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 yyfeteter Fafv% Library of V^feiinary Med^^ 
 
 Curmnmss School of Veterinary Medicmal 
 
 Tufts University 
 
 200 Westboro Road 
 
 North Grafton MA 01536 
 
THE ILLUSTRATED POCKET LIBRARY 
 OF PLAIN AND COLOURED BOOKS 
 
 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
THE OlLB SQpilR-E 
 
 And in lAc BuUers pantry fhun// Aim. 
 V/clA Brandy ^olties ^aZA£rd tvutuI At3>v. 
 
THE 
 OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 " A JOVIAL GAY FOX HUNTER, BOLD, FRANK, AND FREE " 
 
 A POEM 
 
 IN TEN CANTOS 
 
 By JOHN CARELESS, Esq. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH PLATES 
 BY ONE OF THE FAMILY 
 
 METHUEN & CO. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 1905 
 
)05 
 
 NOTE 
 
 nrmS issue is founded on the Original 
 Edition, published by Thomas M'Lean 
 in the year 1821 
 
A^ 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 MONG the innumerable publications of 
 the present day^ I see no reason in the 
 world against my appearance in print, not- 
 withstanding the many faults that fastidious 
 readers may find in my poem, or as some 
 parts may be termed, versified prose. For 
 my own part, being always of an easy and 
 cheerful disposition, when a book does not 
 set me to sleep, I am sure to be pleased Avith 
 it ; and if it should, it is the same thing to 
 me, for I think a good nap does one no harm, 
 particularly after dinner. The following poem 
 was written, as it professes, by myself, and 
 having once got severely ferruled for joining 
 with some of my school fellows in the follow- 
 ing very ancient and equally learned ballad, 
 beginning, 
 
 '^ Omne bene, sine pcene, tempns est hidcndi," &c. 
 1 have since mortally hated every thing that 
 
VI PREFACE 
 
 had any thing Hke the shape of learning, 
 consequently, the learned reader must not 
 expect any tid bits, written express for his 
 own palate. The poem has been written at 
 intervals to pass away the winter evenings, 
 for since my fright with the water kelpy, 
 I cannot bear to be out after dark. — My wife, 
 who is a great reader, admires my productions 
 extremely — particularly the ball scene, and 
 the account of the dresses, &c. Our parson, 
 who by the way never says much, and is 
 reckoned a very clever man, thinks he prefers 
 the account of the christening dinner, and 
 though I am free to acknowledge it is a 
 substantial — and I may say, a circumstantial — 
 description of that affair, I prefer that part, 
 where I am described as filling Roger's bags 
 and my own with gi'ouse in a single morning's 
 shooting, after I had left my cousins ; who 
 are rather dangerous companions with loaded 
 fire arms, which I can only ascribe to their 
 honest and harmless intentions, and, except 
 in sporting matters, I have a very great respect 
 for them. There is a whole line of latin intro- 
 duced into the work, which, as I cannot bear 
 to deceive any one, I must say, was foisted in 
 
PREFACE vii 
 
 by my old college tutor to whom I sent a 
 scrap or two as a specimen for his opinion^ 
 and who returned me one of them with the 
 line above mentioned, which^ I believe is in 
 English^ if I remember the translation, " for it 
 is not given to every one to have a nose."* 
 I suppose it applies to the difference between 
 greyhounds and pointers — for all the world 
 knows that the greyhound has no nose at all 
 for a scent. My tutor was a worthy soul and 
 could take his two bottles in a gentlemanlike 
 quiet sort of manner with a glass or two of 
 toddy afterwards, but was rather addicted to 
 book learning — a thing as I said before I could 
 never digest. My father and mother do not 
 make much figure in the work, but the former, 
 who was the best natured man in the world, 
 when he had his own way, plumed himself 
 much upon his management of a cellar and his 
 having found out a system of drinking that 
 was perfectly harmless, or as he used to call it, 
 • the beneficial mode of drinking ' — which was 
 as follows : — if the hock or port he usually 
 took at dinner turned cold on his stomach, 
 he would take a stiff tumbler of hot rum and 
 
 * Nam non cuique datum est habere nasum. 
 
vlii PREFACE 
 
 water — perhaps three or four of them — if this 
 heated him^ as it might sometimes in hot 
 weather^ he took two or three glasses of cold 
 brandy and water as a sedative — for every one 
 knows that brandy is a sedative — and finished 
 his evening with a small jug of medicmal gin 
 punchy the comforts of which are well known 
 to the admirers of this wholesome beverage. 
 
