" RARV OF CONGRESS 
 
 oooiva^bO^A 
 
Bonk 
 
1/ 
 TAKINGS; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 LIFE OF A COLLEGIAN. 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 TWENTY-SIX ETCHINGS, 
 
 FROM DESIGNS 
 
 BY 
 
 R. DAGLEY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " SELECT GEMS FROM |THE ANTIQUE," " A COMPENDIUM OF THE THEORV 
 AND PRACTiq&^^R^W&ftcSH} PAINTING," £c. <$c. 
 
 
 " Perhaps it may turn out a Song, 
 Perhaps turn out a Sermon." — Burns. 
 
 31 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 O 
 
 JOHN WARREN, OLD BOND-STREET, 
 
 AND 
 
 G. and W. B. WHITTAKER, AVE-MARIA LANE. 
 
 MDCCCXXI. 
 
'PR ^7)2 
 
 IU1 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES, 
 
 Northumberland Court. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 To the Admirers of those hasty Productions of the 
 Pencil called Sketches, 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 In offering these subjects to your 
 attention, I feel assured of every allowance 
 on your part for their style of execution ; and 
 also that in your comments upon what the 
 generality may call blots or scratches, you 
 will lean to the favourable side, and pro- 
 nounce them meaning and design. 
 
 To those who are not gifted with your 
 taste and feeling, I am aware the "Takings/ 3 
 may not appear with all the advantage that I 
 could wish; I must, therefore, request such 
 persons to suspend their judgment till they 
 have acquired that improved perception 
 
 a2 
 
lV DEDICATION. 
 
 which finds an intentional grace, where ordi- 
 nary vision sees only accident or deformity. 
 The eye of the Connoisseur can penetrate 
 the obscurity of redundant lines, separate 
 their entanglements, and distinguish the la- 
 tent shapes of beauty and vigour. In a 
 scanty performance he can nevertheless 
 discern the excellence which the artist con- 
 templated. 
 
 Enough for him, if Rembrandt scratched the line, 
 The form was matchless, and the touch divine. 
 
 R. D. 
 
ADVEKTISEMENT. 
 
 GENTLE reader, I have been twisting and turn- 
 ing — " Stop there," said a friend at my elbow, " I never 
 see the term ' gentle reader,' but it gives me a sneak- 
 ing idea of the writer. I always fancy he is going to 
 lay a heavy tax upon my patience, and is endeavour- 
 ing to sooth me into compliance, — besides how can 
 you or he tell to whom this phrase is applied ? It is 
 laughable to think to what description of beings this 
 title may be given. Perhaps some boisterous boor, 
 6 whose very how-do-ye is a storm,' or crabbed 
 female to whom the epithet is only a signal for deri- 
 sion, — perhaps to some disappointed author; in short, 
 my dear Sir, any thing but ' gentle/ if you please." 
 Well then, reader, should any chance lead you to the 
 perusal of these pages, know, that I have been twisting 
 and turning in my mind how I may manage to give 
 any account of myself or my doings, further than what 
 appears upon the surface of the work, without incur- 
 ring the charge of presumption and egotism : but it 
 cannot be accomplished, vanity is at the bottom, and 
 when did vanity ever keep there I So, with this con- 
 fession, I have only to say that nearly twenty years 
 
VI ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 since, while selecting and drawing from the casts of 
 antique gems, for a publication that has since ap- 
 peared, I was called upon to make designs for the 
 ' ' Flim Flams," a work of an entirely opposite character. 
 Having never paid any attention to the ludicrous in 
 art, it was rather in compliance with the wishes of the 
 author of that work, than with any expectation of 
 success that I produced my specimens. Their recep- 
 tion was favourable, and a hint from an ingenious 
 friend on the use which might be made of the word 
 " Taking," was a stimulus to further practice; of 
 which you now see the result. 
 
 To some of these designs I have endeavoured to 
 give a whimsical turn, others are in accordance 
 with the strict meaning of the phrase ; each may be 
 considered a theme for the pen as well as for the pen- 
 cil. They were produced at different periods of 
 time, which accounts for the variations of style and 
 costume, but which no ways affects their original in- 
 tention. Several additions have been lately made, 
 with a view to render them conformable to a succes- 
 sion of events poetically narrated. 
 
 The Gentleman who has undertaken that part of 
 the publication, has long amused the town both in 
 prose and in verse ; but without offering himself by 
 name as a candidate for their regard. I shall be 
 very happy if these Sketches should prove the means 
 of introducing his talents in a more direct form to 
 the attention they deserve. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. Vll 
 
 In the Preface, I have endeavoured to hring to- 
 gether such observations as have at various times 
 occurred to me upon the comic or ludicrous in art, 
 rather with a view to point out the fertility of the 
 subject to those whose leisure and abilities may 
 enable them to afford the Public an ample and a con- 
 nected history of Caricature, than with any expecta- 
 tion that either my powers or my opportunities 
 would suffice for such a purpose ; and I shall there- 
 fore deem myself fortunate, if I simply escape cen- 
 sure for obtruding upon the province of the critical 
 and the erudite. 
 
 R. DAGLEY. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS OBSERVATIONS 
 
 LUDICROUS IN ART. 
 
 IT cannot be foreign to a work of this kind 
 to notice the emotion of the mind connected 
 with the Ludicrous. Many wise aphorisms, 
 and many sententious observations havebe^n 
 made upon laughter, some objecting to its 
 folly, others endeavouring to trace its origin 
 But whatever may be the opinion of men as 
 to the cause or the objects of this emotion, is 
 is sufficient to know that a muscle is provided 
 for its display, which makes a characteristic 
 distinction between the human countenance 
 and that of brutes. 
 
 Solomon has indeed said of laughter, that 
 " it is mad :" yet the same wise man has de- 
 
OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 clared that " there is a time for all things." 
 There are different kinds of laughter, and the 
 laugh of one man no more resembles that of 
 another, than his countenance or disposition 
 does. There is the broad honest laugh of 
 humour, there is the laugh of scorn and deri- 
 sion, there is the laugh of triumph, and the 
 laugh of sheer folly ; it is true, there are men 
 of such " vinegar aspects/' that they will not 
 discompose the gravity of their features on 
 any occasion, " though Nestor swear the jest 
 be laughable/' Whether this is owing to the 
 conformation, or to the degree of strength or 
 weakness of that organ, known by the name 
 of the Zygomaticus Major, or risible muscle, 
 it is not our business to inquire, certain it is, 
 that this description of people would put 
 down laughing by act of parliament, were it 
 in their power to do so. 
 
 A laugh out of its place, at an improper 
 object, or indulged at the expense of bodily 
 infirmity, is of so hateful a character, that we 
 need not say to what class of mirth it belongs ;. 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. xi 
 
 it is excited by the love of mischief; and the 
 laugher, like him who " scattereth firebrands, 
 arrows, and death," still sayeth, « Am not I 
 in sport V 9 
 
 There is a sense of the ridiculous in the 
 human mind, which exercises itself on objects 
 of a particular and eccentric kind ; all ex- 
 aggerations, whether of form, or feature, or 
 conduct, originating in fashion or affectatioh, 
 serve as incitements to it. 
 
 " Spirits are not finely touched but to fine 
 issues," and those who attempt to raise a 
 laugh without this " touch*' of genius, will 
 find it a very serious business. Even to those 
 whose comic powers frequently enable them 
 to set the audience or the table in a roar, that 
 is sometimes no easy task. 
 
 It is not necessary that a man should be 
 mirthful himself, to be the cause of mirth in 
 others. There are many instances both of 
 authors and actors, who have appeared to 
 possess no predilection to hilarity, and who 
 when not called by their occupation, or im- 
 
Xll OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 pelled by necessity to exert their powers of 
 humour, have been characterized by dejec- 
 tion and melancholy. 
 
 The poet Cowper had those occasional 
 gleams of gay fancy. Nothing has ever ex- 
 hibited the ridiculous more successfully than 
 " John Gilpin f and yet it is well known, 
 that that exquisite effusion was written at a 
 period when the unhappy poet was in a state 
 of the deepest despondency. 
 
 The ingenious writer on the " Calamities 
 of Authors/' has stated a variety of cases, in 
 support of this position ; and among them of 
 a Mr. M'Donald, of whom he speaks as 
 follows : 
 
 " Some years since, the town was amused 
 every morning by a series of humorous or 
 burlesque poems, under the assumed name 
 of Matthew Bramble; the author, a Mr. 
 M'Donald, was at that very moment one of 
 the most moving spectacles of human melan- 
 choly I ever witnessed.'' 
 
 Akenside in his " Pleasures of Imagina- 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. Xlll 
 
 tion," has pointed out some legitimate 
 objects of ridicule, and after enumerating 
 them as they branch forth in their several 
 characters, goes on to reason thus : 
 
 " Through every scene of ridicule in things, 
 To lead the tenor of my devious lay ; 
 Through every swift occasion, which the hand 
 Of laughter points at, when the mirthful sting 
 Distends her sallying nerves, and choaks her tongue, 
 What were it but to count each crystal drop, 
 Which morning's dewy fingers on the blooms 
 Of May distil ? Suffice it to have said 
 Where'er the power of ridicule displays 
 Her quaint eye'd visage, some incongruous form, 
 Some stubborn dissonance of things combin'd, 
 Strikes on the quick perception : whether pomp, 
 Or praise, or beauty, mix their partial claim, 
 Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds, 
 Where foul deformity are wont to dwell 
 Or whether these with violation loath'd, 
 Invade resplendent pomp's imperious mien, 
 The charms of beauty, or the boast of praise. 
 
 " Ask we for what fair end, the almighty Sire. 
 In mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt, 
 These grateful stings of laughter, from disgust 
 Educing pleasure ? Wherefore but to aid 
 The tardy steps of reason, and at once 
 By this prompt impulse urge us to depress 
 The giddy aims of folly ? Though the light 
 Of truth slow-dawning on the inquiring mind, 
 
XIV OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 At length unfolds, through many a subtile tie, 
 How these uncouth disorders end at last 
 In public evil : yet benignant Heaven, 
 Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears 
 To thousands ; conscious what a scanty pause 
 From labours and from care, the wider lot 
 Of humble life affords for studious thought 
 To scan the maze of nature ; therefore stamp'd 
 The glaring scenes with characters of scorn, 
 As broad, as obvious, to the passing clown, 
 As to the letter'd sage's curious eye." 
 
 By this clue we may trace the origin of 
 Satire, which has in various ways employed 
 both the pen and the pencil. In drawing a 
 parallel between Art and Literature, in this 
 species of composition, it will be found that 
 both are liable to the same censure, when 
 they give too exaggerated a representation of 
 things; when they become the engines of 
 party, or the vehicles of malignity and per- 
 sonal abuse. Against what may be termed 
 the legitimate use of such weapons as the 
 pen and the pencil, in exposing the vices and 
 follies of mankind to contempt and ridicule, 
 no objection can be made ; but in the hands 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XV 
 
 of the mischievous and designing, poison and 
 the dagger cannot be more destructive. The 
 unskilful also may gash and lacerate, while the 
 experienced operator wounds only to heal. 
 
 Some years since, the species of lampoon 
 in art called caricature, was attempted to be 
 hunted down. A certain noble lord made 
 it his business to visit the various shops that 
 dealt in these satirical prints, and by expos- 
 tulation or menace, endeavoured to obtain 
 their removal. He even went so far as to 
 produce them before parliament, for the pur- 
 pose of restricting or punishing the publisher, 
 Many of these caricatures exhibited mem- 
 bers of both houses, in the most ludicrous 
 points of view, and their production occa- 
 sioned such bursts of laughter, that all 
 attempts at remedy were fruitless. 
 
 The evil has since been permitted to travel 
 freely on, in full possession of that ground, 
 which the Satirist of the pen must tread with 
 caution, and with his eye upon the Attorney 
 General, and the law against libel. Leaving 
 
XVI OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 it to the investigation of the moralist, and 
 the power of the legislator, (if it be neces- 
 sary,) to fix the boundary of graphic wit; 
 we proceed to offer some remarks upon the 
 comic in art 
 
 Probably the first rude efforts in design, 
 would appear to a cultivated eye a species 
 of caricature, like those accidental forms 
 occasionally discovered in the fire, on stained 
 walls, variegated marble, &c. 
 
 Among the remains of Greek sculpture, 
 are subjects and characters that belong to 
 the class under consideration ; in their bass 
 relievos and gems more especially ; such as 
 the march of Silenus, their dancing fauns 
 and satyrs, comic masks, chimeras, &c. 
 
 After the revival of the arts in Italy, and 
 when they had reached their highest state of 
 cultivation, a spirit of humour and satire is 
 occasionally found, in the works of the best 
 masters. There are specimens of this sort 
 from the hands of Leonardo da Vinci, and 
 Michael Angelo. 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XV11 
 
 The former produced a series of carica- 
 tures ; and in the Last Judgment of the latter, 
 there is a strange mixture of the terrible and 
 the satirical. Nor are the grotesques of 
 Raphael, many removes from the burlesque. 
 
 As early as the fourth century, mention is 
 made of Pyrecius who painted small pictures, 
 the subjects of which were barbers' or shoe- 
 makers' shops, animals, still life, &c. ; these 
 might probably come under the same class 
 with the drolls of Hemskirk, Jan Stein, and 
 others of the Flemish school. 
 
 In the etchings of Arthur Pond, bearing 
 date 1741-2, made from drawings in the col- 
 lections of several amateurs of that day, some 
 specimens appear of the caricature from the 
 hands of A. Carracci, F. Mola, Guercino, 
 Carlo Maratti, La Fage, Watteau, and the 
 Cavl r . Pietro Leoni Gerozza. Some of these 
 are evidently personal. One by Annibal 
 Carracci, is a dwarfish figure standing at an 
 easel, in the act of painting, and is highly ludi- 
 crous. Beneath is written, II Gobbo dei Car- 
 
XV111 OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 racci. Two philosophers by the same artist, 
 one in the act of declaiming, and the other of 
 listening, are equally characteristic of the 
 ridiculous. A caricature from a drawing by 
 Watteau, in the same collection, is supposed 
 to be intended for the famous Physician 
 Misauban. He is represented in a church- 
 yard, amidst tomb-stones and shells ; among 
 the latter a mushroom is springing up. 
 Underneath are the words : " Prenez des 
 Pilules, Prenez des Pilules" 
 
 C. P. L. Ghizzi appears to have been prin- 
 cipally engaged on caricatures : some of in- 
 dividual, others of general application, but 
 all marked with the skill of an artist. They 
 are, in fact, rather characters than carica- 
 tures ; that of II. P. Seb. Resta, is in a quiet 
 portrait-like attitude, one hand resting upon 
 the other, and holding a scroll. The only 
 ludicrous circumstance is, that his spectacles 
 are placed behind his ear in the manner 
 that clerks sometimes dispose of their pens. 
 By this master are two famous antiquaries, 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XIX 
 
 Stotze and Sabbatini ; they are represented as 
 inspecting coins or gems. The figure of Sab- 
 batini is grotesque in the extreme. Ghizzi's 
 system for drawing caricatures appears to 
 have been founded on an attention to the 
 concave and the convex, the pointed and 
 the blunt forms, in the human countenance. 
 There is a painting by this artist in the pos- 
 session of his Grace the Duke of Devon- 
 shire. It is a converzatione, in which are 
 a number of figures, doubtless well known 
 characters of the time in which the picture 
 was painted. The execution of this piece is 
 masterly, and the colouring brilliant*. 
 
 Perhaps no country has been more abun- 
 dantly productive of works of graphic bu- 
 
 # If his Grace would condescend to permit the ap- 
 pearance of this picture in the British Institution, it could 
 not fail of attracting the attention of the curious. Indeed, 
 it is a matter of surprise that his Grace has not been ap- 
 plied to, in aid of the plan so liberally entered into by his 
 Majesty, and the Noblemen and Gentlemen of the coun- 
 try, who are the possessors of the finest works of art, to en- 
 rich the Annual Exhibition in Pall Mall, from his splen- 
 did collections at Devonshire-house and Chiswick. 
 
XX OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 mour than England. This may to some fur- 
 nish a specious argument against the proba- 
 bility of our excellence in the more classic 
 or sublime departments of art. Without 
 discussing the comparative merits of the 
 serious and the comic in painting, it will be 
 sufficient to observe, that if the parallel 
 holds good between writing and painting, as 
 there are a far greater number of good trage- 
 dies than of good comedies, it would appear 
 that the difficulty is much greater on the side 
 of the latter. 
 
 So much has been written and said, and 
 that so judiciously, upon the merits of Ho- 
 garth, that it is hardly possible to advance 
 any thing new, or to make any observations 
 upon his works that have not already been 
 made. 
 
 An excellent Essay, however, on the Ge- 
 nius and Character of Hogarth, has recently 
 appeared from the pen of Charles Lamb, 
 the remarks in which are completely in the 
 spirit of those feelings which the artist in- 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XXI 
 
 tended to produce, and, (with very few ex- 
 ceptions,) show a taste and judgment which 
 cannot be less gratifying to the profession 
 than they are creditable to himself. In 
 speaking of this great painter, he says, " I 
 was pleased with the reply of a gentleman, 
 who, being asked which book he esteemed 
 most in his library, answered ' Shakspeare :' 
 being asked which he esteemed next best, 
 replied, * Hogarth/ His graphic represen- 
 tations are indeed books ; they have the 
 teeming, fruitful, suggestive meaning of 
 words. Other pictures we look at — his prints 
 we read." 
 
 It is impossible not to kindle at the warmth 
 of the writer of this essay, whatever differ- 
 ence of opinion may exist with respect to 
 some of his remarks, more especially those 
 which regard Sir Joshua Reynolds, whose 
 Count Ugolino, at least, is free from the 
 grinning distortions which Mr. Lamb attri- 
 butes to the Dying Cardinal of that great 
 artist ; in which, it must be acknowledged, 
 there is too much of caricature, both in the 
 
XX11 OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 expression of the countenance, and in the 
 introduction of the goblin fiend. 
 
 It belonged to the character of Hogarth's 
 pencil to mark the most minute emotion of 
 the human mind, and the strongest energy of 
 the passions ; although not by the exagge- 
 rations of caricature, for the indulgence of 
 that species of art was only the holiday of 
 his satire. 
 
 Hogarth's impressions, received from na- 
 ture, were treasured in his memory for the 
 hour of apparent inspiration. They then 
 came forth, pure, and unalloyed by any ex- 
 trinsic ornaments. Not that the skill of co- 
 louring, execution, or composition was want- 
 ing ; but those qualities were overborne in 
 the expression and character of his subjects. 
 That talents like his should have led him to 
 imagine that every other quality of painting 
 was equally attainable, is not to be won- 
 dered at. One power was certainly denied 
 him. The author of the Analysis of Beauty, 
 knew but its name. 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XXIU 
 
 His sportive pencil, abounding in the lu- 
 dicrous and the caricature, has been emu- 
 lated by other artists of similar, though une- 
 qual, talents. Among the contemporaries of 
 Hogarth, in works of graphic humour, the 
 Don Quixote of Vanderbank and that of 
 Hayman, are conspicuous. 
 
 The late Paul Sandby gave proofs of 
 great talent as a satirist, and of great cou- 
 rage too, if courage it is to " attack the 
 lion in his den/' and " brave him there/' by 
 proceeding at some length to etch a series of 
 plates in ridicule of Hogarth's Analysis of 
 Beauty. But the completion of this under- 
 taking was checked by the good sense of the 
 
 artist. Hogarth's Marriage A-la-mode* ap- 
 peared, and was so replete with excellence, 
 
 # The prints from Marriage A-la-mode were engraved 
 by foreign artists, and such were the absurd and unpatriotic 
 prejudices of the day, that they owed more of their imme- 
 diate celebrity to that circumstance than to the merits of 
 the painter ! Hogarth afterwards engraved his own works, 
 by which he infused a spirit into them that no other man 
 could give. 
 
XXIV OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 that, on seeing this unrivalled effort of the 
 comic pencil, Mr. Sandby, with the self- 
 command which few men are capable of ob- 
 taining, resisted the temptation of displaying 
 his wit, and destroyed his plates. 
 
 Grose has given rules for drawing carica- 
 tures, and has also pointed out some of the 
 proper objects of ridicule. " The art of draw- 
 ing caricatures/' he observes, " is generally 
 considered a dangerous acquisition, tending 
 to make the professor feared rather than 
 esteemed ; but it is certainly an unfair mode 
 of reasoning, to urge the abuse to which any 
 art is liable, as an argument against the art 
 itself." 
 
 That caricature is a dangerous weapon, 
 none can doubt. Unquestionably it has 
 at times been used for wicked and malig- 
 nant purposes, yet, while he is employed in 
 pointing out the vices and follies of the spe- 
 cies, or even when he strikes at individuals 
 who court notoriety, and claim the public 
 gaze, at the expense of decency and com- 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XXV 
 
 mon sense, the graphic satirist is on his post 
 of duty. 
 
 There is a bastard sort of fame, 
 And notoriety its name, 
 Which men of certain minds affect; 
 And venture on to shun neglect : 
 Who think it is some little praise, 
 With monsters to divide the gaze. 
 
 Though past the age of sixty-six, 
 
 Old to his jacket sticks. 
 
 From twenty it has been his plan, 
 To look like any thing but man. 
 
 To paint a picture with your toes, 
 Or play the bagpipe with your nose ; 
 To twist, to torture, or to bend, 
 Things from their proper use and end, 
 In print shop fame may hand you down 
 With other blockheads of the town. 
 
 Rules for drawing caricature can hardly 
 answer any purpose but that of fixing the 
 mind upon the deformities of exaggera- 
 tions of the human countenance, and, 
 thereby, of destroying that delicacy of 
 feeling, with respect to character, which 
 
XXVI OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 should belong to every artist who practises 
 either history or portrait. The late Sir Jo- 
 shua Reynolds was so well aware of this, 
 that though complimented on one or two ludi- 
 crous performances which he executed while 
 pursuing his studies at Rome, he had the 
 good sense to decline any further attempt of 
 that nature*. 
 
 The author before quoted has not only 
 given rules for drawing caricature, but, 
 which is much better, has shewn what are 
 the proper objects of this species of ridicule, 
 all of which are of a general character. 
 " Let/' he observes, " the employments 
 and properties or qualities of all the objects 
 be incompatible; that is, let every person and 
 thing represented, be employed in that office 
 or business, for which, by age, size, profes- 
 sion, construction, or some accident, they are 
 
 * One of these specimens was in the possession of the 
 late Mr. Woody ear, near Doncaster. The subject mu- 
 sic, and the persons introduced were Mr. Cook, Dr: 
 Drake, Mr. Woodyear, and Sir Chas. Turner. 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XXVII 
 
 totally unfit. And if the persons so ridiculed 
 are also guilty of any trifling breach of mora- 
 lity, or propriety, the effect will be the more 
 complete, and will stand the test of criticism. I 
 say trifling, for great crimes excite indigna- 
 tion, and tend to make us groan rather than 
 laugh/' 
 
 The anachronisms heretofore seen on the 
 stage, and also in paintings, together with the 
 unsuitable in costume and manners, are alike 
 objects of Mr. Grose's animadversions. Nei- 
 ther has the facetious antiquary spared his 
 own profession. Antiquarian pursuits are 
 whimsically illustrated by prints, no less than 
 seven times in his short essay on Comic 
 Painting. 
 
