentry i' the west were there. I be- lieve the Abbot had the best o't. Waes me, puir Scotland has come to her dool ! when a body gangs to ony o' thae conventicles, there is naething but black starvation lookin' out o' the vera pu'pits." " Ay, but there is marrow in the doctrine, guid- wife; and what signifies the want o' world's wealth, when we hae the true knowledge, an' the sterlin' word that excelleth all the gouden images of Baal, or devices of cunnin' men." "Peace! heretic imp," exclaimed the landlady in a rage. At this period a groan was heard to issue from an inner apartment, as from one awakening out of his sleep. The landlady went to the outer- door, and returned in a few minutes, accompanied 16 by two men, who had more the appearance of sea- faring people than shepherds. "Sit down, lads," said the hostess, "I'se war- rant you are baith tired and hungry; how are the goats com in' on? This is a son of Simon Fraser's come to bide wi' us the nicht." The men eyed the pedlar in a manner that awakened a suspicion in the mind of the youth that all was not right; and his fears were farther increased when the party commenced a conversa- tion in a language unknown to him, in which the landlady joined. The storm had been augmenting during the evening, and there being no house within some miles of the hostelry, there was no alternative left for the youth but to remain where he was. A scanty meal was provided for him, when a second party of three men and one wo- man entered the kitchen; and what particularly surprised the stranger, they had no appearance of having been exposed to the storm, which was beat- ing on the roof of the house with great violence. The landlady now took a light, and beckoning to the pedlar, led him to an out-house, which, al- though removed a considerable way from the apart- ment where they sat, was still under the same continued roof, as the hostelry consisted of one long range of thatched buildings. When the land- lady retired he heard her lock the door upon him, and he sat down to ruminate with a mind boding no good from the situation in which he was placed. 1? In groping round the apartment, he found no avenue left to escape by, even had he been will- ing to sacrifice the pack containing his little all. Fie threw himself upon his knees to seek the pro- tection of Him who never forsakes us, if we seek him with a contrite heart and a fervent spirit. While thus employed, a faint stream of light caught his eye, and creeping with silent caution, he climbed upon one of the joists with consider- able exertion, where he saw the party that he had just left, feasting and carousing in all the riotous revelry of drunken bacchanals. A fat bald-head- ed personage, whom he had not before seen, ap- peared to be the master of the feast. " Come, Father Ingulf, give us a song," was demanded by the riotous party. " Ah ! children, I have no heart to sing — I am as a bird bereft of a nest — I am a pilgrim without a shrine." " There is a holy lady," said the hostess, " whose resurrection this day from the heather will make thy heart rejoice, and thy old age com- fortable; yes, Father Ingulf, it is a profitable journey thou hast made from France to see our Holy Mother Church, and heath-clad Mochrum." w Well, lady, my journey shows zeal for the good cause; but come, boys, pledge to our Holy Mother — she is a sterling one."' Here the company, after draining their cups to the bottom, again requested a song from the old 18 Father, which he declined, when one of the party commenced the following ditty, the chorus of which was joined in by the whole party: — " Our Father oft preaches a sweet lass is hell, And the devil lurks under good liquor ; Yet 'tis strange, for the Friar oft kisses Brown Bell, And each night he gets drunk with the Vicar. And each night, &c. " On his text he'll enlarge, till the last grain of sand Reminds him that time cannot tarry; But it wisely suggests his appointment's at hand, To meet Bell and his flask of Canary. To meet Bell," &c. 11 By the rood ! that's a jolly song," said Fa- ther Ingulf. " But come, fill your cups, and I'll give you another toast — Here's a fair wind for Manks, and then for Dunkirk. Come, sweet hostess, are the provisions you promised ready? — we must sail ere the sun brightens the holy cross on Crosraguell." " All is ready, holy Father; but I have a choice kid which I intend to kill, that you may have a little fresh provender by the way." A kid was brought from the inner apartment, and one of the men dragged it into a corner of the room, where stood a large flat stone, and tak- ing a clasp knife from his pocket, he cut the throat of the animal. In the struggles of death, the poor kid gave a stifled groan. iC I say, Al lister Gunn," said one of the party, " does not that groan put you in mind of old Fraser last night?" 19 " Poh, poh!" exclaimed the priest, "you're .all well shrived, and he is in his grave; remem- ber he was but a heretic, and a minion of the Prince of Heretics. But come, turn up the black jack, for there dwells good fellowship, resolution, and manhood — here, pledge me, boys. And now, good hostess, bring forward this said spolia op- tima, that I may divide it according to the laws of Corinth." The landlady having brought a large green pack, bound round with black leather straps, it was burst open, and its contents, consisting of silks, English broad- cloths, trinkets, &c. were spread upon the board. " Here, dame, here is as much parde soi as will make thee a hood and kirtle. Mary come up! two golden crosses and an Agnes Dei! — O, imp! these were doomed to the crucible — this belongs to the Church, my children," putting them into a scrip that lay on the table before him: " There, Sawney Bean, there's as much Lincoln-green as will make thee a jerkin and trews, as fine as thy old friend Gilderoy; and here's for thee, blushing Jess, the silver bodkin for thy hair, and the gold brooch for thy kerchief. But what have we here? a roleau of gold Jacobuses: well, children, the tythe of a hundred is ten — stand thou there," slipping his hand into the scrip: " the arrears of shrive, ten more," making another errand in the same direction, " I have a long and a perilous 20 journey before me, children," continued the holy Father, " so I will borrow other ten; and there re- mains ten for each of you. But what have we next?" taking up a book with silver clasps; " Holy St. Mary! a Bible in the vulgar tongue — this has been the Church's undoing — this has wrought our overthrow, and the downfall of the holy Catholic faith in these parts. What!" con- tinued he, observing a written inscription on a blank leaf, " the holograph of two of the subtlest of our enemies — this would have been worth two steps of preferment ten years ago, but now it is only worthy of the flame — 6 A present from John Knox and Andrew Melville, to Simon Fraser, for his fidelity, secrecy, and zeal, in conveying intel- ligence to the friends of Reformation in the days of the faggot and torture. Edinburgh, July 14, Jn. Knox. And. Melville.' Then to the flames I commit thee;" throwing the Bible into the fire, which speedily sent up a blaze that illuminated the farthest recess of the apartment, and showed the horrified pedlar an opening in one of the most distant angles of the roof. * Ay, there," exclaimed one of the wretches, thrusting the Bible farther into the flames with his rapier; " I would that this was the heart of every heretic in Scotland." During this scene of wickedness, the feelings of young Fraser were wrought into a state of fren- zied horror. He had heard the murder of his fa- i 21 ther confirmed — had witnessed his property