 The only apology I can offer to the reader 
 for the difference of measures I have made use 
 of, is this, that I felt it as great a relief in 
 \arying the length of my metre^ as a horse 
 does in occasionally changing from the long 
 trot to a canter, and most kindly wishing all 
 my readers a cheerful trot and pleasing canter_, 
 with now and then for variety's sake, an agree- 
 able amble, to the end of the poem, I take 
 my leave, and should it produce one smile, 
 or disperse from the forehead of care one 
 wrinkle, its end is fully answered. 
 
 1st JUNE 1821. 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 •'The old 'squire" 
 
 '< Fetching the midwife " 
 
 •' Dressing the young "squire " 
 
 •'•' The young 'squire gets ferrul'd 
 
 " Breaking cover " 
 
 " Tries a new shooting poney " 
 
 '■' Crammed at College " 
 
 ••' Gets cheated by his miller" 
 
 '• Young 'squire goes to London 
 
 ''Takes lessons in dancing" 
 
 '' Sits for his portrait " 
 
 " Goes to the opera " . 
 
 " Goes to a picture sale " 
 
 " Buys an historical picture " 
 
 '' Rides home on a borrowed horse " 
 
 " Mistakes mushroom for game " 
 
 ' •' Meets with a small accident " . 
 
 •'• His gun misses fire " . 
 
 •■•' Goes with friends to shoot grouse " 
 
 •' Not the safest way to carry loaded gu 
 
 •' Spurs himself in the wrong place " 
 
 " See's a water kelpy " 
 
 "The village schoolmaster " 
 
 " A cheerful dance " 
 
 ^rontispiece 
 
 Fage 
 
 10 
 
 ,, 
 
 II 
 
 jj 
 
 20 
 
 )) 
 
 21 
 
 )} 
 
 22 
 
 5J 
 
 24 
 
 55 
 
 36 
 
 55 
 
 39 
 
 55 
 
 47 
 
 ,, 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 64 
 
 55 
 
 69 
 
 55 
 
 7^ 
 
 >5 
 
 80 
 
 55 
 
 84 
 
 55 
 
 87 
 
 93 
 98 
 
 99 
 104 
 124 
 125 
 
THE 
 
 OLD ENGLISH VSQUIRE 
 
 INVOCATION 
 
 LJELICON !— thy rocky head 
 
 Whose steep ascent might fill with dread 
 The boldest bard that would aspire 
 To wake one note on Phoebus' lyre. — 
 Helicon ! — thy steepy height 
 Is the Muses' dwelling bright : 
 In bow'rs of bays, and laurel'd shades. 
 There the blest Aonian maids, 
 In strains harmonious, rehearse 
 The mighty pow'r of magic verse. lo 
 
 There the rays of rosy morn, 
 Commixing with the dews, are born 
 A race of flow'rets, wild, unknown. 
 They bloom an hour, and then are gone : 
 More yet peep forth, and greet the sky 
 A moment, then contented die; 
 
2 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Let me but weave one poesy there, 
 Content their short-liv'd fate to share. 
 For I nor know to tune the lyre 
 Of Thebes with fierce poetic fire. 
 Nor Mantuan numbers grace my song, 
 Nor does to me Maeonides thy harp belong 
 
 I dare not woo the gentle muse, 
 That did in Surrey's song infuse 
 Her magic strain, in graceful guise, 
 Skill'd to make the bosom rise 
 With higher swell, when as he sung 
 The loves and graces round him hung ! 
 When courtly dames, a gorgeous bard. 
 To Surrey's harp would listening stand, 30 
 And w^arm eyed maids would eager throng "l 
 To drop a tear on Surrey's song. 
 And the sweet cadence in soft sighs prolong. J 
 
 Yet, oh ! sweet bard, might I but take 
 One leaf, for lovely poesy's sake. 
 From out the wreath e'en rivals wove 
 To deck the bard they would not love ; 
 Which ev'ry age that Time hath roU'd, 
 Hath woven o'er an hundred fold ; 
 
INVOCATION 3 
 
 Well might thou spare a leaf for me^ 40 
 
 For love of lovely poesy. 
 If not^ O ! gentlest of the Nine ! 
 Come grant my all untutor'd line. 
 At least to touch one kinder tone. 
 To kindred bosoms not unknown : 
 Or haply, in some higher verse. 
 Higher deeds of worth rehearse ; 
 Or tell a tale of times gone by, 
 That jocund live in memory : 
 Then, gentlest Muse ! accept my vows, 50 
 In such light guise as my poor harp bestows. 
 