 Costume has been a never-failing source of 
 ridicule to the graphic satirist. Fashion, in 
 every shape in which it tended to disguise 
 the human form, has been combated by the 
 pencil, and, it may be presumed, not with- 
 out success. Hoops and court dresses, 
 which used to encumber not only people 
 
 c 2 
 
XXV1U OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 of fashion, but even our heroes and heroines 
 on the stage, in the time of Garrick ; are 
 scarcely remembered, any more than the 
 mountain head and plastered toupee of the 
 Dandies, male and female, sixty } r ears 
 ago. 
 
 It would have been strange, indeed, if the 
 growth of Taste, cherished by the cultivation 
 of the Fine Arts, on the one hand, and the 
 shafts of ridicule, on the other, had not ef- 
 fected something in the cause of common 
 sense. Tight stays, and other articles of 
 dress equally preposterous, have given place 
 to a better order of things : not but that 
 some absurdities continue, and will continue, 
 to maintain their station ; as, for instance, 
 the Brutus head and the opera hat, than 
 which no shapes can be more incongruous. 
 
 Fashion, or in other words, caprice, has 
 rung so many changes upon our head-gear, 
 that instead of a useful covering to defend us 
 from the weather, the hat, in many instances, 
 has only become an apology for putting some- 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XXIX 
 
 thing on the top of the head. The peat-house 
 form of that of the Chinese, and the broad 
 brim of that of the Quaker, have a meaning 
 and retain, no doubt, the primitive shape, 
 originating in utility ; but, vanity soon sug- 
 gested that that shape shrouded as well as 
 shaded the features. Accordingly one part 
 of the rim raised and surmounted by a feather, 
 became the fashion in Spain ; but, by what 
 odd whim it was subsequently distorted into 
 the useless triangle, or cocked hat, must be 
 referred to the researches of the antiquary. 
 
 The plain oval hat has now nearly super- 
 seded every other ; yet, at best, the hat looks 
 quite as well in the hand as any where else. 
 It is avoided by the artist, as making no part 
 of the picturesque, and by the courtier it 
 is kept equally out of sight. The foraging 
 cap seems best adapted both to the features of 
 the face, and to the shelter of the head, and 
 is less liable to incur ridicule, or become the 
 object of caricature. 
 
 Of all delineations of the ludicrous, 
 
XXX OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 sketches, in a free bold style, something 
 beyond an outline, are the best. Finishing 
 may do for character, but the spirit of cari- 
 cature would evaporate by too much pains 
 taken in the process. In these hasty pro- 
 ductions of the pencil, something also is left 
 to the imagination, which is highly favourable 
 to the caricaturist. 
 
 Party politics ever were, (and in a free coun- 
 try ever will be,) a fertile source of caricature, 
 but such subjects, belonging to a particular 
 time and class of men, are soon swept from 
 the memory. Not so the indecent and offen- 
 sive subjects which disgrace some of our 
 print shops, and in which the skill of the 
 pencil assists in contaminating the mind; 
 most of these latter, we must, however, ob- 
 serve belong to the French school. 
 
 Having ventured some conjectures upon 
 the ludicrous in art at an early period, and 
 shown its occasional practice at an advanced 
 stage, and in a highly-cultivatedstate of painting 
 in Italy, it can hardly be necessary to remark, 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XXXI 
 
 that in the Flemish school it found a ready 
 admission. Almost every form and character 
 among the Dutch and Flemish had something 
 of the grotesque ; their habits and manners 
 all tended to meaner occupations, and lower 
 diversions, than those of the Italians. 
 
 Hence the boorish sports of Teniers, Os- 
 tade, and Jan Stein, and the more ludicrous 
 drolls of Hemskirk; even Rembrandt's finest 
 performances partake so much of this degra- 
 dation, that it requires great knowledge and 
 love of the skill which distinguishes his works, 
 not to be disgusted with their occasional 
 vulgarity. 
 
 But prior to the time of Rembrandt, Hans 
 Holbein may be considered as excelling in 
 the ludicrous, though with an intention to in- 
 struct rather than to ridicule. 
 
 His Dance of Death, however, which he 
 painted for the Town Hall of Basil, was of a 
 nature similar to the moralities, or mysteries*, 
 
 * For many curious particulars of these, see Disraeli's 
 Curiosities of Literature, vol. ii. 
 
XXX11 OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 in what may be called the barbarous age of 
 devotion, and was better calculated to raise 
 laughter, than to attain the end proposed. 
 The designs made by this artist for the book 
 of his friend Erasmus, in praise of Folly, echo 
 the sentiments of the writer. Besides being 
 replete with sarcasm, they have the advan- 
 tage of general application, and are of course 
 universally understood. 
 
 Advancing through these desultory remarks, 
 we arrive at the caricaturists of the present 
 time, who have distinguished themselves by 
 their wit, humour, or satire ; some have only 
 indulged a passing disposition, and like Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds and P. Sandby, have re- 
 linquished the desire of becoming humourists, 
 as incompatible with justice, or their profes- 
 sional views. 
 
 At the head of those whose genius has been 
 within the last thirty or forty years devoted 
 to works of graphic humour, stood Mr. Grose, 
 who was possessed of every quality of a cari- 
 caturist. His disposition was facetious, his 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XXXU1 
 
 turn for ridicule such as to induce him not 
 even to spare his own person; but in the hu- 
 mour he displayed, he was careful not to 
 violate the rules which he had himself laid 
 down. His satire embraced only absurdi- 
 ties, or unsuitableness of characters to the 
 employments in which he found them en- 
 gaged. 
 
 Grose was just skilful enough in draw- 
 ing to reach the ludicrous in art, but 
 never to approach any thing like taste ; his 
 pencil would have staggered in the line of 
 beauty, and a serious beginning of any kind 
 must under his hand have of necessity ended 
 in something droll. His character for good 
 fellowship is drawn con amove by the pen of 
 Burns : — » 
 
 But wad ye see him in his glee, 
 For meikle glee and fun has he, 
 Then set him down, and twa or three 
 
 Gude fellows wi' him ; 
 And port I O port ! shine thou a wee, 
 
 And then ye'll see him. 
 
 Loutherbourg, to his skill as a carica- 
 
XXXIV OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 turist, added a knowledge of the principles 
 of his art, which, independent of the subject, 
 gave value to the delineation. This artist 
 was only occasionally employed on w r orks of 
 this kind. 
 
 Brereton, formerly a drawing-master, in 
 Bond-street, possessed considerable talent in 
 caricature ; his subjects were mostly derived 
 from Oxford, and from Tristram Shandy. 
 French travelling, post-horses, and drivers, 
 were depicted by this artist with peculiar 
 humour and whim. His style of etching was 
 rude and scattered, but no atom of character 
 and expression was lost by it ; every thing 
 was strongly marked, and ludicrous in the 
 extreme. 
 
 H. Bunbury, Esq., was an amateur artist, 
 eminently distinguished for his talents in 
 works of humour, though his pencil was 
 sometimes employed on subjects of a dif- 
 ferent kind. Designs from the once popular 
 novel, " The Sorrows of Werter," the ballad 
 of" Old Robin Gray," &c 3 were among the 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XXX V 
 
 first of his productions to attract the public 
 regard ; but his Long Minuet, Long Story, 
 and Barber's Shop, Geoffrey Gambado, and 
 many others of the same class, exhibit such 
 strokes of exquisite humour, as to supersede 
 his other performances, though possessed of 
 considerable merit. 
 
 This gentleman, like many other artists, 
 mistook his powers, and in attempting to 
 embody the -scenes of our immortal bard, 
 gave proofs of the inefficiency of his pencil 
 in such undertakings. 
 
 It was reserved for the versatility of 
 Stothard's genius to display at the same time 
 all that is characteristic of the ludicrous in 
 comedy, with all that is powerful and over- 
 whelming in tragedy. This rare union of 
 talent may be seen in his characters from 
 Shakspeare*, painted as a sort of companion 
 to his Canterbury Pilgrims. This performance 
 alone is sufficient to establish the reputation 
 
 * The original picture is in the possession of I. Ben- 
 son, Esq., of Thorne, in Yorkshire. 
 
JXXXVi OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 of the artist, and to convey his professional 
 character to posterity as singularly fraught 
 with those important qualities in art, taste, 
 grace, and expression. 
 
 It must be remembered, however, that the 
 failure of Mr. Bunbury was one in common 
 with some of our veteran artists; and that the 
 public are indebted to that gentleman's lei- 
 sure hours for much amusement. 
 
 Mr. Nixon also was an amateur artist, and 
 almost exclusively a caricaturist; his per- 
 formances were very numerous, though few 
 of them have appeared before the public. 
 This gentleman's drawings were occasion- 
 ally exhibited at the Royal Academy, and 
 were full of wit, character, and humour. 
 Some of them have been very popular, and 
 serve to mark the manners of the times 
 in which they appeared. There was one 
 that ought not to be omitted in these 
 pages. It was executed from a design of his 
 own by J. Dixon, an eminent engraver in 
 mezzotinto. The subject, the Horse Guards, 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XXXV11 
 
 opposite Whitehall, in which a Female 
 Barber was represented operating upon 
 the beard of a Soldier. This ludicrous 
 fact was skilfully depicted, and impressions 
 were called for by the public with such 
 avidity, that the famous print of Sir Joshua's 
 Count Ugolino, and others, engraved by this 
 artist, stood still for a repetition of the 
 comic plate. 
 
 In speaking of Gilray and. Rowlandson, it 
 will not be too much to say, that since the 
 time of Hogarth, none have appeared with 
 more exclusive talents for works of humour, 
 and of the class which belongs to caricature. 
 
 Gilray was chiefly occupied on the political 
 events and characters of his time ; in con- 
 sequence of which, many of his works are 
 obsolete. But nothing can obliterate from 
 the memory the vigour of his drawing, the 
 spirit of his characters, and his perfect know- 
 ledge of the principles of painting. 
 
 The works of Rowlandson are still more 
 extensive than those of Gilray, and embrace a 
 
XXXV111 OBSERVATIONS ON THE 
 
 greater variety of subjects ; and possess 
 similar claims to originality and freedom of 
 pencil. 
 
 Cruikshanks has distinguished himself as 
 an able caricaturist, and Alfred Chalon, At- 
 kinson, and Harding's* talents in caricature 
 are of the first order, though rarely indulged 
 by their possessors. 
 
 It is greatly to be wished that the powers of 
 thecomic pencil might be brought to bear only 
 upon the proper objects ofridicule-j*, and that its 
 satire should be confined to detecting and ex- 
 
 * An excellent specimen of Mr. Harding's powers may 
 be seen in the illustrations of Drunken Barnaby. 
 
 + One of these graphic illustrations, called " Hints to 
 the Bearers of Walking-sticks and Umbrellas;" may justly be 
 added to the few proper examples of works of this kind : it 
 related to the mischiefs that occurred, (and still occur) in 
 the streets of the metropolis, from awkwardness in carry- 
 ing walking-sticks and umbrellas ; exhibiting a variety of 
 ludicrous instances in which pedestrians and shopkeepers 
 were annoyed by the usage. This work is understood to be 
 the production of an amateur artist, a gentleman of Oxford. 
 
LUDICROUS IN ART. XXXIX 
 
 posing the vices and follies of mankind, instead 
 of deviating into personal scurrilities and pre- 
 posterous exaggerations, alike injurious to the 
 art, and disgraceful to the artist. 
 
TAKINGS, 
 
 ® $<wm, 
 
 IN SIX CANTOS. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " Your Poem, Sir, is very fine ! 
 
 'Tis elegant — sublime — divine 1" 
 
 So when my epic had been read, 
 
 A publisher most kindly said. 
 
 Gay visions to my fancy came 
 
 Of food, and decent clothes, and fame ; 
 
 And I expected he would say, 
 
 " Pray, take your dinner here to-day." 
 
 But thus the subject he pursued, 
 
 " Tis too good for the multitude. 
 
 Hereafter it will make a splash, 
 
 But 'twill not bring you present cash. 
 
 It peradventure may supply 
 
 A bill drawn on posterity, 
 
 This, honourably taken up, 
 
 Will ne'er help you to dine or sup. 
 
 d2 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 No, — it will make you known to Fame, 
 And in her Temple, write your name ; 
 But while your glorious niche is carving 
 Here, you must calculate on starving ; 
 Till, forced to use your " bodkin bare," 
 You end by suicide despair ; 
 Then, 'twill requite your parting groan — 
 With deathless monumental stone. 
 Now this, Sir, you must plainly see 
 Is what will never do for me ; 
 You, immortality may crave, 
 I — comfort, on this side the grave. 
 You seek renown, but sleeping, waking, 
 All I desire is — something taking. 
 
 He said, and bidding me "good morrow," 
 Left me half petrified with sorrow. 
 And, " O ! ye gods," I cried, " whose aid 
 Still glads the plodding sons of trade, 
 And fills the sordid booby's bags, 
 While wit pines pennyless in rags," 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 (Here, but of course it was a joke, 
 I own that of myself I spoke.) 
 " O ! deign to bless an humble bard, 
 With some small token of regard ! 
 Though poets be a race that toil, 
 To gain " the tribute of a smile f 
 Yet blame me not, if I entreat, 
 Some thrice a week a slice of meat ; 
 For Scribes, whate'er their wonted fare, 
 Make but a sorry meal on air. 
 O ! let my song some beef produce ! 
 O ! let my teeth come into use !" 
 
 Thus I implored the pitying powers, 
 To cheer my melancholy hours, 
 'Till comes the awful bugbear death, 
 To bear the burden of my breath : 
 To rob me, (O prodigious gain!) 
 Of all the consciousness of pain; 
 When, suddenly came in my head, 
 What by the tradesman last was said, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It came to bid my heart cease aching, 
 
 " All I desire is something taking." 
 
 " Why!" I exclaimed, " it strikes my mind, 
 
 That something taking I can find : 
 
 My friend, Tom Takeall, (closed his raking), 
 
 Shewed me some sketches of his Taking, 
 
 Sketches that must attention call, 
 
 Of taking Nothing — Little — All ; 
 
 Of taking Pleasure— Physic — Time — 
 
 Be these the subjects of my rhyme. 
 
 I '11 print them, and Tom's wanderings too, 
 
 And these, I 'm confident will do, 
 
 For these, if into verse I throw 'em, 
 
 Will doubtless make a Taking Poem. 
 
LIST OF THE PLATES. 
 
 Page 
 
 Taking Leaps 5 
 
 Taking Advice 6 
 
 Taking Measures 11 
 
 Taking Notice 18 
 
 Taking Bets 22 
 
 Taking Amusement 22 
 
 Taking Courage 24 
 
 Taking Lessons 30 
 
 Taking Amiss 37 
 
 Taking Aim , ■> 40 
 
 Taking Nothing 67 
 
 Taking Something 68 
 
 Taking Stitches 79 
 
 Taking Hints 90 
 
 Taking Time 96 
 
 Taking Pledges 100 
 
 Taking Little 102 
 
 Taking Likenesses 108 
 
 Taking Home 126 
 
 Taking Comfort 128 
 
 Taking Physic. 136 
 
 Taking Flight 142 
 
 Taking Thought . . , .145 
 
 Taking Pleasure 158 
 
 Taking All 1 74 
 
 Taking Caudle 183 
 
TAKINGS 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
TAKINGS- 
 
 canto i, 
 
 When gay Tom Takeall — that's a pretty name- 
 We bards alliteration dearly love, 
 
 From Oxford to his father's mansion came, 
 The Senior found his pride begin to move 
 
 To see a sprig so comely, so well grown, 
 
 That he might confidently call his own. 
 
 II. 
 
 It was not merely that the stripling now 
 Could look down on his venerable dad, 
 
 That smooth'd the furrows on the father's brow, 
 Made his eye glisten, and his bosom glad ; 
 
 His heart was of unusual joy the seat, 
 
 Because Tom's education was complete. 
 
4 TAKINGS. 
 
 III. 
 
 And be it to our hero's credit stated, 
 
 That he acquired in his pursuit of knowledge 
 
 As much as half the youngsters who are fated 
 To seek refined accomplishments at College, 
 
 For though the classics he pronounced a bore, 
 
 His exercises he would ne'er give o'er. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Tis true he did not labour very hard 
 
 To make himself proficient in the Greek, 
 
 Nor had the Latin much of his regard ; 
 
 " The living tongues," said he, " I wish to speak. 
 
 Why talk like nations to oblivion fled ? 
 
 The Devil take the language of the dead." 
 
 V. 
 
 Now, though in this way, as remarked above, 
 
 He did at best but moderately well ; 
 He failed not in some instances to prove, 
 
 By Nature he was fitted to excel : 
 In those pursuits which once engaged his mind, 
 He seldom, perhaps never, was behind. 
 
rtOWIXAT 
 
 III 
 
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 jniooo/) ig oT 
 
 dsuodi If/*! 
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 ; hir,-g3i aid odi bud 
 
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 YfiW 
 
 t UvdU 
 
 \>VC! 
 
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 bnirif >d\ al 
 
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 5C 
 
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CANTO I 
 
 VI. 
 
 Riding of these was one, and Tom could ride 
 With any winner of the Olympic games ; 
 
 And he could urge a boat against the tide 
 With any waterman upon the Thames ; 
 
 At Billiards every cunning twist he knew, 
 
 No marker boy, could better use the queue. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Moreover, Takeall on the coachman's seat, 
 
 Could swear and bawl with all the Jehu gang ; 
 
 And then the spruce Collegian to complete, 
 He had a pretty smattering of slang. 
 
 Of one so learned, when from College brought, 
 
 Could any-body say he went for nought? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But fathers never think enough is done. 
 
 Like Swedish Charles, 'till nought remains to do, 
 
 When fixed their purpose that a favourite son 
 The paths of wealth and wisdom should pursue 
 
 They, when professors have done all they can 
 
 Must undertake to finish off the man. 
 
6 TAKINGS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Fathers <' a troublesome and peevish race,'* 
 ( As they are called by every darling boy ), 
 
 Labour to bring those pleasures to disgrace, 
 Themselves no more can possibly enjoy ; 
 
 All aged gentlemen who sons have got, 
 
 Would have their sons be— what themselves were not. 
 
 X. 
 
 And apt in anxious kindness to abound, 
 Suspecting Youth and Nature will resist, 
 
 They deal in soft compulsion, and are found 
 Undutifully closish in the fist. 
 
 One thing they freely give, and in a trice 
 
 Abundance of it too, — I mean — Advice. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Tom's father was not singular, and so 
 He called him to his study, and began 
 
 To tell the youngster what he had to do, 
 To be a good, great, very happy man : 
 
 (Tom to the lecture which the Sire would make, 
 
 Went like a bear or martyr to the stake.) 
 
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 <o/Jxim blnov/ oiiH odJ doidw owiooi odi oJ irioT)* 
 * /huni 10 tfiiidrf n o^il lr 
 
I OTWAO. 
 
 IIX 
 
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 d§ufil b riliw biia «ffloT bono "<ii8 iboCI <o f /DiBdT »• 
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 J11X 
 
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 c xdlqi9q tali alivo odJ 11b audi oiom iufl 
 '\xoa iodic odi igaiBgB bifiij^ moy «> 9H 
 
 .VIX 
 
 bua d^uorii ; vikiBv iud om goiiiBBolq HA ** 
 
 v ;%aiA iaoatw B f b^i8l ^d bloi gBV/i* <dimi giriT 
 
 bBdbBdnomo! t moT id^uodi ' <ioa MI '* 
 
 ^wJ\ yiioiq b 89iiinBY rioua gaomA 
 
 do vJk flIJ08 8"fed "io dm odi iB ,1 
 
 ".bib ikm>WHU iuriJ &b ifiobeiw ioli iJooa HiW. 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " My Son," said he, ." your's is a dangerous age, 
 It knows not how temptation to withstand, 
 
 But my experience and reflections sage, 
 
 And dear-bought wisdom, all you may command." 
 
 " Thank ye, Dear Sir," cried Tom, and with a laugh, 
 He mutter'd, " I could be content with half." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Sire proceeded to instruct his heir, 
 How in the busy world to rise and shine ; 
 
 " Be sure," said he, " of wild excess take care, 
 Beware of gaming, and beware of wine ; 
 
 But more than all the evils that perplex, 
 
 Be on your guard against the other sex." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " All pleasures are but vanity ; though sad 
 
 This truth, 'twas told by Israel's wisest king ;" 
 
 " But not," thought Tom, " till Solomon had had 
 Among such vanities a pretty fling. 
 
 I, at the risk of being soundly chid, 
 
 Will seek for wisdom as that monarch did." 
 
8 TAKINGS. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The father then proceeded to declaim, 
 
 With equal kindness, dignity, and truth, 
 About the misery, the want, the shame, 
 
 Which grow on mad extravagance in youth, 
 And many maxims gave, a little trite 
 Perhaps, but excellent to teach " the right." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Still on and on he went, for when a man 
 Begins to dole out wisdom, there 's no end. 
 
 And long as flippantly his clapper ran, 
 
 As if he thought the stripling would attend. 
 
 Tom, with his dog engaged, at times yawn'd out, 
 
 " By all means," " true Sir," '*' certainly/' " no doubt." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And other words, becoming as sincere, 
 
 While thus his thoughts ran— "When the sermon ends, 
 Old Squaretoes shall not find me tarrying here, 
 
 I '11 hasten to my Co vent- Garden friends. 
 Confound his prosing ! If it stop not soon, 
 Louisa will have quitted the saloon." 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 The father finished with " Remember this." 
 And Hopeful answer 'd with assenting bow, 
 
 " Be prudent, modest, sober," Tom said " Yes,' 
 And then the sire retired, contented now. 
 
 (As well he might be.) Having eased his breast 
 
 Of such a load of morals he could rest. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Tom used this counsel as might be expected, 
 That is, as if he had not heard a word, 
 
 To think it could be other than neglected, 
 Would be a thing exceedingly absurd ; 
 
 Would show in my opinion little knowledge 
 
 Of some of the advantages of College. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Now at the play ; — the Hells and one more place, 
 Which in the neighbourhood of " ears polite," 
 
 I will not mention, Tom in pleasured chase 
 Consumes his days, and each succeeding night ; 
 
 And fix'd a fashionable name to get, 
 
 Gets fashionably very deep in debt. 
 
10 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 What more to make a Dasher of the west 
 Is needful ?— Nothing — I had almost said, 
 
 Yet one thing's needful — those say who know best 
 The Dashing Tailor's never failing aid. 
 
 Should he his cash demand— « perhaps he may — 
 
 The rascal with another order pay. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 To silence that 's the way. So Tom was told, 
 And he in matters of this sort no dunce 
 
 To put off importunity, made bold, 
 With little ceremony, more than once, 
 
 " To settle now, I can't forego my pleasures, 
 
 I want more clothes — to-morrow bring your measures. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 His bidding was obey'd, but I should first 
 Say Takeall at the bottom honest still, 
 
 (Let no rude citizen suppose the worst,) 
 Was evermore content to give his bill, 
 
 This met the Tailor's. — Each bill had a brother, 
 
 One good turn always must deserve another. 
 