di- vided among a band of ruffians, and still he look- ed on in breathless silence. But when he saw the holy word of God committed to the flames, he lost all recollection, and loudly vociferated — " Murderers! fiends! blasphemers of the true God! stay your sacrilegious hands !" At this instant a dreadful peal of thunder shook the hostelry to its foundation. " Fire, fury, and faggot! — betrayed, betrayed!" shouted the whole party, tumbling over one another in their way to the door. " Ha, ha, ha !" exclaimed the hostess, discover- ing the pedlar; " what ! scared by a bantam cock on yonder bawk? Now, Allister Gunn and Saw- ney Bean, there's wark for the rapier ; yonder's the key tied to the ram's horn. I dreamed of this, and so make sure wark of it. Go, go, the dead tell no tales !" A momentary thought rushed across the mind of the youth — he sprang towards the opening in the roof; first one ball, then another, whistled close past him as he pushed his way through the thatch, and rolled to the ground. He fell unhurt at the back of the house, and instantly fled into a neigh- bouring thicket. " Run, Alister, run ! thou whose speed out- matches the mountain-goat; run, catch him, and slay him, or we are all undone? Follow, Sawney Bean; had we but thy slough-hound here! Run, 22, run as you fear the gibbet and the brand run ! ex- claimed the hostess in wildness and despair. The youth heard footsteps pressing close behind him, and he scrambled up on a large bush a few paces off the path. The two ruffians passed him, urging one another on with curses and blasphemy. Their search proved ineffectual, and in a short time they returned. — They halted near the place of Frazer's concealment, to recruit themselves after their race, when he overheard the following con- versation : — " This part of Scotland will be too hot for us if he escapes." " Then to France we must go ; our old Captain Gilderoy, will give us a hearty welcome." " Which way could this imp of the Old One take ? there are so many paths that the devil him- self could hardly hit upon the right one." " Then, it's not to be thought that we can, who are only his minions," rejoined the other. " But come, the storm has now brawled itself into a steady breeze ; we need fear no danger when we have Father Ingulf and the Blessed Virgin on board the St. Nicholas. My mind's made up : ere the sun brightens the top of Mochrum, the hostelry, I guess, will be a mass of ruins. This fellow will quickly find his way to the next village — and then comes the lout with the muckfork, the pick, and the flail. By St. Bridget, we have no time to slumber! I love French wine and French women. 23 I hate long graces and sour faces, which is now the fashion in Scotland. Then, farewell thy heath- clad mountains, and thy bonnie green vales!" They now passed on towards the hostelry, and were soon out of hearing. Fraser descended from his hiding-place, and hurried to the next village. The inhabitants were soon roused from their peace- ful slumbers by the pedlar's tale of horror; and arming themselves with utensils of rustic labour, made all .speed to the hostelry, which they found deserted and in darkness. Morning was now beginning to dawn; and the carry was sweeping rapidly across the higher re- gions of the sky. The dense mist that covered the ocean was dispelling before the keen north wind, which now blew a hurricane. A small brigantine was seen at no great distance from the shore, la- bouring in a tremendous sea; at one moment en- gulfed in the valley of two mountainous waves, and anon suspended on the summit of the heaving bil- low. She was fast drifting towards a reef of rocks not an hundred yards from the beach, which was now covered by the villagers, led thither by the pedlar. As the vessel rolled onward to her cer- tain destruction, an awful sea struck her amidships, carrying aw^y one of the masts, and sweeping al- most every article overboard. The screams of the people on board were now distinctly heard on the shore ; they had got the small boat overboard, and five or six men were seen leaving the ship in 24 it. A female figure was observed running to and fro on the deck, and shrieking in wild despair The boat was making fast towards the shore, when the woman once more rushed to the side next the boat, holding an object in her arms that appeared bright and shining as the purest of silver. M See, see the boat makes back to the wreck ! What madness is this? It is tempting of provi- dence !" exclaimed an old fisherman. The woman stretched out her arms, handing in- to the boat the object that had attracted their no- tice. At that moment an overwhelming wave smote the boat, and dashed her in a thousand pieces against the side of the brigantine ! Every individual on board were in an instant swept to destruction by the impetuous surge ; and in a short time the beach was covered with frag- ments of the wreck, and the mangled bodies of the murderers. A strange fatality marked the fate of the priest. The silver image, the cause of h ; s journey to Scotland, was found clasped in his arms when his body was thrown ashore. Towards noon the hull of the brigantine broke up, when part of her stern was drifted on the beach, discovering her to be the "St. Nicholas of Dunkirk;" which gave name to the reef of rocks on which she was lost. Thus the winds of Heaven and the waves of the ocean are instruments in the hands of Providence in punishing the wickedness of the children of the earth, Crawford. INGRATITUDE AND SEDUCTION. I have been betrayed and ruined by the basest of mankind. My father was a merchant of consider- able note in this town; but by unavoidable losses and misfortunes, he died two years ago, broken- hearted and insolvent. I was his only child, and the delight of his life. My education, my dress and manner of living were such as would hardly have discredited a young woman of fashion. Alas ! the dear parent, to whose fondness I was indebted for every advantage and enjoyment, intended to have given me a considerable fortune; but he died, as I have told you, and has left me to lament that I was not a beggar from my cradle. I was ignorant of his circumstances, and there- fore felt not my misfortune in its full force till a month after his death: at which time his creditors entered upon his house, sold all his furniture and effects, and left me nothing but my clothes and trinkets, which they had no right to take from me. In the days of my prosperity I had a maid-ser- vant, of whom I was extremely fond; and to whom. No. III. C 26 upon her marriage with a reputable tradesman, I gave a little portion of fifty pounds, which were left me by a relation. This young woman was lately become a widow; and being left in but in- different circumstances, she hired a large hbuse near the Exchange, and let lodgings for her sup- port. It was to this woman that I flew for shel- ter; being no more than eighteen years of age, and, as my father used often to tell me, too hand- some to have friends. I do not mention this circumstance, indeed I do not, as any thing to be vain of: Heaven knows that I am humbled by it to the very dust. I only introduce it as the best excuse I could think of for the unkindness of my acquaintance. I was received by this favourite servant with great appearance of gratitude and esteem. She seemed to pity my misfortunes, and to take every opportunity of comforting and obliging me. Among the gentlemen that lodged at her house, there was one whom she used to talk of with great pleasure. One day, after I had lived with her about a week, she told me that this gentleman had a great inclination to be known to me, and that if I had no objection