CANTO THE FIRST 
 
 I N a fine central country, well studded with 
 
 hills, 
 Richly scatter'd with wood, and well water'd 
 
 by rills, 
 There lies a domain, which 'tis said has re- 
 
 main'd 
 In the fam'ly that first at the Conquest it 
 
 gain'd. 
 'Tis not very remarkable for situation. 
 Nor yet is it noted for high cultivation. 
 As 'tis useless at all times to keep things in 
 
 order. 
 That thrive just as well in a little disorder. 
 The owner ne'er thought of such trouble- 
 some stuff, 60 
 And ev'ry thing here — did just well enough. 
 The fences too frequently suff'ring repairs 
 Might scare away partridge, or keep out the 
 
 hares. 
 
CANTO THE FIRST 5 
 
 Hence the manor at all times was well stock'd 
 
 with game^ 
 With rabbits and pigeons^ both wild ones and 
 
 tame. 
 
 The house was capacious^ old^ gloomy^ and grey. 
 The rooms in and out, as if dancing the hey ; 
 The floors of dark oak, that were well rubb'd 
 
 with wax. 
 Which by slipping and sliding, serv'd to twist 
 
 people's backs. 
 The walls of brown wainscot, were w^ell hung 
 
 about 7 o 
 
 With beauties of antediluvian cut. 
 With judges, and parsons, and well wigged 
 
 squires. 
 Of the present 'Squire Careless, the grand ma's 
 
 and sires. 
 
 Near the house was a stable, in true ancient 
 
 gusto. 
 Made to look like a cottage — in fact it did 
 
 just so ; 
 O'er the door of this cottage, or stable, in stone 
 Was a ham carv'd, and sculptur'd, and rampant, 
 
 alone : 
 
6 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 'Twas a ham, or a bird, or a shield and a sword^ 
 But which of them was it, we ne'er knew a 
 
 word, 
 For with age and hard usage the shapes were 
 
 near gone, 80 
 
 So 'twas call'd by the people, a ham, or ham 
 
 bone ; 
 From this antiquarians did frequently reckon 
 That it once had belong'd to the fam'd Roger 
 
 Bacon, 
 As for hams, chines, and bacon, the hall was 
 
 long fam'd. 
 And the hamlet hard by was hence Baconsfield 
 
 nam'd. 
 
 The kennel at hand was — for the sake of sweet 
 
 sounds. 
 In which was occasionally lodg'd a few hounds. 
 But the pack generally speaking was fed by the 
 
 parish. 
 Having bed and board found by the 'squire's 
 
 And as the season of the year came 
 round 90 
 
 When harvest-home had clear'd the ground. 
 
CANTO THE FIRST 7 
 
 The wires from out their feet were taken^ 
 And ears and tails with joy were shaken. 
 The huntsman then^ at early morn^ 
 Would sally forth with long tin horn^ 
 Making a most melodious din^ 
 All canine friends to gather in. 
 He was an ancient crippled wight, 
 Upon a horse that lacked sight, 
 'Twas hard to say which most had 
 been, 100 
 
 In times of yore, in hunting seen. 
 He huntsman had been, but all he now did, 
 Was to feed the dogs, or to see them 
 fed. 
 For the 'squire to hunt his own hounds always 
 
 chose, 
 And they well knew his voice, as he well knew 
 their nose. 
 
 The domain well surrounded by hill, dale, and 
 
 down. 
 Was ten miles at least from the next market 
 
 town. 
 To the pleasures of shopping this proved a sad 
 
 barrier. 
 So their orders were usually sent by the carrier. 
 
8 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 And now were those orders more frequently 
 
 sent, no 
 
 And a man, horse, and basket, too, frequently 
 
 went. 
 And within and wdthout the old 'squire's 
 
 habitation 
 There appeared a great bustle and strong 
 
 preparation. 
 When just as the curtain of night was decending, 
 And the cool breeze of ev'ning its freshness 
 
 was lending, 
 The wood-pigeon's note had just sunk in the 
 
 grove. 
 And the nightingale warbled its soft tale of 
 love : 
 Then in breathless haste, came from the 
 
 hall, 
 A frantic maid who loud did call. 
 Quick ordered off a man and horse, i 20 
 
 Post haste to ride the plains across. 
 