.aOWUiAT .01 
 
 1ZX 
 
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 <biflg teomfc* bad I— gnidtoK — Vh/lboon al 
 
 Uod word odw >on g'gnidi oho .toY 
 
 •bifi gnilijft 79VO0 Bioli&T -gmthttd oriT 
 
 — ^ra ori gqiiihoq-— hflBmob dauso gid oil bluodB 
 
 .X&q lofoio loriJonjs ittiw Leom oriT 
 
 JjIoJ guv/ moT 08 ,^w oitt g 4 iurli oonolig oT 
 ooiwb oa toog aid) "io g'lottufii hi oil bit A 
 
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 o iiJ&fcOHi tho^ gnhd wotiooi-o J — goibqh 7/ 1 
 
 .1IIXX 
 
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 JfiJg teonori tnoiiod odi te ilao^kT x&& 
 
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 Jiid gid ovig oJ taoinoo oionmvo g^W 
 ,'iofitoid u bad Hid riaa3— .g'loIiijT oiU tea/ sidT 
 .lociloiiii oinoaob -igjini ^uv/Ui nmt.boo, 
 
II 
 
 I OT/ 
 
 
 1 4AA 
 
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 qaib hnoypd asw dH .oxoT $d-gu< 
 omi&odT J * ".omuasiq I JfuoifuT wjY 
 
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 Iithfehe< 
 
CANTO I. 11 
 
 XXIV, 
 
 In ancient times law gave for eye an eye, 
 
 And tooth for tooth. This rule from law-courts driven 
 
 To Fashion's haunts has been compell'd to fly. 
 Where bill for bill is uniformly given. 
 
 The dealer's bill is given for double pay, 
 
 The purchaser gives his — to run away. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Snip took his measures — Snip his bill had got, — 
 I mean Tom's bill, ('twas over due some moons,) 
 
 And now appear'd to measure for a coat, 
 And inexpressibles — or pantaloons. 
 
 " I have you now," said he, — " I've made a hit, 
 
 I know you 're partial to a good close fit." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 So he departed, and another came, 
 
 " His man," thought Tom. He was beyond dispute. 
 " Your name is Takeall, I presume." " The same." 
 
 " I come to you about a little suit.' 9 
 Some parchment slips he shew'd which made Tom stare, 
 For these seem'd broader than the others were. 
 
12 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 With indignation he began to foam, 
 
 " I hate," he cried, this round-about delay, 
 
 Your master measured.— Bring the things soon home, 
 I cannot tarry trifling here all day." 
 
 " No, Sir, you can't, Sir, — that is very true. 
 
 ' Bring the things home !' I come to bring home you." 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Here the Collegian's shoulder felt a slap ; 
 
 The shoulder is a very tender part, 
 This Tom can testify, for one slight tap, 
 
 Went, he declared, directly to his heart. 
 And now suspecting hope of rescue vain, 
 He thus began in lamentable strain : 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 66 O day and night ! but this is wondrous hard, 
 Since liberty is life, must life's brief span 
 
 Be thus made shorter by a stitcher's yard, 
 And shall a Tailor triumph over man ? 
 
 I somehow from these trammels must break loose, 
 
 Or evermore be called a Tailor's Goose." 
 
CANTO I. 13 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Utter'd aside was this, but, be it known, 
 Not as asides are utter'd at the play, 
 
 That is, not bellowed in a louder tone 
 Than all the rest the actor has to say ; 
 
 No ; in his mouth or throat 'twas gently mumbled : 
 
 To speak more plainly, — in his gizzard grumbled. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Well, well/' he cried, " 'tis not a civil thing. 
 
 But I, of course, along with you must go, 
 Incarcerated, lose the charms of spring, 
 
 And all the rural joys of Pimlico. 
 But, Mr. Snavel, in the face of day, 
 You need not take me by the public way. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 (< A neat snug garden, this convenient house 
 Boasts close behind, which opens to a field ; 
 
 Take me that way, and quiet as a mouse 
 Your captive most submissively will yield. 
 
 You are a gentleman, I plainly see ; 
 
 Be seated — you must take some wine with me. 
 
14 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " And there 's a guinea." Snavel touched and cried, 
 " I'm sorry, Sir, you must in Limbo dwell." 
 
 Here, in his turn he had a speech aside. 
 
 " I'm glad to catch a calf that bleeds so well." 
 
 Aloud, then — " Sorry, Sir, you want the blunt ; 
 
 Am not particular about the front." 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 <c We'll go the back way then. Now, when you please 
 I'm ready. Come Sir, shall I lead the way?" 
 
 "* No, Sir, you '11 be with me much more at ease, 
 As you have no design to run away." 
 
 u Just as may most agreeable prove to you, 
 
 The path is hardly wide enough for two. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " But mind that water — 'tis an awkward hole, 
 Too wide for you, while holding me, to leap; 
 
 I'll have it shortly fill'd, upon my soul. 
 
 On that dry hay, Sir, you had better step." 
 
 The Bailiff did so, was about to thank, 
 
 When suddenly a trap embraced his shank. 
 
CANTO I. 15 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Most musically he began to roar. 
 
 A Bailiff may possess a pretty voice ; 
 Perhaps this never was remark'd before, 
 
 So very few attend to it from choice. 
 But Debtors love to hear it on the stretch 
 From pain, as Robbers sigh to hang Jack Ketch. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " On with your solo/' the Collegian cried : 
 " I thought a Bailiff trap had understood ; 
 
 Your patience here may be a little tried, 
 
 But evil, Christians should requite with good. 
 
 So, as you cannot carry me to jail, 
 
 I'll give you bail, friend Snavel — but-— leg-bail. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " Nor shall your prisoner's charity end here ; 
 
 There 's no one now at home to bring relief; 
 You may be in this situation queer, 
 
 Mistaken — I mean taken — for a thief: 
 But brought to trial though a varlet callous, 
 I certainly will save you from the gallows. 
 
16 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " That is, provided always— mind — this clause, 
 
 (Excuse a little legal repetition 
 From one not very learned in the laws) ; 
 
 I promise, but ' on this express condition,' 
 Your neck's extension to delay a while, 
 If I myself am not ' in durance vile.' 
 
 XL. 
 
 " But should it happen, and perhaps it may, 
 Another Bailiff to some dreary hole 
 
 Drag me, in kind Sylvester's tone, I say 
 
 But this — ' The Lord have mercy on your soul ;' 
 
 Your brother officer, if I 'm in prison, 
 
 Will have but little mercy on your wizen. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " Let not the halter thy bold heart appal, 
 Although a little troublesome no doubt ; 
 
 Yet hanging 's not so dreadful, after all, 
 That it can justify the idle rout 
 
 Some recreant felons make, while they advance 
 
 To treat the public with their final dance. 
 
CANTO I. 17 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " At first, because the situation's new, 
 It may create disorder in the throat, 
 
 But the most awkward very soon get through 
 The worst, and all their trouble 's quite forgot : 
 
 They dangle as serenely — chased their fears, 
 
 As if accustomed to the thing for years. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " Here will I close this philosophic strain. 
 
 I've taught you 'tis ridiculous to grieve 
 For brief captivity, or briefer pain, 
 
 And now, with all politeness, take my leave : 
 Having by words instructed you to die, 
 I leave you my example how to fly." 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Tom vanished with the swiftness of a hare, 
 
 And shrove in dissipation to forget, 
 That there was ought dishonest or unfair 
 
 In cheating those who let him get in debt ; 
 Though swindling, some might call it in a passion, 
 'Twas consecrated— dignified by fashion. 
 
18 TAKINGS. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 And now he sought the lodgings of a dame, 
 Whose taper leg, a week or two before 
 
 He happened to take notice of. Her aim 
 Could not be to exhibit at the door, 
 
 But yet this happen'd. He was close behind, 
 
 And she, though coy at first, was not unkind. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 And she was handsome. — Mind, I do not say 
 That rouge ne'er came in contact with her face, 
 
 But if it did, when going to the play, 
 Or to a party, 'tis a common case ; 
 
 Because the lights there give the face such tone, 
 
 That natural colour will not do alone ! 
 
 XLVTI. 
 
 But Delia, that was the romantic name 
 
 She claim'd, was comely, elegant and young, 
 
 Her sprightly manners waked in Tom a flame, 
 And Rapture listened when the siren sung, 
 
 And had excessive cash inflicted pain, 
 
 Where Delia loved, it could not long remain. 
 
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GANTO I. 19 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Oft to the opera she desired to go, 
 Not that Italian very well she seamed, 
 
 But that 's of little consequence, you know, 
 For hundreds praise what few can understand. 
 
 I mention not whence this remark arose, 
 
 Nor this wight's poetry, nor that one's prose. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Tom spent his evenings in the Opera pit : 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, he went behind the scenes, 
 
 To swagger and show off a little bit, 
 
 Or crack a joke with player Kings and Queens ; 
 
 And then with consequential air retreat, 
 
 Taking his blackguard to resume his seat. 
 
 L. 
 
 One night pursuing the fantastic round 
 Of such amusements, Delia being by, 
 
 His gaze from her was wandering, when he found 
 Fix'd tearfully on him another eye. 
 
 It was an eye that he had seen before, 
 And promised as a lover to adore. 
 
 c * 
 
20 TAKINGS. 
 
 LI. 
 
 He saw a face which once had moved his heart, 
 A countenance so beautiful — so bland, 
 
 So unpolluted by the skill of art, 
 
 It seemed just given from the Creator's hand. 
 
 Sent down the homage of the world to claim, 
 
 And represent the Heaven from which it came. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Her arching eye-brows owned no pencil's aid, 
 Her face no delicately softened streak, 
 
 Save that which He who the first roses made, 
 And tinted, had conducted to her cheek. 
 
 O, how unlike the hues by follies spread, 
 
 Where ghastly white relieves the staring red ! 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Not yet matured the charms which were her own, 
 Yet ne'er to be surpassed in life's full flood. 
 
 Magnificent, I grant, the flower when blown, 
 But exquisitely beautiful the bud ! 
 
 I love the blossom ! and, with sorrow mute, 
 
 Behold it fade, though fading into fruit. 
 
CANTO I. 21 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Such was Eliza ; now her seventeenth year 
 
 Scarcely completed. Rich in charms and youth, 
 
 Not rich beside, but once to Takeall dear ; 
 And dear for loveliness and spotless truth ; 
 
 And he had wooed her to become his wife, 
 
 And promised constancy and love through life. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Tom knew his Tutor's daughter, and perceived 
 His flauntings with a wanton were observed ; 
 
 Then came remorse, and inwardly he grieved, 
 That ever from his promises he swerved. 
 
 No glance was thrown indignantly severe, 
 
 She but reproved the wanderer with a tear. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 His situation was a little vexing ; 
 
 Not to accost as when he once pursued her, 
 Was rude ; but then he thought ('twas most perplexing) 
 
 With Delia to approach her would be ruder ; 
 And so he look'd — that course he thought the wiser, 
 As if he did natsee-or recognise her. 
 
22 TAKINGS. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 But when Eliza on her brother's arm, 
 
 Was fainting borne away, he felt the goad 
 
 Of conscience. Starting with sincere alarm, 
 He fain had claimed the interesting load. 
 
 And tried his vigour through the dense crowd breaking, 
 
 Assembled in the pit, amusement taking. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 And had he known her father's new abode, 
 (He had removed since Takeall saw him last,) 
 
 ? Tis very probable that Tom that road 
 Had trodden, to extenuate the past. 
 
 The opportunity, alas ! not found, 
 
 His penitence was soon in riot drown'd. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Amidst the sports undignified and base, 
 
 Which tempted, who could modest love remember ? 
 Could love compete with Boxers or a race, 
 
 In one who of the fancy was a member ? 
 Who though unable to pay half his debts, 
 Must figure at Newmarket, taking bets. 
 

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CANTO I. 23 
 
 LX. 
 
 Or on that spot which has so often nursed, 
 Those born to grace the pugilistic list ; 
 
 The modern Campus Martins, Moulsey Hurst, 
 School of the mightiest heroes of the fist \ 
 
 There view him with a consequential air, 
 
 Determining what blows a man can bear. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 And hear him as the milling war proceeds, 
 
 The knowing ones surprising with his knowledge, 
 
 Anxious to prove by words as well as deeds 
 How largely he had profited at College. 
 
 In slang confess'd, as perfectly complete, 
 
 As wits of Tothill Fields, or Dyot-Street. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 " Vhat are you at — you Varmint ! — vhy not stop him? 
 
 Measure his glims for mourning — spoil his smeller s- 
 The veaving system take — now fib — now vhap him, 
 
 Flog out the ring — stand backwarder, you fellers. 
 Now draw the Claret — now sow up his eye, 
 Bravo-— Huzza ! his head's in Chancery. 
 
24 TAKINGS. 
 
 LXIIi. 
 
 " Return that blow. — The Devil ! — ha!— knocked clown! 
 * Profusely bleeding like an ox just stuck ! 
 No matter — up again and win renown, 
 
 Take courage, if you wish for better luck. 
 All Lombard-Street, if fearless you begin, 
 Against a Charley s Shelter that you win.*' 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Behold in what a glorious group he stands, 
 
 Dealers in Cats' meat, — Costermongers, — Peers, 
 
 Roaring out, " done," with Swindlers shaking hands, 
 And telling their alternate hopes and fears. 
 
 Hail condescension ! that can thus put by 
 
 The vain distinctions of Society. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 But all the wisdom the Collegian gain'd, 
 Some how or other fail'd to fill his purse, 
 
 Oft to a solitary guinea drain'd ; 
 
 And all his winnings coupled with a curse, 
 
 That flush'd with joy, and banish'd prudent care ? 
 
 Then handed him to sorrow and despair. 
 
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CANTO I. 25 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 From bad to worse the gambler carried on, 
 Found matters coming to a desperate pass, 
 
 Call'd, — now his cash and character were gone, 
 By some a blackleg, and by some an ass. 
 
 By folly thus to poverty betray 'd, 
 
 He made no more th' appearance he once made. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 His father scandalized by his excesses, 
 
 Though half disposed to pardon once or twice, 
 
 Considered Tom deserv'd all his distresses, 
 For paying no regard to good advice. 
 
 Kind friends who counsel, cannot soon forgive 
 
 Those who by others' precepts choose to live. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Tom's alter 'd dress folks now began to note, 
 He look'd ('twas very galling this to feel), 
 
 Like one to learning or to toil devote, 
 A shabby specimen of the genteel ; 
 
 By Fancy Amateurs class'd with the needy, 
 
 The general buz was, " Twig the swell —how seedy!" 
 
26 TAKINGS. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 But Fortune one night suddenly relented, 
 And brought our hero a supply of cash ; 
 
 The dice grown friendly, no more discontented, 
 He blamed himself as venturesome and rash. 
 
 New clothes — new spurs, made everything seem clever, 
 
 And Delia and his friends were kind as ever. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 But now another mistress Tom would have, 
 
 'Tis ungenteel one very long to hold, 
 Though here and there a wanton's doting slave, 
 
 Makes her a wife when ugly grown and old. 
 A Boarding School young Miss, demure and sly, 
 Made Delia mourn Tom's want of constancy. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 'Twas at a house where he would sometimes call, 
 Ten miles from London that he Charlotte spied, 
 
 The fair coquette aspiring to enthrall, 
 His visits rapidly were multiplied, 
 
 To gain with her a moment's amorous talk, 
 
 And join her in some charming rural walk. 
 
CANTO I. 21 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Great was his transport then — too great to last ; 
 
 The pleasure soon was sternly interdicted, 
 And Tom, his heart oppress'd — his brow o'ercast, 
 
 Seemed mortified, and very much afflicted. 
 " Yet, 1 remember one," he sighed, " more fair, 
 But Charlotte's here, — Eliza, Heaven knows where." 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 And then he thought of the delightful hour, 
 
 He might have known with either one or Mother, 
 
 Near some soft rivulet or shady bower, 
 
 Had no one thought it right to make a pother ; 
 
 And still the dear idea to prolong, 
 
 He chose it for the subject of a song. 
 
 &OtlQ< 
 
 How thrills the youth with wild delight ! 
 
 Where Celia, in the silent grove, 
 Permits him, favour'd by the night, 
 
 To breathe his ardent vows of love :— 
 
28 TAKINGS. 
 
 Where Prudence, forced to stand aloof, 
 Strives feebly Nature's throb to quell, 
 
 And the soft-whisper'd, fond reproof, 
 Invites the kiss it would repel. 
 
 Oh ! that precarious joy is dear, 
 
 Whose thread each passing moment breaks, 
 And blissful those alarms — that fear, 
 
 Which every rustling leaf awakes ; 
 There the swain's bosom, passion fired — 
 
 The hopes that swell the fair one's zone, 
 Make, from the haunts of men retired, 
 
 A world of rapture, all their own. 
 
 Give me, give me such scenes to prove, 
 
 Give me a maid whose generous breast, 
 And " incense-breathing" lip of love, 
 
 May lull each anxious care to rest ! 
 Thus blest, through life my glistening eye 
 
 Shall speak my bosom's grateful glow, 
 'Till death transports above the sky 
 
 The Houri of my Heaven below. 
 
CANTO I. 29 
 
 LXXIV 
 
 Thus Takeall sung, in an enamoured strain, 
 Full of impatience, panting with desire, 
 
 The just remonstrance, which had given him pain, 
 Checked its display, but could not quench its fire ; 
 
 And, still intent upon the tempting prize, 
 
 He now pursued it in more cautious guise. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 In sixteen hundred fifty pass'd a law, 
 
 By which all wenching was declared a crime, 
 
 And those were fairly hang'd whom Justice saw 
 Offending in this way a second time. 
 
 The law for that age might not be amiss, 
 
 But, God be praised, 'tis obsolete in this ! 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Some pretty prospects might that statute mar, 
 If for offenders made a rigid search ; 
 
 'Twould cause no small confusion at the Bar, 
 And prove the total ruin of the Church ! 
 
 And oh ! if executed all who wench, 
 
 What Judge could sit in safety on the bench ? 
 
30 TAKINGS. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Yet, possibly, to bring it into play 
 
 Might benefit this over-crowded nation, 
 
 Because it presently would sweep away 
 The whole of our superfluous population. 
 
 And some would owe the law more necks, I wot, 
 
 Than Lad-lanes celebrated Swan has got. 
 
 LXXYIII. 
 
 But, fearing no such law, Tom took his course, 
 And once when Charlotte's music-master came, 
 
 While she took lessons, he contrived to force 
 
 A letter on her. — What starch'd prude shall blame 
 
 The lady, if disposed, at all events, 
 
 To take it, just to look at its contents ? 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 And when, on reading of a passion frantic, 
 
 She found a proposition to elope, 
 The thing was so deliciously romantic, 
 
 By many she will be forgiven, I hope, 
 If, after that, ere many weeks were spent, 
 A signal indicated her consent. 
 
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CANTO I. 31 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 'Twas settled then, that on the coming Friday, 
 Whatever might of good or ill betide, 
 
 And whether it turn'd out a wet or dry day, 
 That she in Takeall's chaise should take a ride : 
 
 That is, in any chaise he, after dark, 
 
 Might have in waiting by the neighbouring park. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 One thing she stipulated — 'tis but fair 
 
 To state this now, lest some say, Fie upon her ; 
 
 'Twas this, that Tom should take especial care, 
 Of what each beauty loves to name — her honour ; 
 
 But honour is — he had not then to learn, 
 
 A very — very portable concern. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 He started then no scruples upon this, 
 
 And, aided by a friend with chaise and pair, 
 
 Exulting in anticipated bliss, 
 
 He on the appointed evening sought the fair, 
 
 And waited anxiously the silent hour, 
 
 Which promised to put Charlotte in his power. 
 
 END OF CANTO THE FIRST. 
 
J- 
 
TAKINGS 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
TAKIN GS. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 I. 
 
 'Twas night ! — We find in common conversation, 
 When people feel embarrass'd what to say, 
 
 They frequently get out of tribulation, 
 By criticising or the night or day ; 
 
 And half a dozen stammerers together, 
 
 Tell you 'tis hot, cold, fine, or rainy weather. 
 
 II. 
 
 And many poets of a common stamp, 
 Who of their hero nothing have to tell, 
 
 Seize on " day's orb," or <4 night's resplendent lamp," 
 And think describing these will do as well. 
 
 Where sun and moon contribute all their fires, 
 
 'Tis Heaven undoubtedly the verse inspires. 
 
 d 2 
 
36 TAKINGS. 
 
 III. 
 
 I, if I pleased, could dabble in this way, 
 
 Tell how the clouds came forward and went back, 
 
 And how the cold moon threw her modest ray, 
 Milk white, while all the sky around was black ; 
 
 Saving the nearest clouds, which Luna chaste 
 
 With silver edged, and with prodigious taste. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As gay or gayer than the tawdry clothes, 
 
 Which all Lord Mayors most elegant suppose ; 
 
 In which their footmen when to take the oaths 
 Their Lordships go, grace annual civic shows. 
 
 But such embellishments are idle stuff, 
 
 I say 'twas night, and that is quite enough. 
 
 V. 
 
 'Twas night then, Tom by one kind friend attended, 
 That friend a gallant captain in the second, 
 
 Waited, and often wished their waiting ended, 
 
 The " tardy gaited" minutes while they reckon'd. 
 
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 Found the rude breeze uncomfortably cold. 
 
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 VI. 
 
 At length the wished-for moment was at hand, 
 
 ( Why should Time creep so slowly when we call ?) 
 
 The cautious signal by the lovers plann'd, 
 Was heard and answer 'd by the gar den- wall. 
 
 And now her drapery the nymph displays, 
 
 Now they assist, and seat her in the chaise. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Taking a Miss makes such a mighty stir, 
 That many soldiers, ay, and brave ones too, 
 
 In such a cause a triumph would prefer, 
 To all the laurels won at Waterloo. 
 
 Tom though he went not quite so far as that, 
 
 Thought the affair a feather in his hat. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 When difficulties we suppose are over, 
 
 Some unexpected matter often doubles 'em ; 
 
 This was lamented by our rakish lover, 
 
 For Charlotte's honour turn'd out rather troublesome 
 
 One lodging, he conceived, for both would do, 
 
 But Charlotte resolutely called for two. 
 
38 TAKINGS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Until — she'd a reserve, ( but this reserve 
 Abated very little his miscarriage ) f 
 
 Until she from this wise resolve might swerve, 
 Being indissolubly his by marriage. 
 
 Now Tom had sworn to love her all his life ; — 
 
 That was not saying she should be his wife. 
 
 X. 
 
 Few things indeed more opposite — for I, 
 
 Ere I wed those I love some time would tarry, 
 
 For fifty charmers well content to die, 
 
 That I to save from Satan would not marry. . 
 