to company, he would drink tea with me that afternoon. She had hardly done speaking, when the gentleman entered the room. I was angry in my heart at this freedom; but his genteel appearance and behaviour soon got the 2? better of my resentment, and made me listen to his conversation with more than common atten- tion. To be as short as I can, this first visit made me desirous of a second, that second of a third, and the third of a thousand more: all of which he seemed as eager to pay as I was willing to receive. The house was so crowded with lodgers, that the mistress of it had only one parlour for herself and me; and as she had almost constant employ., ment at home, my lover had very few opportuni- ties of entertaining me alone. But the presence of a third person did not hinder him from declar- ing the most tender and unalterable love for me, nor did it awe me from discovering how pleased and happy I was at the conquest I had made. In this delightful situation near a twelvemonth passed away; during which time he would often lament his dependance upon an old uncle, who, he said, would most assuredly disinherit him, if he married a woman without a fortune. I wanted no better reason for this delay; and was waiting for an event that promised me the pas- session of all I wished for, when my happiness was interrupted by the most villainous contrivance that ever was heard of. I had walked out one morning to buy some shades of silk, in order to finish the covering of a settee which I was working for my benefactress; and was returning home through a by-court, when, 28 to my inexpressible surprise, I found myself stopt by two men, who, producing what they called a writ against me, hurried me into a coach, and con- veyed me, half dead with terror, to a wretched house whose windows were guarded with iron bars. As soon as I had power to speak, I desired to know by whom and for what crime I was thus cruelly insulted. They showed me without hesi- tation their authority: by which it appeared that the woman with whom I lived had ordered me to be arrested for a debt of thirty pounds, which she had sworn I owed her for board and lodging. " It is impossible" cried I; " she cannot have served me so ! There must be some mistake in this ! Send for her this moment ! I am sure it is a mistake !" " Very possible, madam," answered one of the fellows with a smile; " but if you would take my advice, it should be to send for a gentle- man instead of the plaintiff. A young lady like you, madam, need not stay here for a debt of thirty pounds." " Go where I send you, sir," said I; "tell her what has happened to me, and bid her hasten to me, if she would save my life." The fellow shook his head as he went out, but promised to do as I directed. His companion asked what I pleased to call for, and explained his meaning by telling me I was in a public-house. I bid him call for what he liked, and charge it to 29 me; he thanked me very civily, and locking the door after him, left me to myself. I had now a little leisure to reflect upon this adventure; but the more I thought of it, the greater was my perplexity. I remained in this uncomfortable suspense for near an hour, when I heard the door open with some precipitation, and saw my lover enter the room with an astonishment not to be imagined. "Good God!" said he, snatching me to his arms, " is this an apartment for my charmer?— That inhuman woman!" — " What woman?" said I, interrupting him; " can it be possible?" — " She owns it herself," answered he; " this professing friend, this grateful servant, owns that she has arrested you." I was ready to faint at what I heard; but recovering myself as well as I could, I enquired into the motives of this woman's cruelty. " Her motive," he replied, " was avarice; I had some words with her two days ago, and threatened her in jest that I would leave her lodgings. She thought me in earnest; and believing I was soon to marry the angel whom I doated on, she determined to make what money she could of me, by arresting my sweet girl. She was not mistaken when she guessed with what haste I should discharge the debt." " Here sir," continued he, turning to the bailiff; " is the full sum, and a gratuity for yourself. Come, madam. 30 let us exchange this detested place, for apartments more worthy of you." The coach that brought him to my prison was at the door. He immediately put me into it, and conducted me to a lace-shop upon Ludgate-hill. I remained in the coach while he stept into the shop, and continued for a minute or two in con- versation with the mistress of it; when returning to me with great cheerfulness, he gave me joy of his success, and handed me up stairs into pleasant and convenient apartments. The exact order in which I found every thing in these apartments put me upon observing that the owner of them was a prophetess, and knew that I should have need of them that very morning. My lover made no answer to my remark, but straining me in his arms, and almost pressing me to death, he called them my bridal apartments, and bid me wel- come to them as such. He then went down to order dinner and a bottle of champaign from the tavern, and returned to me with so much love and joy in his looks that I was charmed with him beyond expression. When dinner was removed, and the servant who attended us withdrawn, he said and looked so many fond and endearing things, and mingled such caresses with his words and looks ; forcing upon me at the same time three or four glasses of wine I was not used to, that my heart, warm as it was before with love and gratitude, 31 consented to his desires, and in one fatal moment betrayed me to a villain. I lived in this guilty commerce till the effects of it made me apprehensive of being a mother in a few weeks. I had often pressed him for the per- formance of his promises; and was now resolved to be more particularly urgent with him upon that subject; but instead of listening to me as I hoped he would, he called hastily for his sword, and took leave of me till the evening. I expected his return with the utmost impatience. The evening came; another and another after that; but I neither saw him nor heard from him. Upon the fourth day of his leaving me, I received a visit from the mistress of the house, who, to my great astonishment, addressed me in these words. " 1 thought, madam, at your entrance into this house, that you were a married woman. The lady who hired the lodgings for you two days before, gave me assurance that you were married." — " What lady !" cried I, " You amaze me ! I heard not of these lodgings till I had taken possession of them. Be quick, and tell me who was this lady?" "Alas!" answered my visitor," I knew not till this morning that you were fallen into the snares of the worst of women, and the most artful of men." She saw my amazement; but desiring my attention, proceeded thus: " As for the gentleman (if he de- serves the name of one) you will never see him more." 32 " How, madam, never see him more!" interrup- ted I. — My voice failed me as I uttered these words and leaning backwards in my chair, I fainted a- way. She recovered me from my swoon, and then went on. " He has just now sent his servant to discharge the lodgings; of whom when I esquired how you were to be taken care of in your approach- ing hour, his answer was, that he had no commis- sion to speak to such questions. Pray, madam," continued she, " is it true that you were arrested in the street the morning of your entrance into these lodgings?" I told her yes. " The servant then is honest," she replied; "he has given me your whole history. The contrivers of that arrest were the woman where