 The man and horse set off with speed. 
 Nor farther warning seem'd to need. 
 The banging gates behind him swung. 
 With his horse's tramp the vallies rung ; 
 
CANTO THE FIRST 9 
 
 Along the lane he rattled fast^ 
 
 And soon the neighbouring farm he pass'd^ 
 
 'Till the maiden who stood listening still, 
 
 Heard all was silent on the hill. 
 
 Now passes he the dreary waste, 130 
 
 On verge of w hich the village 's plac'd, 
 
 Around whose skirts a torrent brook 
 
 It's eddying, foaming, wild course took. 
 
 To take the ford Hodge well knew how, 
 
 " At the first plunge the horse sunk low, 
 
 " For seldom had " hastier "man and horse " 
 
 Attempted to cross that toi-rent's course. 
 
 Now having gain'd the landing place 
 
 The horse assumes a gentler pace. 
 
 For close at hand is the lowly dome 
 
 Which Goody Needful calls her home. 140 
 
 With horny fist '' on the wicket strong 
 
 " He knock'd full loud and he knock'd full 
 
 long." 
 Dame Needful " hurried to the gate, 
 " Who knocks so long, and knocks so late ? " 
 From Baconsfield Hall, in haste replied, 
 " And straight the wicket was open'd wide : " 
 
lo THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 For well she knew there would be good cheer 
 At Baconsfield Hall for many a day. 
 And well she ween'd that the hour was near, 
 When she to the lady must haste away. 150 
 
 Now the dame was safe mounted with Roger 
 
 before, 
 Upon pillion well girded on Ball's rump secure, 
 Who snuffs the road home, and with gallop 
 
 tremendous 
 Shakes the country around, says the dame, 
 
 ^ Lord defend us.' 
 
 Soon the returning tramp was heard. 
 
 And from the hall the maid appeared 
 
 She hastened to a rising ground. 
 
 Looking most anxiously around. 
 
 When the clear moon, brightly shining, show'd 
 
 Roger returning with his load. 160 
 
 It boots not here to tell, I ween. 
 What pass'd within that ancient hall — 
 How glancing lights from windows stream'd. 
 How doors were bang'd, and maidens scream'd. 
 As in and out, with hasty rout, 
 From room to room they ran ; 
 
CANTO THE FIRST ii 
 
 Hindering each other in their haste, . 
 Seeking to find out things misplac'd, 
 
 And answering to Dame Needful's call — 
 
 When soon appear'd the cause of all 170 
 
 This bustling busy scene — 
 
 A chubby boy, whose lungs were sound, \ 
 
 For his cries made all the place resound, V 
 
 Betokening future love — for horse and hound. J 
 
 Swiftly flew the glad hours in the blithe 
 
 'squire's hall ; 
 The christening approach'd, so much wish'd 
 
 for by all ; 
 Dame Needful, with face most important, was 
 
 bustling 
 To array her young charge in his robe of work'd 
 
 muslin ; 
 Midst coaxings and threat'nings — trying to 
 
 dress him 
 While mamma held the darling, and oft cried, 
 
 ^ God bless him,' 180 
 
 The fine cambric cap on his head try'd to 
 
 place. 
 And keep his fat fingers from tearing the lace. 
 
12 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 The 'squire next receiv'd the guests bid to 
 
 repair 
 To the christ'iiing so gay of his young son and 
 
 heir ; 
 The clergyman came, and the baptismal rite 
 Was duly perform'd in the company's sight. 
 
 When soon in the dining room all were met 
 
 Gay 'squires and smiling dames, 
 And around the table were presently set, 
 
 'Twere tedious to mention their names. 190 
 
 The first course commenc'd with sou]) a-la- 
 
 Flamand, 
 Remov'd by a dish of the largest of salmon ; 
 Next these being remov'd, came a grand 
 
 haunch of ven'son. 
 For the 'squire in his feast had spar'd no 
 
 expense on ; 
 On one side were lambs' feet, with asparagus 
 
 plac'd, 
 A huge fillet of veal, with fresh kidney beans 
 
 grac'd ; 
 A large mutton pie, with potatoes sans number, 
 A haunch of lamb larded, deck'd out with 
 
 cucumber ; 
 
CANTO THE FIRST 13 
 
 Two chickens with cel'iy^ were there drest 
 
 quite tasty^ 
 A tureen of soup^ mov'd by venison pasty ; 200 
 A cod's head and shoulders drest a ITtahenne, 
 And chickens stood next^ complete a-la-reine ; 
 Mutton chopSj sour sauce^ with a dish of green 
 
 peas, 
 Tongue and udder, ox palates, and what else 
 
 you please ; 
 A brace of stew'd ducks which filled a large 
 
 dish. 
 At the bottom more soup, remov'd with more 
 
 fish. 
 