 Marriage requires prodigious resolution, 
 
 Dying (in love), don't hurt the constitution. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Takeall knew water dropping on a stone, 
 
 Incessantly wears adamant away ; 
 And by degrees — more rapid he had known, 
 
 A woman's resolutions melt away ; 
 Of virtuous ones, I speak, which oft enough 
 Are form'd of very " penetrable stuff. " 
 
CANTO II. 39 
 
 XII. 
 
 He therefore managed matters to delay, 
 And cautiously his fond advances made, 
 
 Postponing ever wedlock's evil day, 
 Which he disparaged as a vain parade, 
 
 To put on that uninteresting thing, — 
 
 The worthless little bauble, called a ring. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Why, want a church ! and why a priest invite? 
 
 Be Heaven our witness, and our temple space ; 
 Let Love — the God himself, alone unite 
 
 Our fates, and consecrate our resting-place." 
 But Charlotte scrupled, — Cupid was stone blind, 
 And might not settle matters to her mind. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Still time and perseverance, he expected 
 Would ultimately make the fair his own, 
 
 If he no opportunity neglected ; 
 
 When suddenly he found the bird was flown. 
 
 So with a mouse a cat will sometimes play, 
 
 'Till the intended victim gets away. 
 
40 TAKINGS. 
 
 XV... 
 
 One evil many sober sages tell, 
 
 Is ever closely followed by another, 
 And so on this occasion out it fell : 
 
 A challenge came next day from Charlotte's brother; 
 To whom the fugitive her sorrows carried, 
 At last grown desperate through not being married. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 What could be done ?— Why nothing that 1 know of, 
 But see his pistols were prepared for action; 
 
 So as to make it certain they would go off 
 To give his adversary satisfaction. 
 
 They met then, as the latter had desired, 
 
 Took aim, (pretending they did not,) and fired. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Both miss'd. 'Tis very common in such cases 
 
 For seconds civilly to interfere, 
 And set 'gainst new hostilities their faces, 
 
 Declaring after what has pass'd 'tis clear, 
 Though right before could but to one belong, 
 That neither now can possibly be wrong. 
 
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CANTO II. 41 
 
 XVIII 
 
 But here 'twas different — neither was content, 
 And so they stood up for another round, 
 
 And now the bullet Charlotte's brother sent 
 The shoulder of the college hero found. 
 
 It lodged indeed so very near his breast, 
 
 All sublunary cares it put at rest. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Flat as a flounder, down upon the ground, 
 His length Tom measured without more ado ; 
 
 His foe came up — regretted that he found 
 
 Accomplished, that, which he had tried to do ; 
 
 Hoped an improvement soon in his condition, 
 
 Then fled with all convenient expedition. 
 
 XX. 
 
 And here apparently in dangerous state, 
 I leave him as I something have to say, 
 
 About another.— Tom awhile may wait ; 
 The reader knows he cannot run away. 
 
 But then some tender nymph may say " O fie!" 
 
 Suppose while you neglect him he should die ! 
 
42 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXI 
 
 But Tom resembles so the generality 
 
 Of those who swell romances, poems, plays, 
 
 His friends may be consoled ; for his vitality 
 Would baffle death in fifty different ways. 
 
 The Pelican or Eagle might ensure 
 
 His life at quarter price, and be secure. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And poor Eliza ! we must not forget her ; 
 
 When we beheld her time the first and last, 
 'Twill be remember'd she was not much better 
 
 Than Tom seems now, as from the pit she pass'd 
 And so it is but rational and fair, 
 To let her have a little of our care. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Borne from the opera, — where it matters not, 
 Water et cetera brought her round of course, 
 
 And she next morning in her mother's cot, 
 
 Seemed, not recover'd, but not much the worse, 
 
 Though certainly her appetite might fail, 
 
 And her mild countenance grew very pale. 
 
CANTO II. 43 
 
 XXIV 
 
 And sadly pondering on what she had known, 
 She sorrow'd for her melancholy fate, 
 
 Fondly recalling days for ever gone, 
 
 When virtuous love could make her heart elate ; 
 
 And happiness though churchmen wisely teach, 
 
 Is not of earth, appear 'd within her reach. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 For then affliction never had come nigh, 
 Ambition knew her not, nor idle pride ; 
 
 Remote alike from pomp and poverty, 
 
 Her hours were wont in gay content to glide. 
 
 And ardent love told unsuspecting youth, 
 
 Of ceaseless constancy and lasting truth. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 It may not be that language can impart 
 The thrilling joy, the bosom's altered tone, 
 
 The wishes that the recognising heart, 
 
 Fears to acknowledge though compell'd to own, 
 
 When love first sparkles in the maiden's eye, 
 
 Language in vain attempts to soar so high. 
 
44 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Nor less unequal to the deep despair 
 
 With which successfully no mind can cope, 
 
 When mean neglect of the confiding fair, 
 Annihilates the fondly-cherished hope, 
 
 The fierce extremes of transport and distress 
 
 Those who have known, attempt not to express. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 But to the worst calamity the mind, 
 (A God of mercy has ordain'd it so,) 
 
 Becomes inured, — grows tranquil and resign d 
 And entertains with decency its woe. 
 
 Eliza's gaiety and peace were fled, 
 
 But she was calm — no tear the charmer shed. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 She strove to soothe a mother too who grieved, 
 Calamity was destined to overwhelm, 
 
 And that her husband, by a friend deceived 
 Had been compelled to seek a foreign realm. 
 
 There fortune seem'd some kindness to denote, 
 
 But joy was distant, — his return remote. 
 
CANTO II. 45 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Their sorrow somewhat was indeed abated, 
 
 Though still the mother sighed with anxious fears, 
 
 Those are not very easily elated, 
 
 Who know the sad vicissitudes of years, 
 
 Who know how often parted by the main 
 
 Hearts sigh to meet that ne'er may meet again. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Eliza sometimes wonder'd that her lover 
 
 Since changed their circumstances never came. 
 
 In wealth or poverty which e'er might prove her, 
 Her own affections must remain the same. 
 
 She therefore thought — the idea might be strange, 
 Such accidents in him could make no change. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 But to the opera on a free admission 
 
 Eliza's brother taking her with him, 
 To see Giovanni's frolics and perdition, 
 
 With Scaramouch Pedrillo's tricks and whim, 
 Delia and Tom she saw. How she retired 
 I need not tell : that night her hopes expired. 
 
46 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Day followed day, but still no solace brought, 
 The tear of weakness she forbade to flow, 
 
 But with unutterable sorrow fraught, 
 
 Alone the sufferer mourn'd in silent woe ; 
 
 Though indisposed the anguish to impart, 
 
 Which now had full possession of her heart. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And much she wish'd externally to wear 
 Such aspect, no one near her might infer 
 
 The sorrow that consumed — she could not bear 
 That any one should shed a tear for her. 
 
 Though with excruciating anguish wrung, 
 
 To soothe her mother, thus she sometimes sung. 
 
 Sons, 
 
 When last a parent's fond adieu 
 Burst sadly on my aching ear, 
 
 With trembling footsteps I withdrew, 
 Imperfectly repress'd the tear. 
 
CANTO II. 47 
 
 And as the vehicle too fast 
 
 Retires, for one more glimpse I strain, 
 And sigh the fleeting vision past. 
 
 Soon may we meet in joy again ! 
 
 And Hope, prophetic, would suggest 
 
 Grief at no distant time shall cease, 
 That thou, dear absent one, : shall rest, 
 
 Restored to affluence and peace. 
 Still for the coming of that joy 
 
 The call affectionately vain, 
 Will ceaselessly my hours employ, 
 
 Soon may we meet in joy again. 
 
 And if, far distant be that day, 
 
 The sad, the sacred duty mine, 
 To watch the couch of thy decay, 
 
 And o'er thy lifeless form recline ; 
 Oft to thy grave will I repair, 
 
 And night's congenial gloom, this strain 
 Shall hear, embodied in my prayer, 
 
 s Soon may we meet in joy again.' 
 
48 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Thus passed Eliza's hours ; some maids would know 
 Much better how to wile away their time ; 
 
 Would on some new admirer quickly throw 
 Their eyes, and not risk losing all their prime : 
 
 That she for no such consolation sought, 
 
 I must say proves a shocking want of thought. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Put so it was, and if a nunnery 
 
 Had there been found, near which no creature male 
 Could venture to approach, Eliza, I 
 
 Suspect, had been content to take the veil. 
 Odd taste ! Who else in England would a nun 
 Become in eighteen hundred twenty-one ? 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Few I believe, — some ugly jades may live 
 Neglected or forsaken, and who therefore 
 
 To Heaven would very liberally give 
 
 Those treasures no man can be found to care for. 
 
 The lovely, though they might avoid much evil 
 
 In this way, had much rather face the Devil. 
 
CANTO II. 49 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 So pensive, pale, and lonely, but quite calm, 
 And anxious others' sorrows to abate, 
 
 Eliza look'd as if Time's healing balm 
 Already reconciled her to her fate. 
 
 One afternoon disturbed the pensive fair, 
 
 A loud rat-tat ; — a sound unusual there. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 The door was open'd, and a stranger burst 
 With small regard for ceremony in ; 
 
 Eliza felt surprise, nor saw at first 
 He who to speak was ready to begin, 
 
 A bleeding sufferer on his shoulder bore, 
 
 Whose dying struggle seemed already o'er. 
 
 XL. 
 
 " Your pardon, Lady, I sincerely crave," 
 The stranger said, " that I so rudely enter ; 
 
 To save my friend from an untimely grave, 
 
 Thus rashly in your presence made me venture. 
 
 To find a surgeon I must run some distance, 
 
 And he requires immediately assistance, 
 
50 TAKINGS. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " Will you permit me, then, to leave him here, 
 
 That I may expeditiously seek aid, 
 He may expire else ere relief he near. 
 
 But little elocution will persuade 
 A maid to succour. Pity, sure will move, 
 For one whose only error has been love. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " A lady loved my friend, was loved by him ; 
 
 The fair intending to become his wife 
 Eloped. Alas ! a churlish brother's whim 
 
 Produced, unhappily, this fatal strife. 
 To tell you more I cannot now delay ; 
 That pitying glance assures me he may stay/' 
 
 XLII1. 
 
 Eliza, shuddering, view'd the lifeless form, 
 
 But could not speak. The friend did right to guess 
 
 Her bosom with sincere compassion warm, 
 Could never hesitate to acquiesce. 
 
 Few hasty words in gratitude he said, 
 
 While on a couch his helpless charge he laid. 
 
CANTO. 51 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 The wounded man with blood was all besmear M, 
 It marr'd his clothes and so disguised his face, 
 
 That, had her brother in such state appear'd, 
 His features she had been perplexd to trace. 
 
 The mother came, and now his pulse was trying, 
 
 And she at once declared the man was dying. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 And so, of course, the parent and the daughter 
 
 Concluded useless every aid to be ; 
 But yet some water, which the latter brought her, 
 
 The mother thought could do no harm, and she 
 Gently began his countenance to flood, 
 And wash'd away a little of the blood. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 'Twas then Eliza recognised her lover, 
 
 In him whose being seenVd so nearly ended. 
 
 Dim grew her eye, while nVd upon the rover, 
 And even respiration was suspended. 
 
 Her mother, occupied with Takeall's case, 
 
 Mark'd not the changes in Elizas face. 
 
 e2 
 
52 TAKINGS. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Ought she to feel affliction ? Tom though shot, 
 Was proved a wild inconstant reckless wight, 
 
 And would not many say that he had got 
 Exactly that which served him very right ? 
 
 Devote to truth, I must not here conceal 
 
 Some philanthropic ladies thus would feel ; 
 
 XLVIIL 
 
 And wish the sufferer to revive, that they 
 
 Might tell — " The consequences now you see 
 
 When naughty men go wickedly astray ; 
 You had not suffer'd thus if true to me. 
 
 You can't recover ; — I deplore your woe, 
 
 But where when dead can you expect to go ?" 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Not so Eliza ; — all the pain she felt 
 
 Was for the wanderer's desperate condition ; 
 
 She on his sufferings, not his errors dwelt ; 
 
 To life she sought to wake him, not contrition : 
 
 Revengeful feelings to her breast unknown, 
 
 She wept his situation, not her own. 
 
CANTO II. 53 
 
 L. 
 
 Now came the second, with the wishM-for aid ; 
 
 The surgeon snatch'd Tom's wrist, and shook his head, 
 Remarking, well it was that haste was made, 
 
 In calling him ; the vital spark had fled 
 Had he not lived at a convenient distance, 
 To give professionally his assistance. 
 
 LI. 
 
 As things had happen'd, though the wound was serious, 
 He trusted that it would not mortal prove ; 
 
 But then — on this point he w T as quite imperious, 
 The sufferer must on no account remove ; 
 
 The faculty, but rarely think it good, 
 
 A patient should depart their neighbourhood, 
 
 LII. 
 
 'Till they have given him a sufficient dose, 
 And almost carried him his troubles through, 
 
 By bringing to the dreary grave so close, 
 That nothing is for others left to do. 
 
 Then, to preserve the credit of their pill, 
 
 They order off that change of air may kill. 
 
5h TAKINGS. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 I will not longer on these subjects pause, 
 
 Few scenes of sickness like at length narrated, 
 
 With laboured descants on effect arid cause 
 On what was sent, and how it operated. 
 
 Let this suffice, though all with Tom see'm'd over, 
 
 'Twas shortly evident he would recover. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 And he so rapidly improved, that folks 
 
 Who saw the change, could scarce believe their eyes, 
 For they had heard some very scurvy jokes 
 
 On doctors, and they all expressed surprise, 
 That one who boasted only moderate wealth, 
 Should bring a customer so soon to health. 
 
 LV. 
 
 And he too, at this good or evil luck, 
 
 (I shant say which he thought it), was amazed; 
 Indeed he once or twice seem'd thunder-struck, 
 
 While on the patient's countenance he gazed ; 
 And own'd he had not hoped that one so sickly, 
 Would get about again so very quickly. 
 
CANTO II. 55 
 
 LVI. 
 
 The fact was, Tom, who knew the doctor must 
 Send in a good respectable account, 
 
 Determined in his youth and strength to trust, 
 And would not physic up to the amount. 
 
 Each morning in the fire his pills he threw, 
 
 His potions from the chamber-window flew. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 But while in danger, all Eliza's care 
 
 Was how the faithless Takeall she might save; 
 And all a modest maidens hand might bear 
 
 To sorrow's couch, with gentle hand she gave ; 
 Nor did her fairy form escape his eye, 
 Nor yet her tremulous anxiety, 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 And curiosity would oft assail, 
 
 And wake a wish the head-dress to displace, 
 Of one so kind, for through her thick'd close veil, 
 
 He saw no feature of Eliza's face. 
 This solace for the past alone she craved, 
 To save — but never let him know she saved. 
 
56 TAKINGS. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Acting upon the rule he had laid down, 
 
 Takeall proved daily an increase of strength ; 
 
 No danger now forbad return to town, 
 And so for going he prepared at length. 
 
 But first he wish'd to learn to whom he owed 
 
 The exemplary kindness there bestow'd. 
 
 LX. 
 
 " And sweet one/' — ('twas Eliza he address'd,) 
 " I fain would better know before we part, 
 
 To whom those thanks which cannot be express'd, 
 Are due from a sincerely grateful heart. 
 
 Refuse me not, but answer I entreat ; 
 
 Your charity will else be incomplete. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " You hesitate. — Indeed this is not well, 
 You must not to reveal your name delay ; 
 
 I will know — who in goodness thus excel, 
 Though hopeless adequately to repay — 
 
 I must know that dear vocalist whose pow'rs, 
 
 Cheer'd with their harmony my saddest hours.' 
 
CANTO II. 57 
 
 LXIL 
 
 " Spare me/' she said, " the pain of a reply, 
 If you have profited by our poor aid, 
 
 Leave us contented in obscurity, 
 Already with large usury repaid. 
 
 To see you well, from danger free and pain, 
 
 Our prayer was ever — it has not been vain. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 " Here then we end, no more may I disclose ; 
 
 Our anxious cares are with your sufferings o'er ; 
 May health be yours, and permanent repose ; 
 
 We now must bid adieu to meet no more. 1 ' 
 He started as she finished, for her tone 
 Reminded him of one no longer known. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Impetuously he cried, " It must not be, 
 
 Life saved, and health restored I owe to you ; 
 
 Him you preserved will you no longer see ; 
 Can you thus banish with a cold adieu? 
 
 Who have so kindly succour'd I must learn ; 
 
 And here my grateful steps will oft return.' 7 
 
58 TAKINGS. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 She had retired, but forcibly restrain'd 
 Entreaties earnestly were multiplied ; 
 
 And I suspect while one hand hers detained, 
 Her veil was by his other hand untied. 
 
 Certain it is, it at that moment fell, 
 
 And Takeall knew the blushing wearer well, 
 
 LXYI. 
 
 Eliza trembled, and her streaming eyes, 
 In diffident confusion sought the ground. 
 
 Tom stared and stammered with unfeigned surprise, 
 Remorse and shame uniting to confound. 
 
 Both remain d silent, she in strange dismay, 
 
 He so embarrass'd he could nothing say. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 At last he spoke with self- reproaching air, 
 " To you, Eliza, then the mighty debt 
 
 I find is due, but O ! exalted Fair, 
 
 This was not wanting to awake regret ; 
 
 For wanderings past, which deign to be assured, 
 
 Are from this happy moment all abjured. 
 
CANTO II. 59 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 " Ah now accept my undivided heart, 
 Its lovely mistress thou shalt ever shine ; 
 
 No other evermore shall claim a part, 
 By gratitude ineffable made thine. 
 
 This blissful hour my happiness secures, 
 
 Binds me Eliza — ever, ever yours." 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 " No," was her answer. — " No ; another name 
 Claims your affections, — mine you must forget ; 
 
 That brighter charms should make a stronger flame, 
 Moves not resentment ; — but — perhaps— regret. 
 
 A tear will fall — a tribute to the past, 
 
 'Tis gone — forgive me — it shall be the last. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 " But know my soul all littleness above, 
 If keen the anguish parting will intrude ; 
 
 Know, she whose worth could not retain your love, 
 Disdains to profit by your gratitude. 
 
 Each to forget — the other must endeavour, 
 
 Now bid farewell, and separate for ever." 
 
60 TAKINGS. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 She vanish'd — he was tempted to pursue, 
 
 But then the mother came to say, " good-bye,' 
 
 Our hero awkwardly this scene got through, 
 To make acknowledgments obliged to try. 
 
 While something very much he wish'd to say, 
 
 About returning on an early day. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 At last he rather hastily retired, 
 
 And took his way to the metropolis, 
 
 Recall'd the hopes which once his bosom fired, 
 The waking visions of exhaustless bliss. 
 
 And strove though folly had so long enthralled 
 
 To think Eliza yet might be recalled. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 But still there was a firmness in her tone, 
 And in her manner when she last withdrew, 
 
 That made him fear his efforts to atone, 
 Her resolution never would subdue. 
 
 " If she relent not," in impassioned strain, 
 
 He raved, " my life has been preserved in vain !" 
 
 END OF CANTO THE SECOND. 
 
TAKINGS. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
TAKIN G S 
 
 CANTO HI. 
 
 I. 
 
 " So on he went," as Satan did, we read 
 When first to visit earth 'twas his intent, 
 
 Grumbling that he had been— he *d cause indeed — 
 From Heaven so very ungenteelly sent. 
 
 But Tom, like Satan — though like Satan undone, 
 
 Could find no guiltless Paradise in London. 
 
 II. 
 
 Takeall, though promisingly convalescent, 
 
 Tho' gathering strength with each succeeding day, 
 
 Secure, remaining in a state quiescent, 
 Of being quite restored with brief delay : 
 
 Was not yet strong, and so compell'd to leave her 
 
 Whom he had loved, it brought back all his fever. 
 
64 TAKINGS. 
 
 Ill: 
 
 And to his chamber this again confined him, 
 A fortnight, or perhaps a little more, 
 
 For now Eliza was not near to mind him, 
 And lower were his spirits than before. 
 
 He mourn'd that slightingly he e'er could use her, 
 
 And shuddered at the thought that he might lose her. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The moment, therefore, that he got about, 
 And ascertain'd he had a chance to live, 
 
 He sought her mother's cottage to find out 
 Again to woo his mistress to forgive. 
 
 In hopes the explanations he might offer 
 
 Would favour of his heart and hand the proffer. 
 
 Lovely the opening day burst on his view, 
 When first beheld its earliest orient streak, 
 
 To him the drops of soft transparent dew 
 
 Seem'd tears on infant Morning's ruddy cheek ; 
 
 And oft he paused, to mark the Sun's young beam, 
 
 Falling aslant upon the tranquil stream. 
 
CANTO III. 65 
 
 VI. 
 
 And still to pause the lingerer was compell'd, 
 And still he gazed with an admiring eye, 
 
 While in the rippling waters he beheld 
 All the reflected glories of the sky, 
 
 Through rising vapours, picturing as they pass, 
 
 A beauty's breathings on her looking-glass. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He gazed upon the angler, who prepared 
 Against the finny race terrific war ; 
 
 He loitered to go forward ere he dared, 
 
 For thence he knew the cottage was not far ; 
 
 Tom knew it, for the waters there that roll'd 
 
 He lately from his chamber could behold. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Perceived the cot — it gave no trifling shock ; 
 
 Perhaps 'twas joy, perhaps 'twas consternation ; 
 But he approach'd, and gave a gentle knock, 
 
 Then waited in respectful trepidation ; 
 And soon astonishment provoked a stare, 
 At hearing those he ask'd for were not there. 
 
66 TAKINGS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Few opportunities, undoubtedly, 
 
 He had remarks upon the house to make, 
 
 I mean the outside, so he thought he 'd try 
 The next one, as perhaps, he might mistake. 
 
 He did so, and the next one, 'till he tired, 
 
 But gained not the intelligence desired. 
 
 X. 
 
 That which he heard from one and from another, 
 Led him, reluctantly, to this conclusion, 
 
 That when he left Eliza and her mother, 
 They fled to guard against a new intrusion ; 
 
 Most anxious that no clue should there remain, 
 
 To guide his steps to their abode again. 
 
 XL 
 
 The day was nearly spent, and Tom chagrin 1 d 
 Look'd sorrowfully on the road to town, 
 
 When, gazing on the stream, he felt inclined 
 Himself and his anxieties to drown. 
 
 This thought, no doubt, was prompted by despair, 
 
 Though reason told 'twould save the Acton fare. 
 
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 XIL 
 
 Upon the margin, then, he took his stand, 
 
 Look'd up, and then look'd down, as to contrive 
 How best to execute what he had planned 
 
 And vanish with a comfortable dive. 
 But then he fear'd a slumberer to disturb, 
 Resolves like his a little thing will curb. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Cockney angler who to this resort, 
 Had ventured forth a holiday to keep, 
 
 Found with his tackle such delightful sport, 
 That he had fairly fish'd himself to sleep. 
 
 To grieve for taking nothing would be vain, 
 
 The fishing amateur would this disdain. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A fishing-rod has been described to be 
 Found very often near some muddy pool ; 
 
 A line we usually at one end see, 
 And at the other commonly a fool. 
 
 This has been said, and if a bouncer— why. 
 