you lodged, and the villain whom you trusted. Their design was to fling you entirely into his power, that he might use it to your destruction. But do not despair, madam," added she, seeing me in the utmost affliction; c an' the fo'k hadna begun to steer muckle, sae we got him cannily slippet back into the yird again; an' I plantit the bit slip o' the tree o' Cain whare the win wadna soon up-root him — below a sairskin o' marines an* twa toon-beagles, buried at the foot o' the lichtnin'-rod that leads frae the steeple. Aweel, sir, it afterhin turnt oot, that the twa weaver-callans, after puttiu' claes on him, an' a white neckclaith aboot his neck, (for they kent thae blackamoors wad gae to the deev'l for a white neckclaith) they made, ilk ane, a leg o' his fast to ane o' their ain; when, coaxin' him alang as if he war only fuddlet awee, they gat him oxtert the length o' the kirk-wa, neist the water. They had mountet him o' the dyke-head, an' as they steadied him till they lap owre themsel's, the awfu'est flash o' lichtnin glanct owre their heads; an* sic a rummel o' thunner followt it, that the hale three tumbled clean owre at the dyke-foot! At this time they heard something splash i' the water like a boat's oars; when anither dreadfu' 16 flash o' lichtnin' let them see a boat makin' across the water to the place whare they lay ! As the boat toucht the bank, the weaver- callans had got- ten their prize bundled into sae sma bouk, that ye cou'd hae ta'en him 'neath your arm like a row o' tobacco. My certie, I trow, they were i' a bonny pickle, huggin' the bit African like sworn bree- ther, wi' a death-grip, as the foremost o' the-boat party cam' up; an* restit a sax-gallon keg, o' the tap o' the dyke, just up aboon their heads whare they lay ! Weel, they wad hae ran nae doot; but thae feart they wad been shot for gaugers; when anither bleeze o' lichtnin', wi' sic an awfu fume o' brimstane, made them a' groo; for they really thocht the dead himsel' startet, an' was gaun to rise an' rin! — " c Curse the keg?' cried the foremost smuggler, as it row'd aff the dyke head, on to the grun, whar the dead an' the leeven war gathert into ae bundle. When the weaver-callans, noo thinkin' it time to cut an' rin, — oot wi* their knives, an' snips the lashin's o' his cuits ! The smuggler then thinkin' himsel' trappet by the gaugers— dashin' his han' in aneath his gawberdin — oots wi' a pis- tol — an' fires it at ane o' the party ! At this sign, the coble again pushes aff frae the shore, an' the smuggler tak's the water after't, like a water- kelpie. " I had the hale bruilzie tellt me neist after- noon ; an' I thocht when we had gotten the bit sooty-skin laid skaithless aneath the green blanket 17 again, an' the keggie weel stowt, that maitters war noo dispost o\ Hoose'er, ye'll no hinner the story frae spunkin oot, an* takin win'. On the Sunday following the minister o' a neebor parish, wha shall be nameless, — but wha was muckle in want o 9 a hair to mak a tether o', again oor Mess John, honest man, — took the freedom to preach a discoorse again the heynous sin o' smugglin; choosin' for his text, c render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's ;' in whilk discoorse, as example o* the declar't displeasure, he took on him to refer to the visible judgment whilk had just owreta'en a man i* the sinfu' act, in a neebor parish; an' wha, wi' his ill-gatten gear, of whilk Caesar was de- prived, was fand stane dead an' black i' the face, by ane Hannibal Grub. The same discoorse raisin sic a soogh o* the kintra-side, till at last nought wad sair the doctors o' oor parish but hae him up again, to see if it war the case or no, as was said* " Sae, after they examint, an' better examint, the bit ootcast crater, I gat him again to bury, wi'oot fee or rewaird. I just thocht, afore I hap- pit him up, I wad keek into his kist to see hoo he was takin' wi' this kin' o' wark; when, I declare to ye, sir, his face was noo as white as yours or mine! Sae, I put him doon ance mair; an* sae there was an' en' to the blackamoor -body as I thocht. He had been i' a saft moul' an' I noo put him i' a dry ane; sprinklin' twa shoolfa' o* un- slaken lime owre him, sae as he wadna keep lang 18 thegither; I coudna been mair carefu' o' him an' he'd been my brither; but a' wadna sair; still he be to be up ance mair, — an up for gude an' aye ! It was aboot aught days after, when, you'll no hinner the heelan deevil o' a smuggler, that firet the pistol — frae takin' bedfast o' & guilty consciens — some trouble that the doctors an' the lawyers ken best aboot: when there he couldna rest, nicht nor day, till the neebor minister is ca'd in, to wham he confesses, that on siccan a nicht, at siccan a place, he had shot a man ; an' had seen him drap an' row doon the brae alang wi' the keg he was smugglin'. — Aweel, up gae the notice to the toon, an' doon comes as mony writer-bodies as rnicht hae eaten up the bit blackamocr-body wantin' saut. WeeJ, up they be to hae the bit hoody-craw again — an' I neer ken't what cam' o him after he gaed into law. The gauger put in his claim for the maut; an* the fiscal put in his claim for mulct; then there were cognitions and precognitions; cognosins an' cognomans; an' sic like dry four- cornert words; till wi' coggin here an' toom-cog- gin there, they made a dry squeezet cog o' the puir auld grave-digger's keg o' whisky; an they partit the bit blackamoor's garments amang them, in name o' his majesty, honest man. Here's 'the King;' an the shanker's dry. "Mak' clean wark Grub;— tak' a shave aff the richt shoother; thae tailor bodies like elbow room;— canny lad;— sark ye, sark ye!— there's trade i' that north win', an' Deacon Langsteeks is 19 earnest for a score! he'll be on oor tap, an' his bed no made yet!" Turning away from the gross details of this hoary vampire,-- -this goul — who seemed to walk about with a dead man's heart, — or as one of those men known from the company they keep, — I was reflecting whether, in such circumstances, the liv- ing or the dead have the greater claim for a sigh; as I bent my steps towards the remoter part of the church-yard. The sun was now rising, and a red glare shone on the church clock, where the time-hand, like a finger dipped in bloody pointed to the gilded hours, like characters of gore, shew- ing the silent-stealing progress that Time, the blood-thirsty tyrant, was making on the life of un- thinking, unsuspecting man; while the flickering beams that now darted on the grave-digger and his assistant's implements, as the one threw up earth like blood, and the other dressed the sur- rounding graves, with heavy strokes of his spade, seemed like gnomons marking the progress he had already made on the dial face of nature. A few perishing flowers, planted on the bosoms of graves, here and there, pointed out the fate of some young, blooming face and form; whose gayest, sweetest hours, had been culled to deck some too fond, or faithless bosom, exchanging their sweetness for a grave. There was not a breath of air stirring to have waked a leaf, had there been one on the churchyard trees; the branches of which bent down, by some invisible sympathy, — as if in fond- 20 ness for the earth from whence they sprung, — let fall pearly drops, — pure, and unsullied with a stain, like the heaven they came from, — as if they wept the hour, the spot, and the hand that planted them there. It was a moment in which nature was eloquent, and man was mute — when her rain- drops descended alike on the waking and the sleeping — the living and the dead; — on the marble record, and the unlettered dust, as if her tears were shed alike over vain human pomp, or where 'tis absent all ! A heavy cloud of mist had linger- ingly risen from the earth, like an immense cover- lid, the ends of which now stretched from hill to hill; when, as the sun rose higher, he assumed a deeper crimson, bronzing the dark green graves, and lighting up the spire, as if a fiery stream were descending down it to the earth ; and acting on the church windows, the gilding of the tombs, and such valueless articles as were strewed on that ruin-field — creation seemed to be ignited and in fiery garniture! — All that monument or tomb could produce — the rich man's splendid petition for a sigh, or the poor man's silent grave " una- dorned, adorned the most," — had not amounted to that solemn, awful, feeling of the scene, when the mind could associate with it the end of time; and the sky passing away like a scroll ; and the sun turning into blood; and the moon going down to rise no more; and the stars falling from their courses; and fire from heaven descending on the prostrated habitations of guilty man ! 