 The fish and soup remov'd, of English viands 
 
 chief. 
 Smoking and huge, stood a lordly baron of beef. 
 
 T'other side next the beef, scollop'd oysters 
 done dainty. 
 
 Above them two rabbits, with onion sauce 
 plenty; 210 
 
 A neat dish of sw^eet-breads, with mushrooms 
 and cream, 
 
 A ham fac'd the chickens that were drest a-la- 
 reine ; 
 
14 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 An underdone wild duck made into a salmie, 
 And a breast of veal ragout would suit the most 
 
 qualmy ; 
 Spinage and greens, with a gammon of 
 
 bacon, 
 Peas-soup clear'd off by a fine larded capon ; 
 An emince of lamb, with a blade -bone 
 
 grill'd. 
 For in devilling and grilling the cook was well 
 
 skili'd ; 
 Above which pork cutlets and cauliflow'r stood, 
 Salt beef drest with garlick, by topers thought 
 
 good. 220 
 
 When the second course came, there was 
 
 plenty of game. 
 With Jerusalem artichokes, drest a-la-creme ; 
 Two pheasants, six partridges, French beans 
 
 bechemele, 
 Apple pies, a daub'd fowl, ham cake, and some 
 
 teal ; 
 Three woodcocks, plump grouse, whipp'd cream, 
 
 maccaroni, 
 Raspb'ry tart, orange touffle, lobster cake, 
 
 matrimony. 
 
CANTO THE FIRST 15 
 
 The brightly stain' d jellies^ in cut glasses 
 
 trembled, 
 Rich trifles, and custards, more rich, were 
 
 assembled ; 
 For the housekeeper sent each confectional 
 
 hoard. 
 And rich were the viands that crowded the 
 
 board. 230 
 
 So cover'd with flowers, and trim'd with sweet 
 
 posies. 
 That Moore would have called it the " feast of 
 
 the roses." 
 Light pastry of every description was there. 
 And at bottom the table was finished with 
 
 hare. 
 
 The dessert was most rare, and the wine ruby 
 
 bright 
 Circled swiftly around, on that festival night. 
 Meanwhile many kind invitations went round. 
 With due courtesy, and obeisance profound : 
 As, ' Madam, with you, shall I have the honor 
 ' Of tasting the white or red wine of the 
 
 donor.' 240 
 
 And many a side long glance was sent. 
 And many a courteous compliment ; 
 
i6 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 'Till the ladies compell'd by a dull etiquette, 
 Arose to depart, and as each left her seat, 
 The ge'men stood up, with looks most gallant. 
 Some bowing, some smiling, some looking aslant. 
 
 Then the old 'squire rose and begg'd to address 
 
 them — 
 ' ^^ets drink the women — and God bless them ; 
 
 And may they all occasion give 
 ' For days like this each year they live. 250 
 ' Thus shall our nation's strength increase, 
 ' And thus enjoy our homes in peace ; 
 ^ Whilst we have sons to guard our shores, 
 ' What glorious conquests may be ours ! 
 ' But I grow warm — come bumpers fill, 
 ^ Fill as you like 'em, that's my will.' 
 No glass I ween did daylight show. 
 But brimming to the edge did flow. 
 A ruby stream to beauty bright 
 That grac'd the board that festive night. 260 
 
 The parson smack' d the good old port, 
 ' 'Squire Careless this is the right sort, 
 ' Indeed I cannot but protest 
 ' Of right good wine it is the best.' 
 
CANTO THE FIRST 17 
 
 'Twas next propos'd ' the king ' to drink_, 
 And none from such a toast could shrink, 
 ^ The army and the duke of York.' 
 ' Here, butler — draw another cork.' 
 ' The duke of Clarence, and the navy.' 
 ' Here butler, wine, — more wine here, 
 Davy.' 270 
 
 Numerous other toasts, of course 
 Were drank, till the 'squire was nearly hoarse. 
 