 The reader has it quite as cheap as I. 
 
 F 3 
 
68 TAKINGS. 
 
 XV. 
 
 For my part, I should say the man is wise 
 
 Who can so easily obtain delight, 
 Impaling worms, and torturing grubs and flies ; 
 
 If he should follow it from morn till night, 
 It is so entertaining ! lively ! gentle ! 
 And, more than all, so very sentimental ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But yet so far these gentry need not roam ; 
 
 The sport they so exceedingly admire 
 They might enjoy, and use their lines at home, 
 
 In pail of water placed before the fire. 
 This mode of fishing, though some drivellers scoff it, 
 With equal pleasure, promises like profit. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Scarcely a single bite had cheer'd the dunce, 
 A beggar luckier, by the self-same brook, 
 
 'Twas evident, took something more than once, 
 And that without or rod, or line, or hook : 
 
 What fish he sought, to pickle, boil or fry, 
 
 I have not leisure now to specify. 
 
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CANTO III. 69 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The beggar look'd at Tom, and so he thought 
 He would not then the watery way explore, 
 
 As by the mendicant he might be brought, 
 (The job half finished only,) to the shore. 
 
 He wisely scrupled then his plunge to take, 
 
 Because one slept and 'tother was awake. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 While Takeall thus, in melancholy mood 
 Stood musing, hesitating, like a lover, 
 
 As to the fittest course to be pursued, 
 Sincerely wishing the convulsion over, 
 
 That his imprisoned soul might be at large, 
 
 He saw approaching an enormous barge. 
 
 XX. 
 
 He saw, but did it occupy his mind? 
 
 No ; that with other matters was employ 'd ; 
 And all absorbed, to danger wholly blind ; 
 
 Nor horse nor barge he studied to avoid. 
 So while the former on his way was going, 
 Tom stood between him and what he was towing. 
 
70 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The tow-rope fairly had behind him pass'd, 
 Without his having of it any inkling, 
 
 And suddenly o'er head and ears at last, 
 It soused our pensive hero in a twinkling ; 
 
 And death that he to go to had a whim, 
 
 Seemed civilly disposed to come to him. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 O, what a chance this for resigning breath I 
 He now might perish with secure reliance : 
 
 The verdict would be " accidental death," 
 And so might bid all coroners defiance. 
 
 The danger of cross-roads so much diminish'd, 
 
 Drowning at once had all his crosses finish'd. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But people strangely stand in their own light ; 
 
 Tom who but now had sought to bring about 
 What he had got, so little liked his plight, 
 
 He with all expedition scrambled out ; 
 And seem'd as well content on shore to move, 
 As if a stranger to the pangs of love. 
 
CANTO III. 71 
 
 XXIV 
 
 He shook his garments, and lie then reflected 
 His woes by that time all might have been o'er, 
 
 But he considered — 'tis perhaps expected, 
 Beginning all again would be a bore ; 
 
 His views were changed — he now but thought of trying 
 
 To get his clothes a comfortable drying. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Resolved on this he speedily decamped, 
 And though disconsolate his bosom still ; 
 
 His love of dying by a ducking damped, 
 He philosophically chose the ill, » 
 
 To bear which then occasion'd all his woe, 
 
 Instead of braving what he did not know, 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 With unremitting toil for many days, 
 
 He strove to find Eliza's new retreat ; 
 In vain the lover travelPd different ways, 
 
 His failure and vexation were complete. 
 This had depress'd if nothing else had ail'd him, 
 But then additional distress assail'd him. 
 
72 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXVIL 
 
 His purse though well replenished for a season, 
 Grew lighter, every one with ease may guess ; 
 
 But Takeall now, the coming week had reason, 
 To apprehend would find him penny less. 
 
 He hoped that Fortune would again befriend, 
 
 The goddess proved relentless to the end. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Sadly revolving in his harassed mind, 
 His former folly and his present woe, 
 
 It struck him consolation he might find 
 At Margate, where he now resolved to go s 
 
 For there he one relation had to try, 
 
 Who might assist him with a small supply. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 But how to find the means of passing thither, 
 Drain'd as his pocket was, perplex'd no doubt ; 
 
 Some study it required to settle whither 
 He first should go, for money to set out ; 
 
 The obstacle was great though long he schemed* 
 
 It perfectly insuperable seemed. 
 
CANTO III. 73 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Alas!" he cried, while hope his bosom fled r 
 
 " It is not possible to get away; 
 So here without the means of getting bread, 
 
 Here, I reluctantly must starving stay ; 
 The last extremity I cannot shun, 
 I now have no resource," — his watch struck one. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Tom heard, and joyfully he hailed the sound ; 
 
 His project might accomplished be, and if he 
 Had felt despair before, since means were found 
 
 Of getting off, it vanished in a jiffy ; 
 And thus in language as sincere as rude, 
 Tom (now a poet) breathed his gratitude. 
 
 TO MY WATCH. 
 
 Friend of my days, who in thy love, 
 Hast oft, though kindly, sternly strove 
 
 To teach the son of rhyme ; 
 He must if comfort he desire, 
 Or if to fame he dare aspire, 
 
 Keep better pace with time. 
 
74 TAKINGS. 
 
 With deep regret, with real pain, 
 I mourn these friendly hints were vain ? 
 In vain didst thou remind 
 
 " Another hour has from thee fled ; 
 
 To thee another day is dead :'' 
 I linger'd still behind. 
 
 Stealing away in silent flight, 
 
 Old Time had shrouded from my sight, 
 
 His glass's falling sands : 
 But thou told'st of him, and thy cry, 
 At noon and midnight seemed il O fie," 
 
 Uplifted both thy hands. 
 
 Now to my uncle, there you '11 be 
 Safe from the dangers of the sea ; 
 
 The world goes round we know, 
 And malice never more shall say, 
 I stop while you pursue your way ; 
 
 You '11 stop and I shall go. 
 
CANTO. III. 75 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Tom had snug lodgings up two pair of stairs, 
 And now ascending to the second floor, 
 
 Absorbed with his new prospects, unawares 
 He passed forgetfully his chamber-door ; 
 
 And listlessly pursued his course erratic, 
 
 'Till gained the top he burst into the attic. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " What now! who s there?" cried one he saw within, 
 Then added angrily, " you ought to knock ;" 
 
 Tom stared, and felt contrition for the sin, 
 
 Against good manners, which had no small shock 
 
 Inflicted on his all-astonished neighbour, 
 
 Just then engaged in an important labour. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 A pan of water on a table stood, 
 
 In which — Tom (he had rather given a dollar), 
 Beheld a fashionable West-end Blood, 
 
 Employed in washing cravat, wristbands, collar ; 
 He blushed, and so would many 'tis surmised, 
 Thus in the suds unluckily surprised. 
 
76 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Of course to beg a thousand pardons Tom, 
 Proceeded, as is usual, and withdrew, 
 
 When burst the wondering exclamation from 
 The other—" What the Devil is it you !" 
 
 And Takeall in the Washerman then kenned, 
 
 Bold Captain Flykite, an old sporting friend. 
 
 XXXVL 
 
 The metamorphosis was quite surprising, 
 Flykite had all surpass'd in fashion's strife ; 
 
 So Tom began a bit of sympathizing, 
 About the sad visissitudes of life. 
 
 Lamenting he had felt misfortune's weight, 
 
 And sorrowing for the Captain's low estate. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " Why what a Johnny Raw you seem to be I 
 What is there incompatible with dashing," 
 
 Cried Flykite, " and what you deplore for me, 
 The doing now and then a bit of washing ? 
 
 I must acknowledge things might be more clever, 
 
 But I am pretty well as rich as ever. 
 
CANTO III. 77 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " Save when some unexpected spirt of luck, 
 Has given me bustle for a week or two, 
 
 In such a sorry habitation stuck, 
 I Ve done, as I am now obliged to do. 
 
 And (but the fact it will not do to name), 
 
 Half Bond- Street's ornaments, are just the same. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " It is not necessary now for men 
 
 To be the same for weeks or months or more ; 
 Why should a real Dandy then at ten, 
 
 Resemble what he means to be at four ? 
 Then see me, and though puzzled were to dine, 
 No Lord of thousands shall appear more fine." 
 
 XL. 
 
 " I know not how you manage, but I know,'' 
 Said Tom, " though less extravagant, that I 
 
 Am ruinVl, yet I never made a show, 
 
 That with your splendour could a moment vie ; 
 
 How you though pennyless can be so grand, 
 
 Is rather more than I can understand." 
 
78 TAKINGS. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " Because," said Flykite, " you I dare assert 
 Waste cash on things not needed to excel, 
 
 Fool money now away upon a shirt, 
 
 When collars with good wristbands do as well ; 
 
 Forgetting that the man who life would see, , 
 
 Must study to appear, and not to be. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " And then again a watch; — when I was young 
 Upon the town — a watch was my desire, 
 
 While now a little nicely fashioned bung 
 Will answer every purpose I require. 
 
 Should any body want the time to know, 
 
 I answer — " my chronometer won't go." 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " For chain and seals you hardly need be told 
 They 're indispensable — but — hear the end — 
 
 Have metal gilt, 'tis folly upon gold, 
 
 Or what the goldsmiths call gold, wealth to spend, 
 
 Do it, into a snare you 're sure to fall, 
 
 And purchase gilded metal after all. 
 
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 XLIV. 
 
 " For clothes — of course I never think of new, 
 But threadbare old ones I know how to turn ; 
 
 Two botchers help me, taking stitches, you 
 The Snob, and Tailor opposite discern. 
 
 While my own garments undergo repair ; 
 
 Another customers they let me wear. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " To pick your teeth when hungry be your task, 
 Look as just risen from dinner and from wine ; 
 
 You friends will be the less afraid to ask 
 The honour of your company to dine. 
 
 And say when press'd, lest they at last retreat, 
 
 I'll go for conversation — not to eat. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 " But talk of dinners if you cannot get 'em, 
 
 Let people know you want, and you may starve, 
 
 Schemers must laugh — seem as if nought could fret era, 
 And then good beef and mutton they may carve. 
 
 Men are unanimous in every town 
 
 When once a man is down to keep him down. 
 
80 TAKINGS. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " I '11 introduce you where I visit nightly ; 
 
 There's just a nice snug opening for another ; 
 I court a widow's daughter— she is sightly, 
 
 And if you like it you may wed her mother. 
 My friendship prompts this offer, but 1 'm rather 
 Afraid you '11 prove but an indifferent father." 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Takeall conceived 'twas no great harm to go ; 
 
 He went, and Flykite gayest of the gay, 
 Recounted all the jokes his friend Sir Joe, 
 
 Sported at Pulteney's where they dined that day. 
 Had he regarded truth, he might have said, 
 At home he feasted on a Cold Sheep's head. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Supper through him was rather underdone ; 
 
 Not to remain at first was his decision, 
 Because he to the House was forced to run, 
 
 And fear'd to be too late for the division. 
 But yet to tarry would be no great crime, 
 His old friend Castlereagh could speak for time. 
 
CANTO III. 81 
 
 They stopped, and Flykite, perfectly at ease, 
 Talk'd of his horses, houses, villas, grounds, 
 
 As if at any moment he should please, 
 
 He could command a hundred thousand pounds; 
 
 And eating heartily while these he ?d mention, 
 
 He charm'd the ladies by his condescension, 
 
 LI. 
 
 " There, that 's the way," he cried, when in the street 
 They found themselves some paces from the door, 
 
 " That is the way, if you would wish to eat, 
 
 Strut, swagger, bounce, seem any thing but poor ; 
 
 And then the noodles who have got the stuff, 
 
 Will never think you feed on them enough. 
 
 LII. 
 
 " But evermore with spirit keep it up ; 
 
 You should have flourish'd about parks and grounds, 
 Give treat for treat, and where you dine or sup, 
 
 Talk about racers, or of buying hounds ; 
 Mindful from this course never to depart, 
 You '11 easily win nay spinster's heart. 
 
 G 
 
82 TAKINGS. 
 
 Bra. 
 
 " Or any widow's either : — by the bye 
 
 Choose you to mend your fortune marrying here ? 
 To gain the elder if you choose to try, 
 
 And she is wealthy you '11 succeed neer fear ; 
 For me I fancy one as much as 'tother, 
 If you Miss Vernal wed, I'll take the mother." 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Tom did not give a positive response, 
 
 But hesitating what to do in future, 
 He visited with Flykite more than once, 
 
 And soon was thought the Widow Vernal's suitor. 
 Widows, sometimes, when rather past their prime, 
 Adopt a lover without loss of time. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Tom always was most welcome ; Flykite taught him 
 How to hide poverty with saucy strut ; 
 
 If ever news a banker fail'd was brought him, 
 For him it was a very fatal cut ; 
 
 And he lamented with afflicted air, 
 
 His folly past in keeping money there. 
 
CANTO III. 83 
 
 LVI. 
 
 A set of good genteel calamities, 
 
 Is half the fortune-hunter's stock in trade ; 
 
 A slender income they will make suffice, 
 And sometimes they invite efficient aid. 
 
 In humble circumstances, to shun crosses, 
 
 Always talk loud about enormous losses. 
 
 LVIL 
 
 But mind they 're lofty sounding ones ; don t say 
 Your cruel landlady distrains for rent, 
 
 Nor that your other coat is gone away, 
 By hunger to some Jewish dealer sent ; 
 
 Nor tell you Ve been, should such mishap befall, 
 
 Stripped in some court of conscience of your all. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 No ; but report, your tenants " fly by night ;" 
 Own that your foolish zeal to serve a friend 
 
 Has cost you thousands, and his thankless flight 
 Has made you half resolve no more to lend ; 
 
 Now agricultural distress may shock, 
 
 And now depressions in the price of stock. 
 
 g * 
 
84 TAKINGS. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Flykite at all these arts was an adept ; 
 
 Takeall came very promisingly on ; 
 And had his better feelings wholly slept, 
 
 He might to church have with the Widow gone ; 
 But thus deceiving, he considered base, 
 And thus to wed indelible disgrace. 
 
 LX. 
 
 " By want to desperation almost drove, 
 
 I will not act the despicable part, 
 Of vowing at the altar endless love, 
 
 To one who boasts no empire o'er my heart." 
 Thus Tom exclaim'd, and rather than do so, 
 Determined to encounter any woe. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 But he went on, " without a friend or rhino, 
 
 What I must do I can't exactly tell; 
 A guinea how to raise, hang me if I know ; 
 
 By all deserted who once wish'd me well. 
 Most awkward the predicament I feel ; 
 Reduced alas ! to starve, to beg, or steal. 
 
CANTO III. 85 
 
 LXIT. 
 
 " The first I have not patience to endure ; 
 
 To do the second cannot condescend ; 
 The third alone remains these ills to cure, 
 
 And penury in robbery must end. 
 It seems that exercising my discretion, 
 I must embrace the highwayman's profession. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 " But 'tis unpleasant — perilous, at best, 
 To stop a traveller on the lonely heath, 
 
 Present a pistol at his head or breast, 
 And threaten if resisted instant death. 
 
 Should I succeed, and gain a brief release 
 
 From want, would conscience let me be at peace ? 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 " Shall I to business turn? Some trades require 
 But little capital to make a start ; 
 
 A merchant's made as promptly as a 'squire, 
 By those who are acquainted with the art. 
 
 In this way I might cheat of law the rigour, 
 
 And manage once again to cut a figure. 
 
86 TAKINGS. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 " Suppose I deal in coals, and put my name 
 Against some door, on staring plate of brass, 
 
 That were sufficient stock in trade ; but shame 
 Forbids me stones, dirt, slates, for coals to pass, 
 
 And scanty measure seems to my mind's eye, 
 
 Though safe, a cowardly sort of robbery. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 " Shall I become wine-merchant? — Ten times worse ! 
 
 And more from honesty I needs must swerve, 
 Than he who merely takes another's purse, 
 
 In selling poison where I port should serve : 
 Yet spurning money in this manner made, 
 I should be thought a scandal to the trade. 
 
 LXYII. 
 
 " The Baker's calling is for profit good; 
 
 But will not do. — Shall I the hungry baulk, 
 And sell, as others do, I've understood, 
 
 A compound of potatoes, alum, chalk ? 
 Better at once blow out the victim's brains, 
 Than kill by slow disease and lingering pains. 
 
CANTO III. 87 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 " Well, in the Funds supposing I turn Jobber, 
 Get up false news, and purchase — where's the sin? 
 
 Why, after all, this is but turning robber 
 To join in such a scheme for taking in. 
 
 'Tis braver— nobler to expose one 's neck, 
 
 Than basely thus to cheat without a check, 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 " At last I have it.— I'll turn Auctioneer ; 
 
 In sale-room pulpit who could look more knowing? 
 Who with a voice more audible and clear, 
 
 Bawl 'Last time' — 'yours'—' against you'—' going, going.' 
 I could hold forth without assailing grammar, 
 Nod — wink, and use with any one the hammer. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 " No ; I abandon every thought of trying, 
 
 Despised an auctioneer must be, I wot, 
 Unless attain'd the polished art of lying 
 
 A little faster than a horse can trot, 
 And skill to swindle each incautious ninny, 
 By swearing shilling's worths are worth a guinea. 
 
88 TAKINGS. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 " All these are too nefarious for me, 
 
 And no one offers me that sort of station, 
 
 In which my relatives expect to see 
 One who has had a College education. 
 
 Their fondly-cherish'd visions not to mar, 
 
 I '11 think of ethics, physic, and the bar, 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 " I '11 be an advocate, and pocket fees. 
 
 Yet I should blush, methinks, to hold a brief, 
 Calmly engaging on account of these, 
 
 ' To hang an honest man, or save a thief.' 
 I, feeling thus, it cannot well be doubted, 
 By all the leading members must be scouted. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 " Let me physician be.- — But stop a bit — 
 
 Baulkfd at the outset ! — Who would not disparage 
 
 Prescriptions although excellently fit, 
 
 Unless obtain' d from one who keeps a carriage? 
 
 One I must get, before I can approach 
 
 To tax a dying patient for my coach. 
 
CANTO III. 89 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 " Apothecary, then, and one-horse gig, 
 I'll be and have.— But can I swell the ills 
 
 Of fellow-creatures, caring not a fig, 
 
 With nauseous potions and with useless pills, 
 
 As they in self-defence do every day, 
 
 To fools who will not for attendance pay ? 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 " * Throw physic to the dogs,' I will have none, 
 Better my whole soul to the Church be giving ; 
 
 The duty there more easily is done, 
 And I may get a comfortable living. 
 
 Let me take orders, and no more perplex'd, 
 
 Ascend the pulpit and give out my text. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 " But then to stand before my fellow-men, 
 
 The sacred, solemn gospel truths to teach, 
 While doing as I do, and should do then, 
 
 The opposite of what I needs must preach : 
 This, though by many sanction'd, I detest ; 
 As more iniquitous than all the rest. 
 
90 TAKINGS. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 " Since then, of evils I the least should choose, 
 My first appearing the most honest plan, 
 
 Tis useless longer on such themes to muse, 
 And so I must become a highwayman. 
 
 This really appears my sole resource, 
 
 *Tis better than a more atrocious course." 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 By conscience driven to rob, Tom hired a horse, 
 Pass'd to the road, and now about to mount, 
 
 Tried to suppress misgivings and remorse, 
 
 When two bleach'd felons, sent to their account, 
 
 High on a gibbet rivetted attention ; — 
 
 Made him take fearful hints from their suspension. 
 
 END OF CANTO THE THIRD. 
 
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 CANTO IV. 
 
 I. 
 
 Tom started at the spectacle, and then 
 
 Ideas which before were somewhat slighted, 
 
 Claim'd his attention, while the wretched men 
 He viewed, whose outrages law thus requited, 
 
 And no one being near, resolved to try 
 
 His hand a little at soliloquy. 
 
 II. 
 
 " By heaven!" he cried, he would have said, " by hell," 
 But that would be too tragical he thought, 
 
 " With such exalted characters to dwell 
 
 Would be a little awkward. These were brought 
 
 To make this most ungraceful exhibition, 
 
 Seeking like me to better their condition. 
 
94 TAKINGS. 
 
 III. 
 
 " I jocularly could to S navel call, 
 
 That if a rope should respiration stifle, 
 
 'Twould be no inconvenience after all 
 Or at the worst a very, very trifle. 
 
 This to believe, I then myself could bring, 
 
 In my own case 'tis quite another thing. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " So though my honesty would take the road, 
 
 And my integrity another's purse ; 
 My fears return me to my old abode, 
 
 To meditate on actions that are worse, 
 But which committed, though good men detest 
 The perpetrator, — law will not molest." 
 
 V. 
 
 This plan abandon'd, Tom again recurr'd 
 To one which previously had occupied 
 
 His mind ; though acting on it was deferr'd : 
 He thought of seeking Margate with next tide. 
 
 But this to manage, formerly 'twas told 
 
 His gold repeater must be pledged or sold. 
 
CANTO IV. 95 
 
 VI. 
 
 Now the pawnbroker's smiling shop he sought, 
 Paused at the window, and admired the store 
 
 Of valuables and trinkets thither brought, 
 By those who chanced to visit it before. 
 
 And still he paused, asham'd it should be known, 
 
 Or guess'd, he sought to borrow on his own. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Such, such is human nature ! ever prone, 
 To shrink and be abash'd with little cause ; 
 
 Yet lightly feel, if not exulting own, 
 Acts that offend divine or human laws. 
 
 The shifts of poverty are often shamed, 
 
 While crimes are laugh'd at or but slightly blamed. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Tom stedfast look'd sis if he wish'd to buy, 
 And then display 'd his purse to cut a flash ; 
 
 Were this, purloin'd by any varlet sly, 
 
 He might have said, Who steals mypurse steals trash. 
 
 Tom then advanced, with some precipitation 
 
 As. if to buy were his determination. 
 
96 TAKINGS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Just then a female voice cried : " Is it you V 
 Takeall turned round in horrible dismay, 
 
 When Julia Vernal added, " how d'ye do," 
 And Tom who something civil wish'd to say, 
 
 Stammer'd, " he just was wishing to be by her.'' 
 
 Politeness is too frequently a liar. 
 
 X. 
 
 For though fair Julia's figure, face and glee, 
 An anchorite might tempt, of that per annum 
 
 Which Tom could claim, he half had given to see, 
 Instead of her his own old toothless grannum ; 
 
 But notwithstanding he declared to meet, 
 
 Gone pleasure, made his happiness complete. 
 
 XI. 
 
 They walked together, and in all the shops, 
 The pictures noted, read th' appended rhyme, 
 
 Made in their promenade repeated stops, 
 To criticise, applaud, quiz, taking time. 
 
 Another idler suddenly went on, 
 
 And Tom that moment found his watch was gone. 
 
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 XII 
 
 Placed where a cannon must to atoms blow, 
 
 Doom'd in some crazy bark the storm to brave, 
 
 Forced in the murderous breach the first to go, 
 Or looking from a scaffold on his grave. 
 
 Or seen some comet just about to pass, 
 
 To turn the world and all mankind to glass, 
 
 XIII. 
 
 He less had known the horrors of despair. 
 