21 Nor should we slight the simple and affecting testimonials of the parishioners of " canny Kip- perton:" recorded, in the language of the heart, are the family-grave- stones of « The Auld Kirk- Yard." Though a stranger might risk a smile at the tomb of one of its functionaries; yet, to those who knew the man, the effigy of his civic and ho- nourable distinction will not have been sculptured in vain, so long as the head that filled it holds a place in memory. Nor shall the hand of time, to which every thing is subservient in Kipperton, ex- cepting the church-clock, speedily erase the me- morial of the excellent public-spirited man, and worthy baker, who was its donor; and the remem- brance of whom, there needs no cenotaph be erected to perpetuate; since, be it remembered, that when other clocks strike the hour of twelve, and publish J:o the world, that duodecimo abridge- ment of human life, the Kipperton always adds a commentary on the man who gave the baker's dozen, and strikes accordingly — thirteen. I feel a solemn delight, in visiting the mansions of the dead, which, some, I presume, visit a thea- tre for the purpose of experiencing. No exhibition of mimic woe has ever excited my feelings like the silent eloquence of " affections self" when bending over the grave of a friend. The virtual breakings of the link that united heart to heart — the last communion with the dead, still vibrating the cords that support the coffin; and the moment for the heart-strings, when these ties too must be let go! — 22 the erecting of that mural which divides fond hearts for ever — and the farewell ! when the tongue, like a poor actor, cannot play his part, — are sights which call a responsive sympathy from us, from the reality that the performance which is anothers to-day, may be ours to-morrow. We never lose the feeling in the rank, class, or circumstance, of the man. There is an affecting picture in the appearance of the man who has been reared even in the wildest desert, — whose mind susceptible only of the convulsions of nature — tutored by the rudest of nature's works — soothed by the whirlwind, and cradled by the storm — whose ideas of omnipotence, are no other than of he who shivers the oak with the winged lightning, at a single dart — the hunts- man; even he, whose first impression is, that here, he is at sad check, where he shudders to follow! It is the dark, and never re-crossed ocean of the seaman; who, even here, with an oath on his tongue's end, is ready to vent a curse upon him- self, when, after c running out' the cords, he re- flects, that his poor mess-mate has just parted com- pany, without chart or compass ! It is the forlorn hope — 6 the imminent deadly breach' — of the sol- dier; who had but one sigh, — often all that a soldier has to give, — one friend, oftener more than this world has to bestow, — one prayer, oftenest for another's weal — that the same bolt might have struck them both at the same time! — 23 THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. Cold is the heart was never cold till now ! — No marble's here the chisel forced to groan; No tear is here the hammer taught to flow ; No stubborn cherub shews a heart of stone ; No sculptured greatness condescends to wear A face of woe : yet there are drops that fall From heaven ; and sighs that never beg a tear In vain, from Nature, for the absence of them all ! No gilded tears the painter here hath shed ; No rock need yield its words or waters now: No friendly stone, from hands ne'er gave him bread, Shall mock his corse with artificial wo. Nature shall rear his monument alone — When those who note his rude neglected grave, May heave a sigh, which Art hath never known, And drop the heartfelt tear that splendours vainly crave, Start not! — His sword is red — but 'tis with rust: No more he'll dream of freedom — he is free. The bugle vainly wakes him from the dust ; A louder trump must sound his revelliez! Yes, these are homilies familiar to the brave; And as the dead-march bear his plum'd corse on, Ay, as the soldiers step from grave to grave, Each warrior feels he's on the ladder to his own ! No stone shall cry out, " thus the brave man dies !" No callous statue play the absent friend : His tomb shall be affection's living sighs ; A comrade's tear shall mark a comrade's end. The muffled drum hath set the soldier free! — The volley thrice proclaimed the note on high ! — The brave have buried him — the bravest — he ! And the loud trumpets sent his record to the sky! 24 What a leveller of distinction is the grave ! said I, as I looked round and beheld in one corner of the burying-ground, a pile of skulls and bones hud- dled together, the remains of persons, of whom, it is probable, no event but death could have brought the heads together. I took up a small, and a large one, in my hands, from the mingled heap. How would Miss have shuddered now, thought I, at the contact of the rough-cast visage which may have once clothed this grim swarthy head ! — * Oh heavens ! I shall faint! — Take the brute away ! — My God, what a quiz !' Alas! madam, taking for granted the ill-favour of his carnation to have been * the head and front of his offending;' to me, he appears, the handsomest and sweetest-savoured gentleman in this grave assembly ! Here, is another; a fine Grecian, as it might be once;-— * Hyperion curls, and the front of Jove P < Strike me dead! Madam, I don't flatter ye !' Faugh! — out upon these 'soft nothings!' — Here, Madam, is the naked truth at last ! Then, here's another 6 Just dropped in, to ask after your tooth-ache/ Ah! Madam, said I, have the chronicles of Galen no elixir to save that dear tooth from the gnawing worm? Has Arabia no perfume to take from this head the rank odour of the grave? Where are those who would have waged war 25 against the pale moon itself, had a breath] of air dishevelled a single ringlet on those temples; or the dews of night left a single bijou on that cheek? — where are those who would have set their lives and fortunes on a cast — who would have ran- sacked the bowels of the groaning earth, for a gem worthy of that brow on which the worm has made his throne? — now flung upon a dung-heap, like a vile weed! Then, here's a countenance, in which is sum- mons, decree, and execution. I've seen a lawyer's face look worse ! Ay, here's a case of multiple- poinding, at the instance of a relentless creditor! Is there no term in law's vocabulary can find ut- terance for this wrongous ejectment? — or, has death's unfeeling officer, the sexton, only done < for him, what he has done for thousands ?' Ah me! hath the recording angel no appeal, upon the book, of a houseless head? —Have the orphan's petition and the widow's prayer not been preferred for a hearing in the supreme court?