 Some eight or ten bumpers now having gone 
 
 round. 
 The parson, vice chairman, is on his legs found : 
 ^ Mr. President — Gentlemen ' — hem — ^ I beg 
 
 leave ' — 
 A hem — '^some more worthy' — a hem — '^you 
 
 perceive, 
 A hem — '^the task difficult justice to do, 
 ' A subject so difficult — besides as you know 
 M'm a man of few words — so I hasten to say 
 ' Let us drink to the babe we have christen'd 
 
 to-day; 280 
 
 ' May he prove like his sire in honor and 
 
 worth, 
 ^ With the rev'rence he always has shown for 
 
 the cloth ; 
 
i8 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 ' May he prove the supporter of mitre and 
 
 crown^ 
 ' And whether in arms he shall shine, or in 
 
 gown, 
 ' May he prosp'rously live in comfort and 
 
 health, 
 ' And prudently live in abundance of wealth ; 
 ' May happiness follow wherever he be, 
 ' Let us drink the heir's health with a full 
 
 three times three.' 
 
 Now every hand holds a bumper on high, 
 'A health to the heir,' was the rapturous 
 cry, 290 
 
 Each goblet was drain'd to the bottom 
 
 quite clean. 
 And waiting the signal revers'd it is seen ; 
 ^ Hip ! hip ! hip ! boys ! hurra ! ' being nine 
 
 times repeated, 
 Each gentleman then in due course was 
 
 reseated. 
 Thanks to return on his legs got the 'squire — 
 His hands on the table — his back to the fire ; 
 His face full of claret look'd wond'rous wise. 
 And a speech of three hours was seen in his 
 eyes; 
 
CANTO THE FIRST 19 
 
 He look'd and he hem'd, and seem'd much 
 
 affected, 
 But whether by wine as some have 
 
 suspected, 300 
 
 Or the kindness of friends such impression had 
 
 made. 
 As oft times it doth, need not here to be said. 
 Suffice it, he rose, and with feelings o'er- 
 
 power'd. 
 So much so indeed he coukl scarce say a 
 
 word — 
 More than — ' Gentlemen, thank you, the honor 
 
 you do me, 
 ' Is quite — I may say — is distressing unto me ; 
 '^ And beg in return to drink thanks to you all 
 ' Who have done me the honor to visit the 
 
 hall.' 
 
CANTO THE SECOND 
 
 'T~^HE infant had been christen' d John, 
 
 Swift roll'd the hours as time pass'd 
 
 on; 310 
 
 Nought say we of his infant years. 
 
 For he was dull above his peers. 
 
 Yet had a heart of kindest mould, 
 
 Careless, and free, and ought but cold. 
 
 A laughing stock to all the school. 
 
 Yet lov'd by all nor thought a fool ; 
 
 His master oft in vain essay'd 
 
 The force of cane to hand well laid ; 
 
 In short he plied his body o'er 
 
 To hammer in scholastic lore, 320 
 
 Still found, alas ! 'twas labour vain, 
 
 Nor tasks, nor fines, nor birch, nor cane^ 
 
 Could make 'Squire Jacky mathematick. 
 
 Con o'er his latin, or an ethick. 
 
 For dogs and guns had so entrapp'd his 
 
 Good humour' d noddle and his fat phiz, 
 20 
 
T'^rNG-SQriRE ^et5 Y^.l^.Kri. I^! for ne'^lpcting his STl'D^SS, 
 
 y ■ '-/i£rt /itplut/i his Body e'er-. 
 To Aamrrttrr in ScAalasttr: l/rre. 
 
1^ 
 
 II 
 
CANTO THE SECOND 21 
 
 That ought in shape of mental learning 
 Had little chance of entertaining ; 
 Yet in dog latin he was well found^ 
 He knew the nature of each hound, 330 
 
 Could give the view and death halloo, 
 Could tame his horse by whip or ^ So ; ' 
 And ne'er refus'd a leap to take 
 O'er ditch, or mound, or wall or gate. 
 Sometimes perchance a well-filled stye. 
 Built snug behind a wall too high. 
 Thus by his horse ta'en on and off. 
 Be crush'd to atoms in the roof; 
 
 When the swinish herd with a grunt and a 
 snuff. 
 