 Ye mighty Gods ! who whirl as ye think meet 
 This orb so vast, so wonderful, so fair, 
 
 A tennis bonce or taw beneath vour feet, 
 Say was such anguish on it ever seen, 
 Since it was launch'd in space, your bowling-green 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Frantic, — incensed, — the robber in his eye, — 
 
 First through Cheapside with all his might and main, 
 
 Tom ran like lightning, (if he did not fly,) 
 Then with velocity down Gutter-Lane. 
 
 Now in some crooked courts the wretch he scann'd, 
 
 Which wound into St. Martin's, called Le Grand. 
 
 H 
 
98 TAKINGS. 
 
 XV, 
 
 The Robber by his danger made more fleet, 
 
 Fled towards the far-famed lane of Butcher-Hall, 
 
 Ran like Old Ijucifer, through Angel-Street, 
 Where luckily like him, he got a fall. 
 
 Then, straining every energy and limb, 
 
 Tom got to Newgate cheek- by-jole with him. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But Newgate finish'd not the felon's race, 
 
 Across the fatal Bailey seen to dart, 
 He swiftly fled that celebrated place, 
 
 And vanish'd from it with instinctive start. 
 His fortune in Green- Arbour-Court he dares, 
 Tom seized th' ill omen'd rogue at Breakneck Stairs. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 With rage and running, panting, puffing, blowing, 
 He threaten'd hard the captive's every bone, 
 
 And just to execute his threat was going, 
 
 When down the stairs he saw his timepiece thrown. 
 
 Down to the bottom then the Robber sped, 
 
 A well-run race, his heels against his head. 
 
CANTO IV. 99 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 From the third floor descended with a run. 
 The agitated mother out of breath, 
 
 In wild disorder sees her favourite son, 
 And fears to ascertain his life or death. 
 
 So Takeall felt with trembling hope and fear, 
 
 While lifting the repeater to his ear. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 His apprehensions soon in joy were drowiul ; 
 
 No cruel stone had marr'd its beauteous face, 
 Unhurt the object of his care was found, 
 
 No bruise inflicted on its shining case. 
 Tom's watch like Homer's heroes on the sod, 
 Claim'd the kind care of some protecting God. 
 
 XX. 
 
 His steps he hastily retraced in vain, 
 
 Julia he found not. This disturb'd his mind 
 
 A little, but occasioned no great pain, 
 For cash not beauty he desired to find. 
 
 So in he rush'd, his uncle's gain'd once more, 
 
 Nor paused to be accosted at the door. 
 
100 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 There in a little nook compell'd to stay, 
 
 Tom mark'd the friendless dissipated crew, . 
 
 That fly to such expedients every day. 
 He shudder *d at the melancholy view, 
 
 And shunning contact, while he shrunk apart, 
 
 Of taking pledges he observed the art. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The Sunday's tawdry finery here a flirt 
 
 Disposed, and with it pawn'd some charming schemes ; 
 There one appear'd to pledge her husband's shirt, 
 
 For lottery ventures and for lucky dreams ; 
 While the spruce shopman from St. Martin's Lane, 
 Brought his top-boots and silver-headed cane. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But pity fill'd him when a matron came 
 
 To ask upon her kettle half-a-crown ; 
 'Tis sad to see an aged female frame, 
 
 Bending beneath calamity's stern frown. 
 Tom would assist her, so to Mister Snatch 
 He hastily called out and held his watch. 
 
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 XXIV. 
 
 But of her bloated visage gained a sight, 
 And seen the urchin near with vicious grin, 
 
 Who hugged a bottle, — changed his thoughts were quite 
 Despised the reckless votary of gin. 
 
 No more her wants and sorrows touch his heart, 
 
 And with ten pounds, he hastens to depart. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Now off to Margate o'er the watery way, 
 Our hero bounds as swift as any deer, 
 
 And after little more than half a day, 
 
 Arrives " per steam" upon the penny pier. 
 
 And there begins himself at home to feel, 
 
 With people who go out to look genteel. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 His fondly-cherish'd hopes were soon no more : 
 
 Relations all except a very few, 
 Find a poor kinsman is a perfect bore, 
 
 And if not black, they presently look blue. 
 Tom's relatives, his worthy sire offended, 
 Hinted that their connexion must be ended. 
 
102 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Tis true, Tom did not take the proper way 
 To make himself an object of research ; 
 
 Seen donkey riding on collection day, 
 Just as his pious cousin left the church ; 
 
 It gave that worthy man a shock so great, 
 
 He absolutely saw no begging plate. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 'Twas sad, but often those who seek the Lord, 
 Turning from all their wickedness to live, 
 
 Leave church so much affected by the word, 
 That they in charity but little give ; 
 
 And so Tom's cousin, there are grounds to fear, 
 
 Very particular might not appear. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Dissenters in collections best succeed, 
 
 They rouse the conscience and contrive to shock it, 
 And he who saves a shilling for his need, 
 
 Is told the Devil keeps it in his pocket. 
 What noble buildings from this holy skill, 
 Grace Hoxton, Paddington, and Pentonville. 
 
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CANTO IV. 103 
 
 XXX. 
 
 A very little incident sometimes 
 
 Suffices to confirm a prepossession, 
 Of this the world — before it gain'd my rhymes, 
 
 Had managed somehow to obtain confession ; 
 Takeall, 'twas thought, one morning's church neglected, 
 Proved all, or more than all, before suspected. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Shunn'd by relations — Tom turn'd portrait-painter. 
 
 'Twas once his sport, and many who know less 
 Of painting, and who likenesses make fainter 
 
 Than those he could produce, with great success 
 Have managed to impose a tax on faces, 
 At all the well-attended watering-places. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Tom quickly circulated every-where, 
 
 That likenesses, a score as well as one done, 
 
 Would be supplied so long as he was there, 
 By Mr. Takeall, painter, and from London. 
 
 But, luckless still, his notice made no stir, 
 
 And only gain'd for him one customer. 
 
104 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 'Twas Mrs. Bosky, who from Cripplegate 
 
 Had ventured forth to cross the boisterous sea. 
 
 At Margate, with no little pomp and state, 
 She carried all before her, who but she ; 
 
 And now prepared, as from the air she thrived, 
 
 To gratify her Lord when he arrived, 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 By giving him her portrait. Who think such 
 A thought ridiculous — are — but I shall 
 
 Not here say what. The portrait pleased so much, 
 Her spouse preferr'd not the original. 
 
 Had Mrs. Bosky died — O ! fatal cross, 
 
 This had almost consoled him for the loss. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 But when she sat, our hero was embarrass'd 
 While gazing on her beefy, flabby face, 
 
 To know how to proceed. — His mind was harass'd 
 By dread, that if a likeness he should trace, 
 
 The lady would indignantly reject, 
 
 An effort so atrociously correct. 
 
CANTO IV. 105 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Her flaxen locks shone with resplendent gloss, 
 (Gay as round Raphael's skull the laurel sprig 
 
 Which taste supplies,) adorn'd she was by Ross, 
 With all the bright varieties of wig. 
 
 This certainly no business was of his, 
 
 But then he knew not how to touch her phiz. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 That she a nose had nearly thrice as wide 
 As those in common use, he fear'd to hint. 
 
 " Ought I," he doubtingly exclaim'd aside, 
 " Do justice to her amiable squint?" 
 
 While hesitating still, some warbler near 
 
 Pour'd forth a well-known ditty in his ear. 
 
 &0ttQ< 
 
106 TAKINGS. 
 
 Song, 
 
 When the sun in the west closed his toil for the day, 
 
 And smiled as rejoiced to get home, 
 To the fountain reflecting in tears his last ray, 
 
 I loved yet an infant to roam : 
 There watching the fugitive drops through their fall, 
 
 To swell the dark torrent below, 
 " Gay sparklers," I cried, " what becomes of you all, 
 
 Do you perish — or where do you go ?" 
 
 Where now are the drops which then beam'd on my eyes, 
 
 Have they rippled their way to the sea ? 
 Or now become tears, is it they in disguise 
 
 Each sorrowful day brings to me ? 
 Alas ! too like them are the friends I once knew ; 
 
 Their moment of being is o'er ; 
 Borne away on life's stream, they have vanish'd from view, 
 
 Or so changed I can know them no more. 
 
CANTO 1Y. 107 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Tom was confounded at a strain like this, 
 
 So exquisitely thrilling was the tone ; 
 The words themselves he thought were not amiss, 
 
 For this good reason, — that they were his own. 
 Fathers of rhymes evince, I know not why, 
 Great kindness for their jingling progeny. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 The song was one that Tom at College made ; 
 
 It had been written for Eliza's voice ; 
 And the rich melodies that now invade 
 
 His ears, seemed those of her — his earliest choice, 
 The lay that his astonished senses twitted, 
 Had only to Eliza been transmitted. 
 
 XL. 
 
 But yet incredible it almost seem'd, 
 
 That in the boarding-house, dame Bosky's pride 
 A fit abode for opulence had deem'd, 
 
 His humble friendless mistress should reside. 
 His ravish'd ears he hardly dared to trust, — 
 It could not be Eliza ; — yet, it must 
 
108 TAKINGS. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 He had desired an hour or two to muse, 
 
 Could Mrs. Bosky such delay have brooked ; 
 
 But now his pencil he began to use, 
 
 To paint the face, — not that on which he looked ; 
 
 But that which he suspected to be near, 
 
 A face though once neglected, always dear. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 And so he Mrs. Bosky's likeness made, 
 
 A little more than passible to pass ; 
 ( Such things are common in the way of trade ), 
 
 But fearfully at variance with her glass. 
 This was the mirror's fault, as she could swear, 
 Most aged ladies find good glasses rare. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 She could of course believe the painter's eyes, 
 The picture therefore gave great satisfaction ; 
 
 And TakealFs skill, applauded to the skies, 
 Was promised an extensive field of action. 
 
 Tom thought to paint what sitters would applaud, 
 
 A tolerably honest kind of fraud. 
 
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 XLIV. 
 
 People who most anxiety profess 
 
 To serve those who have added to their pleasures, 
 Let their dependents sometimes feel distress, 
 
 Ere they to recommend take proper measures. 
 Takeall experienced this through many days, 
 Starving on barren hope and empty praise. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Still for the unseen vocalist his mind, 
 Incessantly the strongest interest felt ; 
 
 Solution to the riddle bent to find, 
 
 He hover'd round the mansion where she dwelt. 
 
 Yet, doing so, an awkward doubt annoy'd, 
 
 Whether he ought to seek, or to avoid. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Poor as he was, 'twere madness to invite 
 Renewal of affection, once confess'd ; 
 
 And meanness to desire her to unite 
 
 Her fate with one so humbled and distress'd. 
 
 He thought to shun, then, ought to be his will, 
 
 And thinking so, pursued the charmer still. 
 
110 TAKINGS. 
 
 XLVII 
 
 Nor unsuccessfully : one afternoon 
 
 He saw her seated in a splendid carriage; 
 
 It was Eliza's self, who very soon 
 
 Saw him who was to have been her's by marriage ; 
 
 And she saluted him with easy grace, 
 
 While sudden pleasure mantled in her face. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 And he, but that might be a vain conceit, 
 Thought as the coach moved hastily away, 
 
 Eliza looked as if rejoiced to meet, 
 As if she something had desired to say. 
 
 Kindly she waved the handkerchief she bore, 
 
 And all her former coldness seem'd no more. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 To know her situation, now he burn'd, 
 And soon intelligence obtain 'd by stealth, 
 
 That recently her father had return'd 
 
 From Russia, blest with unexpected wealth ; 
 
 Largely repay'd for dangers he had braved, 
 
 Through which a noble pupil's life was saved. 
 
CANTO IV. Ill 
 
 Tom joy'd to hear of this prosperity, 
 
 But for himself that moment hope expired, 
 
 And h2 determined instantly to fly 
 The interesting being he admired. 
 
 " Byrne," he cried, " she must no more be seen, 
 To woo were now as insolent as mean." 
 
 LI. 
 
 To London that same night he took his way. 
 
 Yet one consoling thought would linger still, 
 " If they at Drury should perform my play — 
 
 Should it succeed; and many houses fill, 
 
 then," he cried, " with affluence and fame 
 
 1 might Eliza's hand aspire to claim." 
 
 LII. 
 
 The gay idea in his favour rose, 
 
 Dreaming of riches, splendour and renown, 
 He felt no more the agonizing throes 
 
 Which fiird his bosom starting off for town. 
 Arrived, he with all expedition went 
 To where the answer was to have been sent. 
 
112 TAKINGS. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 And there he found it waiting, cut and dry. 
 
 As captious scribblers, grumble at delay, 
 The kind Lessee, intent to gratify, 
 
 Printed the answer while Tom wrote the play. 
 A good expedient this, because one call 
 Might easily be made to serve for all. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 This promptness is more glorious in the wight, 
 
 Who, to his everlasting honour be it 
 Made known, admits 'tis hard good plays to write, 
 
 But harder still to know one when you see it. 
 And so to read — here 's reason with the rhyme — 
 Were wasting his invaluable time. 
 / 
 LV. 
 
 Tom got the letter, then, and O ! the thrill 
 
 It gave I 'd paint, if Heaven would teach me how. 
 
 Hopes not more rapturous can his bosom fill, 
 Who in the Lottery holds a sixteenth now, 
 
 Hopes just as rational, and just as short ; 
 
 Witness the Acting Manager's report. 
 
CANTO IV. 113 
 
 Ururg Hetter of Rejection. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 " lam instructed to return you, Sir, 
 
 The manuscript " (a blank Tom stared to see 
 
 Left by the printer for the manager), 
 
 " By you submitted to great Mr. E. 
 The reasons he your play thinks uninviting 
 You '11 spare me the necessity of writing. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 " But they are founded, it should be expressed, 
 
 On strict impartiality, (which force 
 Must give them,) and attention too — the best." 
 
 ( The best in quality was meant, of course ; 
 The Manager could not intend to say 
 He much in quantity had thrown away. ) 
 
114 TAKINGS. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " And Mr. E.— don't let it make you blush, 
 Is flatter'd by the preference you, who sent 
 
 A tragedy not worth a single rush, 
 
 Have thus evinced for his establishment. 
 
 Its interests still he hopes will be your care, 
 
 And further has the honour to declare, 
 
 LIX. 
 
 ei That all his doors, 'tis his determination, 
 Shall open wide to each aspiring bard — 
 
 To talent of all kinds in every station, 
 That Mr. E. can sanction or reward ; 
 
 So do not for a moment be deluded, 
 
 To think that merit is with you excluded/' 
 
 LX. 
 
 Takeall, like every dabbler in his line, 
 Believed his play appro ach'd the excellent 
 
 In plot, with incidents and language fine, 
 
 That ought the actors, must the town content 
 
 And so, like all rejected bards, would swear 
 
 That the decision come to was unfair. 
 
CANTO IV. 115 
 
 LXL 
 
 Marr'd all his prospects, Tom the garret sought 
 And hired, which Flykite formerly had rented, 
 
 And, pondering on the miseries he had brought 
 Upon himself, he heartily repented 
 
 That he had mock'd advice. It is the fate 
 
 Of younkers to grow penitent too late. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 " But vain regret," he cried, " must not consume 
 My time, for something quickly must be done 
 
 To gain subsistence, or from this poor room 
 I presently shall be obliged to run. 
 
 Though baffled cruelly at Drury-Lane, 
 
 I resolutely take my pen again. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 " But not to write a play — since Managers 
 Can at their pleasure genius hold in fetters, 
 
 Rejected once, I '11 be no longer theirs, 
 Unless I nothing else can do by letters ; 
 
 And certainly there is variety 
 
 Enough to tempt in prose or poetry. 
 
 I 2 
 
116 TAKINGS. 
 
 LXIV, 
 
 What mighty engines are the little things 
 
 We letters call. 'Tis own'd by foe and friend, 
 
 The peace of empires and the fate of kings, 
 On use of these may frequently depend. 
 
 Tom at the vast idea felt surprised, 
 
 And thus the Alphabet apostrophized. 
 
 Sttfewss to t&e aip&atot 
 
 I wonder, O Alphabet ! what would have been 
 
 The face of this world, as we mortals pass through, 
 And what would have cheer'd, and what sadden'd the scene, 
 
 Had not Cadmus, or somebody else thought of you ! 
 As matters now stand, or in sorrow or joy, 
 
 Almost all that affects, those who read must agree, 
 The news that delights, the commands that employ, 
 
 We gain at thy hands, potent, famed ABC. 
 
 ABC, mind I take as the name of the firm, 
 You're entitled to claim, or to sue or be sued, 
 
 Initials that now form a popular term 
 
 With Alphabet mostly synonymous view'd. 
 
CANTO IV. 117 
 
 Had you not been fashion'd our planet to glad, 
 
 What different amusements, and studies, and ways. 
 
 Must needs have been sought, if we could not have had 
 Novels, histories, newspapers, poems and plays. 
 
 They little foresaw, who first call'd for your use, 
 
 The part you would have to perform in late times, 
 The odd combinations that scribes would produce, 
 
 By their labours in prose, or their frolics in rhymes. 
 If the nonsense which you have on all countries hurl'd, 
 
 Had never been written — of course never read, 
 Had so much of folly been spared to the world ? 
 
 Or would it have burst forth in actions instead? 
 
 The mischief you 've done, as I cannot now write 
 
 Of folio volumes a thousand or two, 
 I will not approach at this time of the night, 
 
 For the terrible task I should never get through ; 
 But just in a general way I may hint, 
 
 Though Liberty's interests by you may prevail, 
 Your agency giving opinions to print, 
 
 Has doom'd many hundreds to languish in jail. 
 
US TAKINGS. 
 
 How the savage must stare in the world's ruder state, 
 
 At the part play'd by you, when he suddenly found 
 While conference joining or eager debate, 
 
 'Twas yours to arrest and to shape reduce sound, 
 To be carried o'er oceans ! It scarcely could seem, 
 
 Had thunder acknowledged a mortal command 
 More strange, — or had lightning submitted its gleam 
 
 To be carried away in the pocket or hand. 
 
 How mighty the change could you now be withdrawn! 
 
 Full many a ranting M. P. would not spout, 
 If no journal could issue the following dawn, 
 
 To tell all the world what he spouted about. 
 Poets, printers, and critics, and playwrights must go, 
 
 With library keepers, and booksellers gay, 
 While patriot and loyal petitioners low, 
 
 Would be laid in a moment if you were away. 
 
 Were this beneficial ! — Hang me if I know ! 
 
 Much wisdom you furnish ; but 'twixt you and me, 
 You give too of folly so boundless a flow, 
 
 That seeking the former we 're wholly at sea. 
 
CANTO IV. Hi) 
 
 And falsehood so soberly imitates truth, 
 
 As nonsense will frequently clearness of head', 
 
 That seeking for knowledge, too credulous youth, 
 Become worse than ignorant, being misled. 
 
 What your true value, then, I am puzzled to tell, 
 
 Or whether most good or most harm you have done, 
 And being uncertain, perhaps 'tis as well 
 
 To finish my musings just where they begun. 
 But, dear ABC, think not hostile my lay, 
 
 In spite of misgivings attach' d to you still, 
 A sword of defence I would not throw away, 
 
 Because an assassin may use it to kill. 
 
 END OF CANTO THE FOURTH, 
 
TAKINGS. 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
TAKINGS. 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 I. 
 
 To letters fortunately reconciled, 
 
 Tom driven by poverty's relentless storm, 
 
 Some very melancholy hours beguiled, 
 Attempting combinations new to form, 
 
 That might with future laurels grace his brow, 
 
 And give a trifle for subsistence now. 
 
 II. 
 
 And there was something glisten'd to his eye, 
 Shining in all surpassing glory bright, 
 
 That to the ambient air gave every sigh, 
 
 Which struggled first from the deserted wight. 
 
 'Twas Hope : — a wanton gay fantastic throb, 
 
 That deigns by cheating, of despair to rob. 
 
V 
 
 124 TAKINGS. 
 
 III. 
 
 Sweet Hope ! — though oft absurdly vilified, — 
 O condescend through life my veins to thrill ! 
 
 Though far-remote, the joys with thee descried, 
 Still gaily dazzle and console me still : 
 
 And when one prospect fades that I pursued, 
 
 Suggest some other object to delude. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Twas Hope suggested Takeall might succeed, 
 Like certain jinglers who were all the rage ; 
 
 Charm all who read, and make all hearers read, 
 And shine the noblest poet of the age. 
 
 Pleased with the thought delectable as vain, 
 
 The gay enthusiast soon forgot his pain. 
 
 This rapturous glow wherever he repair'd, 
 Was now the blithe companion of his heart ; 
 
 And warmM by this, sometimes like one just scared, 
 Or like a race-horse, he would sudden start. 
 
 Running regardless who was in the street, 
 
 Stared at by all he chanced to pass or meet. 
 
CANTO V. 125 
 
 VI 
 
 One evening, after a convivial day, 
 A worthy Alderman and sage M. P. 
 
 From tavern of Freemasons took his way, 
 Practising still his much beloved thrice three, 
 
 This little variation only found, 
 
 His head and not his bumper glass ran round. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Still writhing on, with looks profoundly grave, 
 He sought the neighbourhood in which he dwelt, 
 
 But somehow lost his centre. Nought could save 
 The Earth's from being then severely felt ; 
 
 So down he fell at risk of broken bones, 
 
 And measured all his length upon the stones. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Just then, Tom ruminating on the Muses, 
 Came up the street at his most rapid pace, 
 
 Added a couple to the Toper's bruises 
 
 By kicks, and then went sprawling on his face. 
 
 A very wholesome lesson after all, — 
 
 That those who go too fast are like to fall. 
 
186 TAKINGS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 He call'd the watchman from the other side 
 To aid the toper, but night's guardian grim, 
 
 Howe'er deplorable his case, replied 
 It matter'd nothing in the world to him. 
 
 The prostrate man was ten yards off his beat, 
 
 And so might sleep or perish in the street. 
 
 X. 
 
 Tom lost his patience and began to swear ; 
 
 'Twas not a pious nor a prudent plan, 
 The watchman with indifference this could bear ; 
 
 But told the sufferer was a gentleman 
 Who might reward, his gentle heart relented ; 
 To help the Alderman he then consented. 
 
 XI. 
 
 In taking Home our hero lent a hand, 
 
 And grateful for the active part he play'd, 
 
 The Citizen indulged in offers grand, 
 And of his pocket-book a present made. 
 
 He raged when 'twas refused ; so Tom gaveway, 
 
 Fix'd to restore it on the following day. 
 
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CANTO V. 127 
 
 XII. 
 
 The alderman safe housed, Tom moralized, — 
 " O ! how life's blessings mortals can abuse ! 
 
 Heaven's bounties are forgotten or despised, 
 'Till miserably 'tis our lot to lose. 
 
 I, like this toper, once could madly roam, 
 
 Nor knew home's value 'till I had no home. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " But would I now should comfort smile once more, 
 
 For all the joys of dissipated strife, 
 Leave home to go where Bacchanalians roar, 
 
 Or gamblers rave, and then boast " This is life ?" 
 Calamity has taught — too late grown wise, 
 The home that I am exiled from to prize. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " What constitutes home, then ? A splendid roof, 
 Where wealth abounds and liveried lackeys wait, 
 
 Where gay profusion, want and care aloof 
 
 Compels to skulk, and all is pomp and state? 
 