— ' You may go down, sir; I shall not ask you another question.' Then, here, once more, may not fancy lend a promethean aid to embody this skull, where the slimy skeleton-maker is lacing these excarnate cheeks, and leaving marked measurement of the work he has done: methinks, this should have been an actor; and where these glittering traces exist, may have once rolled torrents of grief, imaginary, c 26 or for the woes of others: now, the poor buffi) hath not one organ left to beg a tear for himself, who never begged before ! * Look on its broken arch — its ruin wall, — Its temples desolate, and portals foul ! — Yes ! this was once ambitions airy hall ! — The dome of thought! — the palace of the soul!' Gracious Heaven! I exclaimed; and the skull fell to the ground, as I felt something breathe on my cheek, and tap me on the shoulder! " Ye'll no tak' it ill, sir, — I'm a puir auld wi- dow-woman, watchin' the grave o' her sodger-cal- Ian, an' his murdered bairn J" The last two words were pronounced with great vehemence, as I tremblingly turned round, and beheld a truly venerable woman. She was ap- parelled in deep mourning; cleanly and comforta- bly attired. She was in that winter-time of life, when Time who shed his hoar upon her head, had also froze the smaller streams of the life-blood on her cheek — never to thaw again. That cheek, once a leaf of full-blown red, as appeared from the still bright vessels like cuttings of scarlet-thread laid on it — was now like a rose-leaf on which the worm had been revelling; and where her hair, no longer her pride — and which she carefully thrust under her cap, as she addressed me, — intruded on that withered cheek, it was like snow on a faded flower. She had paused while I thus gazed on her, seeming, like Mark Antony, to wait for her 27 heart coming back to her, from the coffin of her friend. " Ay, sir," said she, — " his murdered bairn! — by a villain step-fayther ! O ! sir, ye're i' the doc- tor way, I see; if ye cam' wi' ony intent again' the puir lassie, only hearken to her story, first; an* her sodger fayther's; an' I am sure ye canna hae the heart to sinder them wham God has brought thegither! Just bear wi' me, sir; — bear wi' me: my branches are a' cut doon an' i' the clay; an' the auld trunk will soon follow them." I assured her I was perhaps the last man on earth that would be guilty of any outrage on her feelings. H It may be, sir;" said she, " they're here that ken, an' here that dinna ken; but I'm sure it will do ye nae harm to hear her story?" I eagerly expressed my desire to hear it; and sitting down beside her on a grave-stone, she thus began : — " It was about the martinmas-time, shortly afore the great dearth, when we remooved to the toon here, frae the north kintra. There was a time, sir, when I, that am sittin' here, hae sat in my parlor, an' countit my ten ploughs gaun on the rigs. But thae days are awa'; the gudeman put his han' to a paper, an' turn't his family out at the door wi' his thoom an' fore finger. " I had ae dochter cam' to woman's estate, an' a son, wha lies there noo aneath the sod, was neist till her. On the day-sax- month we were harrit 28 oot o' a braw plenishin' an' a weel stockit mailin r I laid the gudeman's head i' the clay. When the bread-winner is ta'en awa,' alake an' waes me! hoo feckless is a mither's comman' to a steerin' throughither family! We had a young man for our laird; an' it was ae nicht, at the finish in' o' ane o 1 his new-bigget houses, that he asket oor Jenny till his hoose-heatinM— Ye'll look owre a mither's weakness, sir; I canna rake up the fauts o' ane wham, at this oor, I kenna whether she be in the body or the spirit.— The only discredit was e'er laid at our door was the offspring o' that nicht's folly.— Weel sir, 1 took in her bairn an' gied it oot to nurse. It deed! But, frae the nicht o' the hoose-heatin, I neer clapit an' ee on my puir deludit Jenny ! A letter was fand in the bit bairnie's breast, statin' that she had become a wanderer an' a fugitive on the face o' the yirth, rather than face her dishonoured brither, an' his broken hearted mither. If she be on yirth she is maybe better oot o' my sicht; for I own, sir, that rather than see her in the way I dread, I wad sooner see her at my Johnny's side there, in the respeckit grave whare his brither sodgers laid him; though he's cost me mair tears, than e'er the gudeman did; for he had his fayther's spirit, but his mither's heart. My Johnnie had a spirit that coudna be crusht — it wadna bend; it micht break but it wad ne'er boo; it was like a ba', the harder ye struck it to the yirth, the heecher it raise again. Sae, wi' 29 your leave, naething wad ser' him, but bringin' oor young laird to a reck'nin'. He ne'er keepit a secret frae his mither till that oor. He had got- ten gude learnin' an ? he sent the laird a challenge, as they ca't. When, what think ye does the hen- heartit cooardly loon, but he sens oot a score o' beagles, an' lays the feet o* my gallant bairn fast i' the Glasgow tolbooth ! WeeJ, his trial cam' on; my Johnny pleaded guilty; for ye micht catch him gien an aith, but ye wad ne'er catch him in a fib. When the sherra, before wham he was triet, seein' my bairn was man-muckle, — an' as likely a lad as e'er stappit in shoe-leather, — gied him his choice — whether he would get bail to keep the peace ; or, whether he wad gang for a sodger, or enter aboard a man -o'- war. There were mony gentlemen kn' leddies i' the court that day; an' the white siller was tossin' owre in han'fu's, into the bar whare Johnie stood. Yet, my bairn ne'er lootet his head; but beggit the gentry to direck their sympathy to the comfortin' o' his puir auld bereaved mither.— When, up then sprung the cor- nel o' the Heelan Watch, an' rubbin' the lang black feathers o' his bannet alang his een, ' ne'er be it said, (quo' he) that a leader o' sic hearts as this, e'er sat still to hear its ain condemnation. — Come wi' me, my brave countryman ! an* I'll mak' ye what they can ne'er mak' o' your craven accuser !' At this gallant sayin' I thocht my vera heart lap to my mouth, to think that the flower o' the army were just sic flesh an' blude as my brave bairn! so an' I coudna conteen myseP frae cryin' oot alood?. P the coort-ha', — ' gang wP him Johnny, or HI gae wP him myselV Sae they set him free frae the bar; an' the neist time I saw my bairn, was in the bannet an' plaid, the kilt an' hose. It was doot- less a sair heart to me, an' to his acquantance aboot the neeborhood, baith lads an' lasses, wha offered to subscribe to buy his discharge; but he had a prooder spirit than tak it on sic terms. An' sae I prayed to the Lord, as my callan had ne'er, e'en yet, gaen again' my bidding — an' the dress he then wore had ne'er been a disgraced ane — that he might be his shield in the day o' bat- tle, an' spare him to be an honour an' a restin'- staff to his mither in her decline — an' that he might close his een in death before he allooed him to dishonour his name, or the claith he wore. I aften think on that fatal prayer, whilk was so soon to be answert! " My. decent laddie was noo obliged to sleep P barracks, in change for the humble roof o' his mither's peacefu' hame; an' sae I was just glad when I got ony bits o' things o' his to wash, or mend; or when a chance time offered o' puttin' to a mitherly han' i' the way o' makin' him snod. It was ae day afore shew-kit day^ as the sodgers ca't, — a day when the quarter-maister sees that naebody has owre mony necessars — when I had some bits o' claes