 Would break down their door and be off in a 
 huff,— 340 
 
 This feat his friends would facetiously call. 
 
 Breaking cover, or unroofing Baconsfield Hall. 
 
 In shooting he often extended his ramble. 
 O'er hill, dale, and down, and o'er moors he 
 
 would amble. 
 On a choice shooting poney just bought of a 
 
 friend. 
 So perfect, so clever, so quiet in hand. 
 
22 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Assur'd that none else should have purchas'd 
 
 the beast, 
 Worth a hundred pounds well, but sixty's the 
 
 least 
 This friend and horse dealer would take for 
 
 the horse. 
 That had every horse quality — good, bad, and 
 
 worse. 350 
 
 One day the young 'squire went forth to 
 
 explore 
 With his man and his dogs for grouse to the 
 
 moor ; 
 Intending no doubt to make presents to all 
 Of game, to the friends of fam'd Baconsfield 
 
 Hall. 
 But alas ! the first shot, this steady young 
 
 horse 
 Threw his heels in the air, spill'd our hero of 
 
 course, 
 Chuck'd him quite from his seat sadly marring 
 
 his aim. 
 Unless that fine curve which learned men name 
 Parabolic — might do for improvement in 
 
 gunning 
 To shoot round a corner, or kill ten birds 
 
 running. 360 
 
II 
 
 
CANTO THE SECOND 23 
 
 Fled the dogs far and near — the man stood 
 
 aghast^ 
 To see a good shot and his master misplac'd ; 
 But gathermg the 'squire as he came to the 
 
 ground^ 
 Was thankful to find Avind and limb safe and 
 
 sound. 
 Yet spite of all tumbles^ or fly leaps mista'en. 
 The young 'squire grew to manhood^ increased 
 
 in fame. 
 A jovial young fox hunter^ bold^ frank, and 
 
 free-, 
 Was belov'd by the people of ev'ry degree ; 
 For none that e'er called at his paternal dome 
 Were stinted in forage, or sent fasting 
 
 home; 370 
 
 As a 'squire, or a hedger, were equally treated 
 When each in the parlour or kitchen were 
 
 seated. 
 
 But alas! friends must part, and the young 
 
 'squire found. 
 He to college must go, which with grief 
 
 most profound 
 Heard the huntsman, in short the whole 
 
 hamlet around ; 
 
24 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 ' For parts such as his to be mop'd with school 
 
 books 
 ^ 'Twas a shame/ said the huntsman^ ' 'twould 
 
 spoil his good looks ; ' 
 But shame^ or no shame^ he to college was 
 
 sent 
 Returning at seasons on hunting intent. 
 
 His three years pass'd o'er, he must take a 
 degree, 380 
 
 I forget what 'tis call'd, but believe 'tis A. B. 
 And when the terrible time drew near, 
 The tutor he thought grew too severe 
 Who strove, might and main, not in vain, we 
 
 shall see — 
 To cram Jacky Careless to take his degree. 
 Yet hopeless it was — his books to con o'er 
 
 them. 
 He never could pass the fam'd pons asinorum. 
 So somehow or other the matter was manag'd. 
 That the young 'squire should pass with head- 
 piece undamag'd ; 
 To the joy of his friends, who upon the 
 relation, 390 
 
 With bumpers and songs met to grace the 
 occasion. 
 

CANTO THE SECOND 25 
 
 They singled out Tunstall^ a gallant young 
 
 'squire^ 
 With a figure well formed^ and Avith eyes full 
 
 of fire_, 
 The buxom Lothair' of the country around^ 
 Whose finely ton'd voice made the building 
 
 resound. 
 
 THE SONG 
 
 Pour the goblet's sanguine stream, 
 
 Liquid gem of ruby beam ! 
 
 Pour the deep libation round. 
 
 And whilst rosy joys abound. 
 
 Bind our brows with ivy wreath, 400 
 
 And myrtles scented by the breath 
 
 Of the sea-born goddess bright 
 
 In rosy smiles and graces dight. 
 
 Pour the goblet's ruby stream, 
 Grace each goblet with a theme ! 
 Bright hair'd nymphs to fancy dear. 
 With starry eyes and front so fair. 
 With ivory neck and polish'd brow, 
 Breast of animated snow. 
 
26 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Raise the bumper's sparkling flame 410 
 To love-inspiring beauty's name. 
 