 No, 'tis that hallowed although poor retreat, 
 
 Where kindred hearts with generous transports meet. 
 
128 TAKINGS 
 
 XY. 
 
 " There where kind wishes, hopes, and cares unite, 
 Where happiness to one, is bliss to all ; 
 
 'Tis there the images that yield delight, 
 
 Are found with pleasures that can never pall ; 
 
 And joys that palaces can seldom match, 
 
 Are known beneath the humble roof of thatch. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Home! had I earlier understood thy worth, 
 A generous father's love and anxious care, 
 
 Had made me happiest of the sons of earth ; 
 Thy heavenly face, Eliza, had been there ! 
 
 But, hence reflection ; — why such pictures trace ? 
 
 I have no home, — I '11 seek my resting place/' 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Gain'd his apartment, Tom was nearly choak'd, 
 By fumes that from the adjoining garret came ; 
 
 There an old basket-woman calmly smoked, 
 And poured libations to great Deady's name. 
 
 Tom felt inclined reproachfully to say, 
 
 You might take comfort in another way. 
 
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CANTO V. 129 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But then reflection whispered, "Make no din." 
 Why should I speak ? no business 'tis of mine, 
 
 And after all, a glass or two of gin, 
 
 Degrades not more than several quarts of wine ; 
 
 Which many boast they carry, while they sham 
 
 Scorn for the muddling drinker of a dram. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 He closed his door, unwilling to behold 
 More of his humble neighbour's happiness ; 
 
 Then, to his rhyming scheme for gaining gold 
 He turned, resolved on writing for the press. 
 
 " I '11 publish such a work as ne'er came out," 
 
 He cried, " but stay, what must it be about ? 
 
 XX. 
 
 " What subject will at once be good and new ?" 
 Tom paused; the paper was before him spread, 
 
 And somewhat undetermined what to do, 
 
 He rubbed his hands, and then he scratched his head, 
 
 And now his paper he in sportive mood, 
 
 Accosted thus, as if it understood. 
 
130 TAKINGS, 
 
 Hefettons on a Sbfieet of ^aper. 
 
 Could you but tell where you have been, 
 My paper, much it would delight ; 
 
 Could you describe what you have seen, 
 I would attend to you all night. 
 
 A vigorous plant you once no doubt, 
 Enjoyed of Heaven the ample view ; 
 
 Pushed by each boisterous gale about ; 
 Played with by every breeze that blew. 
 
 You fell, and then in linen-piece,- — 
 ( You might narrate, had you a tongue, 
 
 A trader's riches to increase,) 
 
 Bleached on the field where first you sprung. 
 
 Puff'd off at " half prime cost," who knows 
 But saving dames have been content 
 
 To pay, just twice your price with those 
 Who own they profit ten per cent. 
 
CANTO V. 131 
 
 Fain would I learn what next your state. 
 
 Into what service did you press ? 
 'Twas possibly your happy fate, 
 
 To form a part of Chloe's dress. 
 
 Perhaps, you as her robe of night, 
 
 Dwelt in her chamber, — ne'er went thence ; 
 
 And of a mistress kind as bright, 
 Alone enjoyed the confidence ! 
 
 Could you but tell where you have been, 
 
 My paper much it would delight ; 
 Could you describe what you have seen, 
 
 I would attend to you all night. 
 
 But yet instead of being near 
 
 The warm soft bosom of a flirt ; 
 Perchance you were ere you came here, 
 
 A patch upon a beggar's shirt. 
 
 For grown old, sad varieties 
 
 You may have proved ! perhaps now worn 
 A bandage o'er a blind man's eyes, 
 
 Or now for wounded finger torn. 
 
132 TAKINGS. 
 
 But deeper, more tremendous gloom 
 Might threaten you, more awful shocks, 
 
 Doomed to the fire, a martyr's doom, 
 Intended for the tinder-box. 
 
 How interesting your romance, 
 
 If told what then your hopes and fears, 
 
 'Till saved from flame by some kind chance, 
 At last the rag-bag dried your tears. 
 
 Great then your rapture, but you found 
 A fate you had not learned to dread, 
 
 Sold to some dealer by the pound, 
 
 And torn for paper thread from thread. 
 
 But passed the fearful trial now , 
 
 Consoled for all your former sighs, 
 
 You smile again with cloudless brow, 
 Relieved from past impurities. 
 
 And now in spotless white arrayed, 
 
 You, with vile dirt so lately stained, 
 Might fancy — a new creature made, 
 That you a better world had gained. 
 
CANTO V. 133 
 
 And when that thought at rest was set, 
 Indulging visions gay as vain ; 
 
 You. as a note, might hope to get, 
 To Chloes bosom once again. 
 
 Or, if ambition can pursue, 
 
 You might expect a statesman's pen, 
 Would manage to arrange with you 
 
 The weightiest affairs of men. 
 
 But, ah! repress the bold desire, 
 Nor hope a messenger of bliss, 
 
 To speak the lover's generous fire, 
 To gain from love the fervent kiss. 
 
 Nor as the minister's dispatch 
 To bid relentless slaughter cease ; 
 
 While eager crowds each sentence catch, 
 And hail the glad return of Peace. 
 
 A scurril song may mar your face, 
 A lottery puff your pages reach, 
 
 Praise of their poison quacks may trace, 
 Or you may bear a dying speech. 
 
134 TAKINGS. 
 
 And other ills you may deplore, 
 Worse than the foulest blots of ink 5 
 
 Of which you never dreamt before, 
 Of which I hardly dare to think. 
 
 You may be doomed to wrap up snuff 5 
 Or piece-meal torn for turning hair ; 
 
 And forced, as this were not enough, 
 The barber's curling-tongs to bear. 
 
 You may announce a cobbler's stall 
 To let, — the broken casement stop ; 
 
 Or, to your fortune it may fall 
 To pass to trunk or butter-shop. 
 
 The woes that threaten are so great, 
 
 I cannot half of them divine ; 
 So sad, so doubtful is your fate, 
 
 'Tis as deplorable as mine. 
 
 Both fearful changes and distress 
 
 Have known, but what 'twas yours to see, 
 I know no more than you can guess, 
 
 What I am likely now to be. 
 
CANTO V. 135 
 
 Could you but tell where you have been, 
 My paper much it would delight ; 
 
 Could you describe what you have seen, 
 I could attend to you all night. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Tom ceased. — " I'm losing time," he cried, and nettled 
 To think that nothing he as yet had done, 
 
 Snatched up his pen— the paper's business settled, 
 And what he called a poem, was begun: 
 
 To him, at any rate, it gave delight, 
 
 So on he scribbled nearly half the night. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Rising at noon, he sought the toper's dwelling, 
 And found his friend but in an awkward way, 
 
 Now swallowing drugs, and now to hartshorn smelling, 
 To chase the bumpers of the former day. 
 
 Those who, carousing, stupefy their senses, 
 
 Prepare themselves delicious consequences, 
 
136 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 Tom saw, and could not but enjoy the scene. 
 
 The world affords few scenes more farcical 
 Than those of taking phi/sic, where I 've been 
 
 To me appear, at least in general ; 
 But risibility I can control 
 When I 'm chief actor. — Then, 'tis not so droll. 
 
 XXIY. 
 
 But dearly I the writhings love to view 
 
 Of almost any other hapless elf, 
 In ludicrous distress and doleful stew, 
 
 When Buchan's snatched from the neglected shelf; 
 Where sad repletion heaves the piteous sigh, 
 For ever looking round for sympathy. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And then to mark the calm old Tabby, who 
 To find her way into such scenes is sure, 
 
 Engaged to physic and to lecture, too, 
 With tranquil air, so solemnly demure, 
 
 Preparing drenches, and, with cautious stops, 
 
 Counting the nicely-regulated drops. 
 
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CANTO V. 137 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 While the grim patient, with averted face, 
 Indulges in contortions wild and strange, 
 
 Sad, as if doctors had pronounced his case, 
 Such that to hope, no miracle could change : 
 
 The dose to swallow forced at last to dare, 
 
 How comical the grin of his despair ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Tom was remembered, and a cordial greeting 
 Awaited him, for joy, not to be stifled, 
 
 Burst from the patient. Till this happy meeting 
 He verily believed he had been rifled 
 
 Of sums not small, which 'scaped his recollection 
 
 When given his pocket-book to Tom's protection. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Announced the sick man's sister, Tom thought fit 
 To take his leave, and finish the adventure, 
 
 But t' other would on no account permit, 
 And Takeall now saw Mrs. Bosky enter. 
 
 She recognised the painter, who so like 
 
 Made portraits that they even sitters strike. 
 
138 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Takeall compelled to stay, and dine and sup, 
 And pressed his visits daily to repeat, 
 
 Found the connexion worthy keeping up ; 
 And frequently repaired to Coleman-Street. 
 
 Dabbling a little in the artist's trade, 
 
 Through Mrs. Bosky he some guineas made. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 But Mr. Wiggins, Mrs. Bosky's brother, 
 
 Soon learned that Tom desired a poet's fame, 
 
 And this he thought the stripling gave another 
 Claim on his kindness, and no common claim 
 
 For this disclosed, he henceforth might regard 
 
 His sister's painter, as a brother bard. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " And I," to Takeall he exclaimed one day, 
 " However like a common plodding elf, 
 
 Have done at times a little in your way, 
 Of the chaste Nine, a worshipper myself: 
 
 Through this I went to Margate t' other day, 
 
 To pick up rhymes and figures by the way. 
 
CANTO V. 139 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Ah then what fires could animate my soul ! 
 
 These kept me warm, while thro' the chill of eve, 
 'Twas mine along the ocean's edge to stroll, 
 
 And mine the storm's first splashings to receive, 
 And there while gazing on the lurid sky, 
 I burst forth in delicious rhapsody. 
 
 %ty ^terman's ^arofcg. 
 
 Non usitata, nee tenui ferar. 5 
 
 A twofold poet, on no timid wing, 
 
 I will undauntedly through ether spring, 
 
 On vulgar earth no longer I'll be stopping. 
 Superior to the envious, I leave town, 
 My country box in Hornsey-Lane lay down, 
 
 And bid adieu to warehouses at Wapping. 
 
140 TAKINGS. 
 
 Adopted as the Muses' favourite, I 
 Have made a resolution not to die ; 
 
 I'll scorn the stern restrictions of the Styx, 
 And feathered over shoulders, body, hands, 
 Changed to a bird, I'll visit other lands, 
 
 My merry warblings with their songs to mix, 
 
 Swifter than Icarus I'll air pass through, 
 Or he who from thy Bridge, O Waterloo, 
 
 Intends to rly some windy morn in May* ; 
 The Bosphorus, and the Getulian waste 
 I'll seek, to Hyperborean lands I'll haste, 
 
 Delighting all who hear me on my way. 
 
 * An exhibition of wings was lately advertised, with which the 
 Proprietor proposed to fly from Waterloo Bridge, in the month of 
 May, when the wind should serve. 
 
CANTO V. 141 
 
 Those who sham scorn for Alder manic lays, 
 Critics of Cockney song, shall give me praise, 
 
 Me, daily, weekly, monthly scribes shall know, 
 Drinkers of tea shall own my deathless fame, 
 And those for me vain funeral rites disclaim, 
 
 Who stimulate their genius with a Go. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Like Horace (very like !) I thus beguiled 
 
 Myself, while dashed the surge against the shore, 
 
 And fierce the tempest raged sublimely wild, 
 And foaming wave on wave impetuous bore. 
 
 I marked afar the sea-bird's rapid flight, 
 
 And lightning's glare appalled my startled sight. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " Now, with the hurricane my soul was tossed, 
 When lo ! 'tis melancholy as 'tis true, 
 
 My hat and wig were in a moment lost, 
 Borne by the winds feloniously from view ; 
 
 Whilst their hoarse roar, which now began to scare, 
 
 Told that my head, like Neptune's, might go bare. 
 
142 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 " My silk umbrella, with my wig and hat, 
 
 Strove to take flight, I scarcely could restrain 
 
 The struggler, till at last I squeezed it flat, 
 And put it down, regardless of the rain. 
 
 This cooled me — Now, confessed Time's healing balm, 
 
 I'm for a poet comfortably calm." 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Feasted by Wiggins, Tom, he knew not why, 
 Felt very seldom in the mood to write, 
 
 Still muttering to himself — " Pshaw, put it by, 
 Why should you make yourself a slave to-night ? 
 
 With early morn rise — you'll be fitter then." 
 
 And so he went to bed, and slept till ten. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 But he reflected welcomes will wear out, 
 And, notwithstanding the polite assertions 
 
 Of joy to see him, he, beyond all doubt, 
 Had rather flourished by his own exertions : 
 
 So he resolved to cudgel hard his brain, 
 
 And, as a poet, try his fate again. 
 
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CANTO V. 143 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 'Twas difficult to hit upon a plan 
 
 That with complacency he could regard, 
 
 All that could gratify the ear of man, 
 And give or fame or fortune to the bard, 
 
 Had been exhausted in the favoured strains 
 
 Of those who shone the boast of other reigns. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 '• Poets of other times ! to swell your lay 
 What treasures burst on your delighted view ! 
 
 Yours the bright landscape — yours the opening day, 
 And yours the copy-right of all the dew — 
 
 Yours the fierce monsters of the cheerless plain, 
 
 And all the flowerets of soft Flora's train. 
 
 XL. 
 
 " Yours, too, the glorious sun, the moon, and stars, 
 Yours all the briny ocean comprehends ; 
 
 While famines, earthquakes, desolating wars, 
 
 Grace the bold song, and each a splendour lends, 
 
 Which never can descend on modern verse, 
 
 Though we such scenes eternally rehearse. 
 
144 TAKINGS. 
 
 XL1. 
 
 " Shakspeare and Milton! brothers Bill and Jack! 
 
 Of common sensibility bereft, 
 You must have been, or something in your track, 
 
 More than you spared for others had been left ; 
 Between you meanly— I suspect in spite, 
 Were written all the things that I would write. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " This, I consider an advantage base, 
 
 To take of early birth ; — that play-house fellow, 
 
 I fain would tell distinctly to his face, 
 He choused me out of Hamlet and Othello. 
 
 The harvest he, and some few more so clean 
 
 Got in, that followers could but little glean. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " And from that little others who succeeded, 
 Others rapacious e'en almost as they, 
 
 Took nearly all that had been passed unheeded, 
 Varlets called Dryden, Goldsmith, Collins, Gray, 
 
 The projects of the last but one were rash ones, 
 
 He claimed monopoly of all the Passions. 
 
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CANTO V. 145 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 s( But this monopoly I won't respect ; 
 
 I do not mean the passions to engage 
 In squabbles about music ; but unchecked 
 
 By him, I'll sing their struggle for the stage ; 
 And tell how One, set all their rage at naught, 
 But how? On that 'tis fitting I take thought " 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Thus Tom. Now musing on his favourite theme. 
 He sat him down, his porridge quite forgot; 
 
 ( At home he fared but humbly it should seem ), 
 He nothing cared about its keeping hot ; 
 
 But keen regrets about his situation, 
 
 Broke in on his sublimest contemplation. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 A something near his brain while Fate accusi 
 
 ■s 
 
 mg, 
 
 In meditation thus absorbed he sat, 
 Seemed fluttering, so he started from his musing, 
 
 And very naturally called " What's that?*' 
 A stranger there was on a visit caught ; 
 It was, at least he thought it was— a Thought 
 
H6 TAKINGS. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " And what's your business in my story upper?" 
 
 Moved by strong curiosity, he said, 
 " Are you the offspring of my last night's supper ? 
 
 Or any thing on which I lately fed? 
 Did wine admission to my head bestow, 
 Or did you there a vegetable grow ?" 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Thought answered, " Truly you're a pretty fellow ! 
 
 Your ignorance almost exceeds belief; 
 Think you I 'm bred where topers idly bellow, 
 
 Or that my sire is mutton, or is beef ; 
 For such a compliment I'm bound to thank, 
 You might, methinks, at least have known my rank. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " But, Sir, 'tis not the dinners you have swallowed, 
 Nor yet the suppers in which you indulge ; 
 
 Nor all the dissipation you have followed, 
 That can the origin of Thought divulge : 
 
 And think me not so very humbly bred, 
 
 As to be called a native of your head. 
 
CANTO V. 14? 
 
 L 
 
 " Know, Sir, that I, when Eve and sober Adam 
 First formed their house, (or garden,) keeping plan, 
 
 Was sent from Heaven to Paradise to glad 'em, 
 The first grand present to the new-made man. 
 
 I might in part contribute to enthrall, 
 
 But 'twas not I alone that caused his fall. 
 
 LI. 
 
 " With me some hundred other Thoughts were sent, 
 Some gay, some sad, some angry, and some kind ; 
 Such sets within a human forehead pent, 
 Are in a bundle tied, to form a mind. 
 These, when their wearers die obtain release, 
 Like soldiers paid off at a general peace. 
 
 LII. 
 
 " Then reckless vagabonds about me stroll, 
 Now here, now there, by chance or fortune led, 
 
 Till circumstances we may not control, 
 Afford the shelter of another head ; 
 
 Which thinking us its slaves is quite at ease, 
 
 While we like tyrants rule it as we please. 
 
 L 2 
 
148 TAKINGS. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 " Thus I, in many skulls have found a home, 
 
 Now claiming all the world's applause ; and then, 
 
 By death again dislodged, compelled to roam, 
 And owners find in very different men. 
 
 Now for some Hero's dauntless valour famed, 
 
 Now by some midnight robber's darings shamed. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " I've often laughed with unaffected glee, 
 
 To mark the curiosity men felt, 
 The likeness of that face and form to see, 
 
 With which from choice or accident I dwelt. 
 While that which sat not to the painter,— I 
 Alone it was moved curiosity 
 
 LV. 
 
 " Wishing to see some warrior, sultan, saint, 
 Would you not mock the artist so inept, 
 
 Who on that wish applied himself to paint 
 
 The palace, mosque, or cell, in which they slept ? 
 
 Th' attempt to picture those renown who gain, 
 
 Is hardly less ridiculously vain. 
 
CANTO V. 149 
 
 LVI 
 
 i( The pencilled form you to the canvass give, 
 
 Is not the real object in request, 
 What generous admiration would make live, 
 
 Is that which animates the brain or breast ; 
 Yet to preserve what never can decay, 
 You paint its temporary cage of clay. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 " More of what Thought is, I shall not disclose 
 
 But further my own story I pursue, 
 To tell how that which no one could suppose, 
 
 Occurred : how thought gained residence with you 
 Think it not empty pride that in a huff, 
 At last determined to find room enough. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " The thoughtless, gay, and giddy butterfly, 
 Where opening roses negligently droop, 
 
 Chased and denied a luxury so high, 
 Will to the humble radish blossom stoop ; 
 
 So I from heads which sense and wit have blessed 
 
 Driven, would with you, for some short season rest. 
 
J 50 TAKINGS. 
 
 LIX 
 
 <e Or to your low ideas to come down, 
 
 I'm like a poet who can pay but ill, 
 Who tries but vainly in a wealthy town, 
 
 To get into th' apartments he would fill ; 
 And forced from halls and dining-rooms to fly 7 
 At last obtains a parlour next the sky. 
 
 LX. 
 
 " Such is the truth. So pray now be content, 
 You know how one Thought scrambled to your pate 
 
 By no means certain he can pay his rent, 
 But if he don *t your loss will not be great : 
 
 Your Caput is to let, — so down with pride, 
 
 If I go 'twill remain unoccupied. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " Here then awhile I purpose to sojourn ; 
 
 But only as a tenant mind at will 3 
 If you to any use know how to turn 
 
 A Thought, why do it, and your pockets fill. 
 But call me not, unless you would disgrace, 
 A native of this very sorry place." 
 
CANTO. V. 151 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Tom started as from sleep, but to behold 
 
 What might with some small reason move his wrath, 
 
 His cat had saved his meal from getting cold, 
 
 And while he mused, had swallowed all his broth ; 
 
 And Takeall mourned relentless Fate could stoop, 
 
 To rob a hungry poet of his soup. 
 
 END OF CANTO THE FIFTH . 
 
TAKINGS. 
 
 CANTO VI 
 
TAK I N G S. 
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 I. 
 
 Takeall in earnest laboured with his quill, 
 A poem wrote, supplying then correction, 
 
 Soon brought it to conclusion, but I will 
 Not say he ever brought it to perfection. 
 
 Having thus far accomplished his great end, 
 
 The next thing was to shew it to a friend. 
 
 II. 
 
 I could forgive the man whose wretched taste, 
 To jingle for his own amusement chose, 
 
 Suspecting who on rhyme his time would waste 
 Must ever be ridiculous in prose. 
 
 But verses written or for sport or need, 
 
 'Tis very cruel to a friend to read. 
 
150 TAKINGS. 
 
 III. 
 
 A wealthy gentleman, in rhyme a sinner, 
 Invites me frequently,— I guess because 
 
 He wants to read his poems after dinner ; 
 And stare me in the face for my applause. 
 
 I listen not, but sit in careless mood, 
 
 And swallowing wine, at times cry, " Very good ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 But all practitioners in verse I know, 
 
 In this way often have their friends distressed ; 
 
 And if our hero wished his work to show, 
 Having this fault in common with the rest, 
 
 Without much reprehension we may pass, 
 
 The instinct recognised in all his class. 
 
 His old acquaintance Flykite, by the ear 
 
 Tom caught, and looked for rapture and surprise ; 
 
 But he remarked, " I would not be severe, 
 Yet cannot praise unless I tell you lies ; 
 
 Some lines are very well, but I must say, 
 
 Your talent seems to lead another way." 
 
CANTO VI. 157 
 
 VI. 
 
 Tom thanked him for his candour, but at heart, 
 
 Resolved against appealing to him more ; 
 " 'Tis time," thought he, " we company should part, 
 
 I never guessed him such a fool before ; 
 He knows the writer, so he must despise ; 
 Unknown the bard, he'd praise him to the skies.'* 
 
 VII. 
 
 The poet went with all convenient haste, 
 
 To Mr. Wiggins, who with the two Misses, 
 
 And Mrs, Bosky had prodigious taste ; 
 
 Opened the case, and finished it with, " This is 
 
 My poem ; will you listen while I read, 
 
 And fairly, frankly tell, if I succeed ?" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Just then the knocker sounded an approach, 
 Some one appeared impatient to get shelter, 
 
 And while they heard retire a hackney-coach, 
 Entered a comely couple, helter-skelter. 
 
 " Here ! here has been a pretty job of jobs !" 
 
 Cried Mrs. first, and after Mr. Hobbs. 
 
158 TAKINGS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " What ! what's the matter V' every body cried, 
 The lady answered, " You must know, to-day 
 
 We thought of taking pleasure, so we hied 
 
 To Highgate, with our pretty children's shay ; 
 
 Which Mr. Hobbs bought Kitty for a fairing, 
 
 To give the little dears a little airing. 
 