o' his a-washin\ I was scourin' a pocket- napkin when something like a stain on the corner o't,— an whilk wadna wash dot,— altho' I had si gient fowre saples,— caught my ee. On examine narrowly, I was just mazet when I made oot the first letters o' his name an sirname shewet on the napkin, wi' fine hair! I had by me a sma' lock o' his unfortunate sisters, by way o' keepsake, whilk, on comparin, I fand coudna be hers, whilk was lint-white; then, it was na.red, like his fay- ther's; nor was it sandy, like his ain; nor was it grey, like mine: whas cott'd it be? thocht I, — It was blacky inky black, neatly shewt on a white cawmrie napkin. Aweel, he cam' in, no lang after, an' I held up the napkin, wi' the corner foment his een; when ye wad hae thocht that his face reddent till it shamet the colour o' his coat ! I maun own, that, when I saw that, I gied him a scour o' sic sharp words aboot his new-fanglet sodgerin'-tricks, an* sic like bitin' taunts; that, to wash them awa', e'en at this oor, I wad drap my heart's blude for ilka ane o' them! — That was the last sicht I saw o' my Johnny; — the last time his boardly manhood darkent my door, — till he cam' in feet foremost ! " My puir Johnny, the rogue, had a sweetheart. — It was on ae blawy day i' the month o' March, when a rosy cheeket lassie, wi' a lilly neck, an ee like a gled, an* locks o' the hue o 'the craw's wing, was bleachin her claes by the water-side, — just aboon the Arns Well. The win' blew high an' Strang; an* my callan had eneugh to do to keep his bannet on his head,— for he was there standin' by the lassie's side, wi' his faithfu' dog, Curly. Aweel an' awaesock— the drowthbein' just uncom- m mon, sae that the claes needed aften sprinklin— the lassie whether to avoid the delay o' waitin' her turn at the Arns; or, thinkin' she micht be jeer'd by the afftakin' hizzies about the well, for bein seen speakin' to the sodger; — yell no hinner her to mak' a rin for the Clyde. When scarcely had she set her white foot on the stappin-stane, an' dippet her can i' that dark deceitfu' water, — till her drownin' skreigh rang again bank an* tree! My brave bairn made ae plunge an' brocht her oot in his arms; in the doin' whilk his bannet wi' his pocket napkin took the stream. Being just as wat as he coud weel be, he had then wadet in for his bannet an' napkin, whilk were fast floatin' doon the tide, an' he had na gaen three staps into the water, when the cauld takin' him by the heart, — forrit he fell, ne'er to rise mair ! I had a way when ony thing fashed me, o' turnin' open my bible; an' I weel mind that just as Curly cam* rinnin' in at the door wi' the unfortunate napkin, in his mouth, I had just lighted on the mournfu' say in' o' Absalom's fayther, at hearin' o' his sin's death, when Curly drappet the naipkin, clashin' wat at my fit; an 'twas na a minute by-gane when my sodger-bairn's corp, owre wham the lasses had boun' their chacket aprons, was laid doon on my table ! The cornel o' his regiment, when he heard the brave manner o' his death, grat like a wean, as if he had lost a brither ! Orders were then sent doon that my bairns' corp should be gien up to his comrades, to be buried wi' a' honours — his 33 officer inveetin', wi' his ain han', the feck o' the toon-gentles to atten' the burial. " Aweel, the day cam' when my last houp was to be laid i' the grave; an' a wheen o' my bairn's acquantance wha meant to see puir Johnnie hame, gat themsels as decently pitten on as means wad let them. It was true they were na grandly deeded, but the day bein' a pour o' rain, just made on their leuks a winnerfu improvement. Sae, after they had gaen aff to join wi' the militar, I threw my cleuk about me, an' drawin' doon the hood close aboot my een, sae as naebody wad ken me, I set a stout heart to a steay brae, an reacht the barrack gate, just as the drum began to soun,' an* the music to play sic a mournfu' tune, that I thocht my heart wad hae gaen clean awa' ! The rain just cam doon in ladlefu's; but unminfu' o' the rain there cam first my callan's gallant comrades, four an* four, wi' their guns pointed to the grun. Then the music stoppit playin awee, an' the big drum, covert wi' black claith, wad gae three lood knocks, as if it wad tried to wauken my Johnnie; butalake! alake! that whilk when the sodger is far awa frae the voice o' his friens, an' when his feet are wannerin' unguarded an' free, is a' the fayther an' mither he has, had nae coraman' o' my laddie noo ! Then cam' the coffin borne on sax o' his cronies' shouthers, wi' the mortclaith a' set oot wi' bonny babs o' white satin ribbons, his com- pany's respeck for the remains o' a brave chiel. The drummer-laddies had ta'en puir Curly an* #4 washt him white as the snaw, wi' saip an* water; an* tied a braid black ribbon roon his neck, wi' a bab at the side o' his head, an' a bit white tape fastenin' him to the corner o* the mortclaith ; when, ay as the win'wadblawthe feathers o'his deadmais- ter's bannet, to ae side, whare it lay on the coffin; or wad lift up the en' o' his plaid, whilk was there placed wi' his belt an sword, — Curly wad jump up on his hin' legs, an' bark, as he used to do when puir Johnny wad hae spoken to him: syne, when the win' stillt again, he wad haud doon his tail, an hool wi' sic a mournfu cry, that ye wad hae said there w r as at least ae true sorrowfu' heart, an' faithfu' frien', tendin' my bairn to his grave. "I was tryin' to get keepin' as near to the remains o' my bairn as I cou'd, when as the march reacht the cross, a bit flunky-body, wha was clearin' the way for some coaches, gied me a poke wi' his um- brella to stan' oot o the gait; when I could keep in nae langer, an' I just grat e'en oot! I warsled wi' him, but he was stooter than me, an' I thocht I wad drappet doon; when ane o' the coaches that I thocht was passing by me, stoppit; an/ an auld gentleman, wi' a poothert head, lookin' oot at the coach-window, demanded wha I was; an' when I had answert his deman', he ordert the flunky-body to set me inside, alang wi* him. When I had sitten doon, I thocht 1 fand my brain turnin' roon, an' wad hae gaen clean awa, gin I hadna just brusten oot in tears, to think that a man wi' a poother'd head, a velvet coat on his back, an' a gowd chain 35 roon his neck, thocht it nae demeanin' o' himseP to mak company o' a puir sodger's mither ! Syne I offert up my thanks to the Lord for sparin' me to witness this honour for mysel' an' my dead bairn; wha if he had been some puir tailor, or cobler-body, micht hae been cowpet into his hole, an' the warl been ne'er the wiser. Sae in this way I saw my brave Johnny's head laid i' the yird. I heard his comrades wake him wi' their shootin owre his grave; I looket up to heaven as I saw the great white ring rise frae the last shot o' his faithfu' cir- cle; an' I communet wi' him, at whase comman' the wins are let loose, an' the waters rise; but wha has said, that the voice o' a helpless crater will be heard aboon the waves, an' cry looder than the storm ! " I had gotten leave frae the cornel to bury my bairn i' oor ain lair, that the gudeman had coft just ae month afore he brak on't himsel. An' ? when nicht cam, I slippet awa unkend to the nee- bors, to the kirk-yard. I fan' oot the grave by its new lowse turf, whilk I grapet oot, when mony an auld bane an' bit o' coffin come into my han' The rain was still fain, an' I thocht on the state o' my puir lamb, in his cauld wat sheelin'; when I took affmy cluik an' spread it owre his grave. I fand na the weet nor the cauld; for my cheek had ne'er dried, sin he left me; an' my heart burnt when I leukit roon, an' saw sae mony brawstanes lyin' roon' me, an' no