 X. 
 
 " And there we drawed 'em in such pleasant places, 
 They seemed at least a hundred miles from town, 
 
 When suddenly full bang in all our faces, 
 Torrents of rain, in deluges came down. 
 
 So Mr. Hobbs's coat and hat got soil'd, 
 
 And my new sarsnet gown completely spoiled. 
 
 XI. * 
 
 " My parasol used for an umbereller, 
 Saved me but little even beneath a tree, 
 
 And while we stood up every saucy fellei" 
 Seemed quite delighted, our distress to see. 
 
 So we was forced to leave behind our shay, 
 
 And in the Highgate stage to come away." 
 

 
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CANTO VI. 159 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Yes," said the husband, " and poor Pompey's gone ; 
 
 You know how well he carried. — I to jail 
 Could send the rogue, who, when the storm came on, 
 
 Tied a tin kettle to his faithful tail : 
 He dropped, and I have lost, through this vile trick 
 My bamboo cane, my Sunday walking-stick. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " 'Twill warn me how I pleasure take again — 
 Spoiled hat and coat, and half destroyed my wig." 
 
 " But," cried the wife, " we nearly half this pain 
 Had saved, if you, like others, kept your gig. 
 
 Before we goes abroad another day, 
 
 I wow, as how I '11 have a vone-horse shay." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Then Mr. Wiggins strove to soothe the woes 
 Of these unfortunates, and in due time, 
 
 Because he did not quite succeed in prose, 
 He very rationally flew to rhyme ; 
 
 And told them that his friend, the poet there, 
 Would read a poem to beguile their care. 
 
160 TAKINGS. 
 
 XV, 
 
 Tom blushed, and felt at first disposed to fib it, 
 And say the poem was at home ; ashamed 
 
 Before so large a party to exhibit. 
 
 But let him not for sheepishness be blamed, 
 
 When known 'tis — after modestly receding, 
 
 He gracefully consented to the reading. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But first he told what he before had thought, 
 How favoured other bards had been by Fate, 
 
 That all might feel if nothing new he brought, 
 The cause was solely being born so late. 
 
 And soon as this apology was done, 
 
 His story of " The Contest" he begun. 
 
CANTO IV. 161 
 
 ®f)t Contest 
 
 The Passions and Feelings, though settled the strife 
 
 Which once served their musical skill to employ, 
 Did not calmly return to a peaceable life, 
 
 When the prize had been fairly awarded to Joy. 
 An object remained in each season and clime, 
 
 Of moment sufficient their care to engage, 
 For Love, a gay, rosy-faced boy at that time, 
 
 Had taken the lead of them all on the stage. 
 
 Low murmurs and scoffings had long passed between 
 
 The leaders, like those often heard in our day, 
 From scowling old stagers, who snarl " What is Kean? 
 
 And where is the worth of Macready's display ?" 
 When a general meeting (it matters not where), 
 
 Was called by the prominent chiefs of the tribe ; 
 And the speeches then made, and the scene witnessed there, 
 
 Be it mine to report, and attempt to describe. 
 
162 TAKINGS. 
 
 Bursting the hall gate wild Despair, 
 
 His neighbour Melancholy met, 
 (With folded arms and vacant stare,) 
 
 And weeping Grief, and pale Regret. 
 
 Fear, trembled, — sighed, — and then advanced, 
 Revenge stalked there with sullen pomp, 
 
 While Rope, with last night's dream entranced, 
 Danced in, a giddy playful romp. 
 
 Pity, with open hand drew near ; 
 
 Her sister Sorrow led her in ; 
 Avarice bestowed on them a sneer, 
 
 And Malice a ferocious grin. 
 
 Mirth passed with unembarrassed air, 
 His loved playfellow — Hope, he found, 
 
 While Jealousy, who sought Despair, 
 At every step he took turned round. 
 
 He moved the question on the modern plan, 
 And He the important grave debate began. 
 " Who," he cried, " and what, is Love ; 
 That he should thus be placed above 
 
CANTO VI. 163 
 
 The mightier passions who control, 
 Rend and agitate the soul ?" 
 
 Here he started — he suspected 
 Malice meant to interrupt, 
 And his words grew more abrupt, 
 
 Less impressive, less connected. 
 " Love ! — Shall he still proudly claim 
 Of the Drama all the fame ? 
 Why is Jealousy forgot- — 
 Shall this be, or shall it not." — 
 
 By want of breath compelled to pause, 
 Envy, with transport saw the cause, 
 Refused one moment more to wait, 
 And Malice followed in debate ; 
 And both contended, on the stage 
 hove was but fitted for a page, 
 To wait behind the fiercer throes, 
 By them produced from human woes ; 
 Even from the infancy of Time, 
 When Cain they goaded on to crime. 
 
 With sullen scowl, — stern air and horrid gasp, 
 While either hand a dagger seemed to clasp, 
 
 M 2 
 
164< TAKINGS. 
 
 Revenge, stood forth. And why, the monster cried, 
 
 " Is my pre-eminence o'erlooked, denied? 
 
 Who to the drama gives a tone so well 
 
 As I, the favourite eldest born of Hell ? 
 
 Love I — What can Love to move mankind impart, 
 
 If I attend not to o'erwhelm the heart? 
 
 I can with artful schemes the wretch surprise, 
 
 And wear, to blast my victim, each disguise. 
 
 History can vouch, and all mankind agree, 
 
 The bloodiest scenes originate in me. 
 
 The assassin's signal and the bugle's sound, 
 
 Where frantic strife spreads desolation round, 
 
 In me their common origin have found. 
 
 Who like Revenge then, I would fain inquire, 
 
 Can terror, wonder, wild alarm inspire ?" 
 
 Despair advanced, but on his devious track, 
 Came Melancholy close, and held him back ; 
 Forward he rushed, and all restraint disdained ; 
 Then sobbing paused, and was again restrained. 
 Hope saw, surmised the struggle would be long, 
 And seized that moment to begin her song. 
 
CANTO VI. 165 
 
 " Away, away, ye gloomy train, 
 
 The human heart that fill ; 
 Let Hope, fresh from the joyous plain, 
 
 Awake to rapture's thrill. 
 Triumphant Hope cheers all below, 
 
 Exalts the soul on high, 
 And shines to man assailed by woe, 
 
 The rainbow of his sky. 
 
 " 'Tis Hope instructs the maid to charm, 
 
 With s*miles unknown to art ; 
 Hope nerves the dauntless warrior's arm, 
 
 And warms the lover's heart. 
 'Tis Hope alone makes man content, 
 
 While destined here to stay, 
 By Nature's God directly sent 
 
 To gild his little day. 
 
 " And closing, when old age's night, 
 Life's winter — grief would bring, 
 
 Hope comes to cheer him with the sight 
 Of everlasting spring. 
 
166 TAKINGS. 
 
 Since Hope consoles when all has failed, 
 Gives joy, peace, resignation birth, 
 
 O ! then, let Hope be ever hailed 
 Pre-eminent on earth." 
 
 Despair, now spoke in wild discordant tone, 
 
 " 'Tis I alone— 
 I, who best teach the wretch to rage, 
 Who ought to rule the stage. 
 My pause — my groan — my start — 
 Assailing take by storm the heart. 
 Has not a crimson flood, 
 
 In every land where I have strode, 
 
 Distinguished my abode, 
 From wretches urged by me to shed their blood? 
 Can Love — audacious Love, then mean 
 To make me second on the tragic scene?" 
 
 Attention Melancholy claimed and caught : 
 Much of Despair's oration owned was true, 
 
 But added, all the truth confessed, he thought 
 Himself the mightier monarch of the two. 
 
CANTO VI. 167 
 
 In maddening throbs Despair would most excel, 
 But these would yield the stage a feeble theme, 
 
 Contrasted with the gloom of his lone cell, 
 
 His weeping willow, and his murmuring stream. 
 
 Mirth, laughing at Despair as folly, 
 Mocking the gait of solemn Melancholy, 
 Now rose, his stately neighbours to beseech 
 That he might have the privilege of speech. 
 The boon accorded him, with brief delay, 
 He laughing thus poured forth his careless lay. 
 
 " That Love should, forsooth! claim the Drama to rule, 
 Is wrong — in a boy only now fit for school ! 
 
 I needs must acknowledge quite true ; 
 And if of debate it offend not the laws, 
 I'll candidly tell you I think so because 
 
 He is too much connected with you. 
 
 " 'Tis Mirth of existence should fill the short space, 
 And, of course, should enjoy on the stage the first place. 
 
 Love ought to be banished- with Care ; 
 For he to Revenge is much given to stray, 
 Old Jealous?/ often is found in his way, 
 
 With Malice, Regret, and Despair. 
 
68 TAKINGS. 
 
 " For this, though I rank not among his worst foes, 
 I think it expedient we Love should depose: 
 
 Let Mirth in his stead reign — let Fun, 
 Let Frolic and Jest, wake to transport the lands, 
 Let bursts of loud laughter resound on all hands, 
 
 Till laughter and life are but one." 
 
 Anger, Avarice, and Regret, 
 
 For ascendency now call ; 
 Love, who had not spoken yet, 
 
 Fearlessly replied to all. 
 
 " Must Love descend to vindicate 
 
 His privilege to yield delight ? 
 Must Love submit to rude debate, 
 
 That empire his inherent right ? 
 Grovellers ! — Ye all shall own his sway : 
 
 Bound by eternal Nature's chain, 
 Storm, and repine, and rave ye may, 
 
 Ye storm, repine, and rave in vain. 
 
 " Love, although soon his course be done, 
 
 Must every human bosom fill ; 
 And dear 'till life's last sand has run 
 
 The fondly recollected thrill. 
 
CANTO VI. 169 
 
 Mirth, Hope, and Pity, I am sad 
 
 Your vain hostility to see ; 
 Forsaking Love you must be mad ; 
 You know you emanate from me. 
 
 " Ye angry passions on the stage, 
 
 A brief volcanic glare may show, 
 But nor your frenzy, nor your rage, 
 
 Could breathe my vivifying glow. 
 And ye who Love would now exile ; 
 
 I do not boast, but I confess, 
 (A blush it mingles with my smile), 
 
 Owe me th' importance you possess. 
 
 *' The sun, which in the temperate zone 
 
 With fragrant flowers adorns each stem, 
 Gives beauty charms before unknown, 
 
 And lustre to the buried gem, 
 In torrid climes with man at strife, 
 
 Pouring its fires on viler clay, 
 Can quicken venom into life, 
 
 To grovel in the sultry ray. 
 
170 TAKINGS. 
 
 " So Love's exhilarating fires, 
 
 That virtue to perfection bring, 
 Provoke, encountering low desires, 
 
 The scorpion's bite, the adder's sting, 
 And following close Love's blythe career ; 
 
 Revenge and Jealousy are seen, 
 While Melancholy hovers near, 
 
 And grim Despair, with frantic mien. 
 
 " And this suggested, that the stage, 
 
 Love ought to claim as his domain ; 
 The boasters who so idly rage, 
 
 'Twas known must follow in his train. 
 Let this annihilate your pride ! 
 
 Aspire not by yourselves to shine, 
 But know, though I disdain to chide, 
 
 How mean your rank compared with mine ! 
 
 " Your noblest triumphs were beneath 
 
 Regard, if I could be put by, 
 And valueless the victor's wreath, 
 
 If Love the conqueror should deny. 
 Away ! contempt on those be hurled, 
 
 Who from the drama Love would sever, 
 The lord of all the real world, 
 
 Shall rule the mimic one for ever." 
 
CANTO VI. 171 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The reading finished, Tom of course attempted, 
 To seem as if he had no thought of praise ; 
 
 And felt from all anxiety exempted, 
 About the fame and fortune of his lays. 
 
 Now he looked down, scarce seeming to respire, 
 
 And now he fixed his eyes upon the fire. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But Mr. Wiggins, who began to nod 
 
 Just in the middle, here pronounced it fine ; 
 
 And Mrs. Bosky thought the idea odd, 
 
 But felt quite certain that the bard would shine. 
 
 And Mrs. Hobbs was sure 'twould please John Bull, 
 
 And, for her own part, thought it beautiful ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And Mr. Bosky, who was seated there, 
 
 And Mr. Hobbs, next to him, were content 
 
 To follow up their spouses' praise, and swear 
 That they regarded it as excellent ! 
 
 (In decency they could not well do less ;) 
 
 So Tom exulted in his great success. 
 
172 TAKINGS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 And yet all these opinions I suspect, 
 
 Takeall, had they been lavished on another, 
 
 Would not have hesitated to reject 
 
 As worthless, and contempt unskilled to smother, 
 
 Have dropped a sneer, — a sort of Burchell " fudge," 
 
 With " who the deuce enabled these to judge ?" 
 
 XXL 
 
 But praise is such a very pleasing thing, 
 
 That steel themselves against it authors can't, 
 
 They welcome all who approbation bring, 
 However stupid, mean, or ignorant. 
 
 Tom with the plaudits charmed that paid his song, 
 
 Retired as happy as the day was long. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Kind Mrs. Bosky owned, when he had fled, 
 She thought he painted better than he wrote ; 
 
 And Mr. Wiggins for his own part said, 
 •* Tom ne'er wou'd be a poet of much note." 
 
 One said, " 'twas wild," and Mr. Hobbs's wife, 
 
 Found in it " little knowledge of high life." 
 
CANTO VI. 173 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 One called the characters " quite common-place," 
 " No plot, no incident," another cries ; 
 
 Each sported some fine phrase, with solemn face, 
 Picked up in circulating libraries ; 
 
 Which, though not understood, the crowd at will, 
 
 Can utter with an air of wondrous skill. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Then at the author rose a general laugh, 
 
 That he so arrogantly should believe 
 The panegyrics they pronounced, or half 
 
 Their hypocritical applause receive ; 
 And shame the excusing exclamation brought, 
 " You know we could not tell him what we thought !" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Tom, filled with exultation, at the praise 
 So kindly given, supposed his sorrows o'er ; 
 
 And looking forward to more prosperous days, 
 Hoped all embarrassment would be no more : 
 
 Certain, almost, his poem could not fail, 
 
 He fearless went to offer it for sale. 
 
174 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But no Bookseller was disposed to pay, 
 What he required, or half of the amount ; 
 
 And so determined not to throw away 
 
 His work, he published on his own account ; 
 
 And had in time the joy of being told, 
 
 Some five-and-twenty copies had been sold. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Ruin, dire, hopeless ruin, on his track 
 
 Now pressed ; the grinding woes of want appal, 
 
 And snatch almost the coat from off his back ; 
 For law's accomplished harpies take his all. 
 
 The poor Collegian dragged from his retreat, 
 
 Behold a friendless prisoner in the Fleet. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 There in a wretched third-floor room immured, 
 Of which three fellow captives claimed a share ; 
 
 Tom, never having such distress endured, 
 Abandoned hope, and yielded to despair : 
 
 Sometimes he dashed himself upon the floor, 
 
 And wished it might be his to rise no more. 
 
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 XXIX. 
 
 And thus one morning in the little nook 
 In which he might dispose his wasting form 
 
 He lay ; when suddenly his hand one took, 
 And roused the Captive by its pressure warm. 
 
 Tom started, at the incident surprised, 
 
 And Flykite's countenance he recognised. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " ' Rats die in holes and corners,' you must not," 
 He cried, "Come, Tom, I bring you glorious news, 
 
 The Widow Vernal, if you have not got, 
 To-morrow you may marry if you choose. 
 
 Her wealth will make your baffled foes look pale, 
 
 And you may walk this morning out of jail." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " For all my foes I need not care a rush, 
 Or pale or not, but could I act the part 
 
 You recommend, I fear my friends would blush, 
 And think me dead to honour at my heart. 
 
 To wed her love professing, were deceit, 
 
 An infamous — unpardonable cheat." 
 
176 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Why what a Johnny !" Flykite cried, " you 're mad! 
 
 Hundreds the same have done as well as you." 
 " No matter — than commit an act so bad, 
 
 I 'd rather starve, as here I 'm like to do. 
 Tho' my misconduct brought me here no doubt, 
 A crime so flagrant shall not get me out." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Flykite retired, astonished, half-offended, 
 And Tom again was thinking of the floor, 
 
 When suddenly his musings were suspended, 
 By hearing some one thunder at the door. 
 
 A person entered, bowing, spruce and gay, 
 
 And bade him very civilly,— " Good day." 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he began, but I 
 Thinking it pity you should be confined, 
 
 Have called, Sir, merely with a view to buy, 
 Your pen, your talents, and ingenious mind, 
 
 If — you would something warm and luscious write : 
 
 Morality is now old-fashioned quite. 
 
CANTO VI. 177 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " A something for the rising generation, 
 A something pretty rather out of rule," — 
 
 " I know not," Tom replied, " what expectation 
 You have, that I would be a pander's tool. 
 
 'Tis needless more your errand to proclaim, 
 
 Begone, Sir, while you may, the way you came." 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Scarce had he made his exit, when another 
 Offered to succour Takeall in his need ; 
 
 Provided foolish scruples he would smother, 
 And lend his talents to an atheist's creed. 
 
 With him a partner came, to make condition 
 
 That Tom should blend with blasphemy sedition. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Astonished, on the applicants he gazed : 
 That in one hour, so many should assail, 
 
 Disgusted him not more than it amazed. 
 
 " Surely," he cried, " my senses do not fail, 
 
 Do I imagine tales no creatures tell ! 
 
 Or come so many tempting fiends from hell !" 
 
 N 
 
178 TAKINGS. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 But when another, who to these succeeded, 
 
 Proposed a libel on the King to try, 
 He seized his throat, and " why, Sir, was it needed 
 
 To make me thus the but of infamy ? 
 Who told you here a miscreant you might see ? 
 Think you none capable of crime but me ?" 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 And while he spoke, he shook the stranger hard, 
 And grasped so tight, that pending his expulsion, 
 
 The latter felt some terror, lest the bard 
 Should rashly hasten on his last convulsion. 
 
 And so for aid he bellowed like a Stentor. 
 
 That moment Tom beheld his father enter. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Tom loosed his hold — was mute and stood abashed — 
 A burning tear stole trickling down his face, 
 
 When hope and transport sudden on him flashed, 
 Clasped in a long-lost parent's fond embrace. 
 
 " Spendthrift and rake," he cried, M the world may call, 
 
 But you are dear to me, Tom, after all. 
 
CANTO VI. 179 
 
 XLI. 
 
 et Your looks bespeak repentance, born of woe, 
 Your own reproaches will for me suffice, 
 
 But all your misery confess you owe 
 To foolishly neglecting my advice. 
 
 Tom (now no prisoner,) smiling bowed assent," 
 
 Then home with his exulting father went. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " O ! my kind sire ! no language can impart, 
 No words that I may on your ear intrude, 
 
 Can picture the emotions of my heart, 
 Or faintly indicate my gratitude ; 
 
 For bounties so unlooked for, heaped on one, 
 
 No longer worthy to be called your son/' 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " Peace, Prodigal," the father said, " these thanks 
 Are not for me ; — boy ! wonder and attend — 
 
 I never had forgiven your graceless pranks, 
 But for a generous interceding friend. 
 
 Who spite of all your follies and disgrace, 
 
 Would not allow me to suppose you base. 
 
 N 2 
 
180 TAKINGS. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " There bear your transports ; there forgiveness ask ;" 
 Tom turned and wondering saw Eliza there ; 
 
 His tongue could not perform the grateful task 
 Enjoined, while trembling he approached the fair, 
 
 Who burst resplendent on his dazzled sight, 
 
 A radiant vision of celestial light. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " Am I not wild delusion's cheated slave !" 
 At length he cried. " Can bliss without alloy 
 
 Be mine — snatched from the darkness of the grave, 
 To know a paradise of heavenly joy ?" 
 
 Eliza smiled, but nothing could express, 
 
 But tears and blushes speak her happiness. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 The sire resumed. — " This charmer, poor no more, 
 Avowed the generous passion of her breast ; 
 
 Resolved her wayward lover to restore, 
 She made me put your feelings to the test. 
 
 From me your tempters came, who served to prove, 
 
 You have some title to a father's love. 
 
CANTO VI. 181 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " And had I not been active to oppose, 
 
 Eliza for your liberty had paid. 
 Your earnest advocate with friends and foes, 
 
 This matchless being — this deserted maid, 
 In poverty eluded you by stealth — 
 Has never ceased to follow you in wealth/" 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 'Twere waste of time to labour to describe, 
 The gay emotions Tom experienced then, 
 
 The greatest of the versifying tribe, 
 To paint them holds an inefficient pen, 
 
 And so the filling up, I needs must leave, 
 
 To those who love's best raptures can conceive. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 What followed, I surmise full many a wight, 
 
 Whose friends suspect not he will fire the Thames, 
 
 Can guess at — ay, and probably guess right, 
 Tho' he no credit as a conjurer claims ; 
 
 That is, the lovers met no new miscarriage, 
 
 And soon their parents made them one in marriage. 
 
182 TAKINGS. 
 
 L. 
 
 A thrilling moment of unmingled bliss, 
 The happy college youth awaited soon, 
 
 When with Eliza, now no more a Miss, 
 
 He took his leave, to spend the honey-moon. 
 
 This point arrived at, prudent poets stop ; 
 
 And dramatists at once the curtain drop. 
 
 LI. 
 
 To own the truth, in doing so they 're right ; 
 
 They should be vigilant to close the scene, 
 So many "happy couples'' snarl and fight, 
 
 The opposites of all that they have been, 
 When once united in soft wedlock's tie ; 
 'Tis well such probabilities to fly. 
 
 LII. 
 
 But I, heroically, further dare ; 
 
 Nor leave Tom but in marriage a beginner, 
 To send my readers off with scanty fare, 
 
 As others do before the wedding-dinner. 
 I take them thro' the month of smiles and laughter, 
 And more tell what occurred some nine months after. 
 
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CANTO VI. 183 
 
 LIII. 
 
 'Twas then Eliza, now though Mrs. T. 
 
 We ought to call her, gave her lord an heir, 
 And all her female friends, the babe to see 
 
 And praise its beauty, failed not to repair ; 
 But half what they to utter there thought meet, 
 While taking caudle, I must not repeat, 
 
 LIV. 
 
 This I may tell, without incurring blame, 
 They one and all said, " Laid upon the shelf, 
 
 I'm sure, my dear, 'twould be a crying shame 
 If you neglected now to nurse yourself : 
 
 Though you could run a race, for Heaven's sake swear 
 
 You could not for the world go down a stair. 
 
 LV. 
 
 " Keep your apartment four good weeks, my dear : 
 Men about Magna Charta make a fuss, 
 
 Prating about its worth from year to year, 
 But more important is this rule to us. 
 
 And therefore if restored, be sure don't tell 
 
 Your husband that you're any thing like well." 
 
184 TAKINGS. 
 
 LYI. 
 
 She followed this good counsel, Tom, though glad 
 When came the regular restoring day, 
 
 Repined not at the long retirement had, 
 Rejoiced to see her happy her own way ; 
 
 Considering her's the right to form her plan, 
 
 And woman's rights the dearest care of man. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES, 
 
 Northumberland-Court. 
 
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