ane to shelter my gallant, gallant, bairn. I sat mysel still a gude while, when 36 the rain began to slacken, an' the moon lendin her licht, I thocht there cou'd be nae harm i' my takin' the lend o' ain o' the stanes, if the Lord wad lend me strength to movet. I tried to move the maist o' them, till at length I got haud o' a thin, short, licht ane, an harlt it owre aboon the grave. I then sat doon; when an unlawful' thocht cam into my mind, that it wad just croon my satisfaction if I cou'd ken that Johnny was happy. I was just turnin' owre the thocht, though I trembled to think on't, when I saw rise, atween me an' the moon, a gaunt, and horrifu, appearance; sic as I thocht wad hae taen a' the tartan i' the toon to hae made him a plaid; for his shadow measured mair than the hale o' the kirk-yard ! I claspet my trem'lin hans the- gither, an' repeated that verse o' the twenty-third psalm: Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale, Yet will I fear none ill; For thou art with me ; and thy rod And staff me comfort still. When the uncanny thing cam' near me an y question'd me, what I was doin' there. I tellt him my erran'; an' I then saw him put a napkin to his een, an', puttin his han in his pouch, he threw me doon twa pieces o' money. The moon shone on his face, an' I thocht I wad hae kent it again had I seen it on a porter jug; it was a dead, ghastly, pale; wi' great black bows aboon his ee o' fire, that every stretch they gied shot through li 37 my vera heart. He gied a loud eough, an I heard it answert; but when I turned roon he was gane. I ferlied muckle, as I sat still till day- light ; when I took oot my twa shillin's, whilk I thocht had an unco timmer tinkle; an* what should they turn oot but twa red guineas! My heart filled fu', when I thocht that I micht hae sitten at hame that nicht, an' seen plenty o' sym- patheesin frien's to hae gien-me spiritual comfort; but nane to hae contributed to my basket an' store ! "Itwasabootsax month after my Johnny's death, when the ungratefu' hizzie wK&se life he had saved at the loss o' his ain, summon'd me to the Con- science Court, to deliver up Johnny's knapsack, wi' his claes, whilk I had gatten frae the cornel; or, to pay a soom for the maintenance o' his bairn. (I had keepit mysel clear o' the law as yet, save an except a charge I gat frae the deacon o' the tailor , sformakin , free wf the grave-stane; an whilk, as soon as I learn't I had doon wrang, I gat laid back again; but that wadna ser, for they sent it back again to my bairn's grave, a second time, o' their ain accord, an' to make their point gude; and sae it was hirseld back an' forrit, till it brak some ither stanes in its way, when Johny Selkirk, the writer, a gude frien' been to me, remoovt the cause o' dispute a' thegither.) Weel, I had my doots o' the lassie's honesty; for she was a glaiket, gaudy quean. But when I saw her hand up her han i' the coort, to tak solemn aith to the bairn hein hers; an' when I saw the bit lassie-wean, dress- D 88 «d in a heelan bannet wi' a red feather — a red jacket an' a tartan coatie; an when I saw its bit head o' hair made up into a club — the way the sodgers wore their hair i' that day, — I just, like the woman afore Solomon, gied in til her; an wi' a sair heart I took hame the bairn wi' me. The wean had grown up, an' was just a comfort to me. She had twined hersel' roun' my heart, like the eevy aboot the auld tree'; till the neebors used to say, that I began to hae a freshness re- newed aboot me that did na' belang to my years. Her unnat'ral mither was noo married on a tink- ler, an' had a sma family; an* it was ae nicht o' a bairn christenin, that she askit me to let her dochter to the hanlin. My son's bakn was unco unwillin to gang; but I egget her up till't, just to haud doon din. — She was snoddet out in her best, — she wore mournin' w r eeds, an' a bit bab o' black crape on the side o' her head, out o' mindin' o' her fayther; an'amang the rest, I had preened the napkin that her mither had g'ien her fayther to her side. The foul, villain, lanloupin' tinkler, threw a fien's smile on her as she sat on the bedside o' her mither, an' tell't her to come aff there, as it was nae place for her. The lassie wad hae slippet to the door; but he watched her; an' gien a loud laugh, as his teeth keepit close thegither, he roart out, " c Blast the sodgers get ! — can she no be merry?' When, at this, the lassock drappet on the floor; an' her head takin' the corner o' the table, the blude sprang oot on her brow. She had a skin like 39 the snaw; an savin' a natural mark on her left breast, like a han\ — whilk her mither said she gat wi' her fricht in the water, — there was na an- ither blemish on her body. c * c See what ye hae doon, my dear? quo her mither to him, — ' lowse her boddice; an' tak her napkin an' stanch the blude!' " < What, a scart! — a flea-bite!' quo he;' ha! ha! — curse the napkin ! — but tell me — whase name's that? — an wha's hair? — an wha's shewing — my dear ! — But I'm no angry — I'm quite pleased — ha ! ha ! — Look! By the eternal God! — what's this? wha's han'-stead is that on her breast? — ye canna say that I struck her, can ye, my dear? — an' yet its new doon — an' as fiery as burnin' coal!' " The mither clappet her han' on her een an' said naething; when the lassie slowly cam' to, an* gathert hersel'. She was set in a chair, an' they gied her some tea. The step- fay ther ne'er spak a word, for twa-three minutes; while some o' the visitors, wha had na dar'd to interfere, now be- gan to cheer the lassie, an' advise her to be serviceable, biddable, an' ableegin to her step- fayther — honest man. " It was on ae windy nicht, as muckle sae as had been kent for mony a day, when a' of a sudden a lozen o' glass was burst in frae the window, an' a sparrow, that had been forced oot o' its flight wi' the storm, truntled alang the floor-head. The bairn then skreeched oot to get hame, to me; as she thocht there was something uncanny in the hoose. But her mither 40 r persuaded her to stay till the scodgie-wark was by. Weel, she was han'in' the kettle in owre to mak their skuitle, when the murderin' loon, orderiir her no to be feared to come near him, an' puttin up his han* to the mournin-knot on her head, the lassie let some draps o' het water oot o' the kettle on his leg; when, drawin' his clench'd kneeve, he struck her on the back; an' jumpin' up as she fell, he lifted up his heel an' repeated the blow. — My bairn was carried hame to me; — but frae that day forrit she neer laught a hearts' laugh ! " She had reached her nineteenth year, an' was just winnerfu' sickly, an' short o' breath. The doc- tors had said there wad be a change o' ae kind or anither when she cam' to twenty-ane. — Weel, my sweet lassie dee't at that age, o' a swellin' an' over- growth o' her heart, whilk had been shifted oot its place, by some great veeolence: — thae were the doctors words. I still keepit the cause hidden, which I weel kent — as I thocht it wad do nae gude — an' I left her murderer to the judgment o* God, She was a bonny corp; am was laid oot on a straughtin'-broad the neist.time he saw her — he was noo palsiet an' a leper; — an' coudna get sleep without seein' her in't— he had dreamed if he touched her dead body, her appearance wad nae mair trouble him.— He laid his han' on the bosom o' the corp, — when, as I shall answer, her fayther's han', — the blemish on her bosom,— turnt like a black gloove ! An' whether he had pressed hard or no, I kenna; but her nostrils sent forrit the red blude ontil the han o' her reiver step-fayther ! FINIS. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 021 100 498 8