 Fill to greet the warrior's name, 
 Glory's child, belov'd of Fame ! 
 Chief of mighty battles won — 
 Mighty victor — Wellington ! 
 To endless times thy worth shall roll, 
 First on Fame's eternal scroll, 
 Then take from us this token true 
 Hail ! Wellington of Waterloo ! 
 
 Oft at times when from college our hero came 
 down, 420 
 
 A lovely young dame from the next country 
 town. 
 
 Richly blooming with health, good temper'd, 
 and gay. 
 
 At the hall oft arriv'd, on a visit to stay ; 
 
 Her presence was hail'd with delight at the 
 hall. 
 
 For the young Isabel was a favorite with all : 
 
 She could dance, she could sing, at back- 
 gammon could play. 
 
 And lightly with her pass'd the hours away. 
 
CANTO THE SECOND 27 
 
 Her father a rector's poor living enjoy'd. 
 
 And had nought to his favorite daughter 
 
 deny'd ; 
 From the world he retir'd after losing his 
 
 wife, 430 
 
 And led at the rect'ry a calm peaceful life. 
 Hence his child who a mother's kind care had 
 
 ne'er known. 
 By seclusion and reading romantic was grown. 
 And she lov'd thro' the rooms that were shut 
 
 up to stray. 
 Letting into dark closets the sun's cheerful 
 
 ray. 
 And often exploring she rambled alone, 
 Through a gallery half dark and with cobwebs 
 
 o'ergrown. 
 At the far end of which was a huge oaken 
 
 door. 
 With antique devices most closely carved o'er ; 
 To a large gloomy chamber it opening led, 440 
 Where in ages long pass'd^„stood the mansion's 
 
 best bed ; 
 The windows were high, and their mullions of 
 
 stone 
 With lichens and moss were completely o'er- 
 grown ; 
 
28 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 And dark wreaths of ivy^ with weather beat 
 
 stanis^ 
 Very nearly had cover'd its small chequer'd 
 
 panes ; 
 The old chairs had once with embroidery been 
 
 gay, 
 But the colours once brilliant were fading 
 
 away ; 
 The toilet was large and the drapery frail^ 
 That o'er its carv'd looking-glass once formed 
 
 a vail^ 
 When touch' d by the hands of the curious 
 
 fair 450 
 
 Almost scatter'd its mould'ring remains in the 
 
 air; 
 The canopy'd bed had magnificent been. 
 But its rich damask hangings scarce show'd they 
 
 were green ; 
 While everything round sinking fast to decay 
 Seem'd a ling'ring memorial of times pass'd 
 
 away. 
 Here a richly carv'd cabinet mouldering 
 
 stood. 
 Of ebony fram'd and of choice Indian wood ; 
 Here Isabel often had linger'd before, 
 Its recesses and secret drawers to explore, 
 
CANTO THE SECOND 29 
 
 In some there were medals and large signet 
 
 rings^ 460 
 
 With bracelets^ and cameos^ all old fashion'd 
 
 things ; 
 And a cross which had been richly chased in gold^ 
 With beads which had once by fair fingers been 
 
 told ; 
 To Time's ruthless hand all were falling a prey^ 
 For those who had .priz'd them had long pass'd 
 
 away. 
 With wills^ deeds, and records, of earlier times. 
 The ling'ring memorials of virtues, or crimes. 
 There was one Isabella had often surveyed 
 For it told of a valiant knight and a maid — 
 Who were laid side by side, where a broken 
 
 stone cross 470 
 
 Near the old village church mark'd their grave 
 
 in the moss ; 
 Thither at twilight she pensively wander'd. 
 And often the fate of those lovers she ponder'd. 
 She sat on the step now with lichens o'ergrown. 
 And she thought on the time when they 
 
 wander'd alone. 
 When their prospects were brilliant, their fond 
 
 hopes were high, 
 When no hour unmark'd by affection flew by ; 
 
30 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 And she thought on those hours that so rapidly 
 fled, 
 
 And the lady's deep grief when her lover was 
 dead, 
 
 As thus in the record their fate was ex- 
 pressed, 480 
 
 'Twas a record of woes that had long been at 
 rest. 
 
 THE RECORD 
 
 A LEGENDARY TALE 
 
 A gallant knight, by the pale moon light. 
 
 Was spurring along the plain ; 
 The meteors dance on his glitt'ring lance. 
 
 And his plume it was wet with rain — 
 He pass'd by a copse, where the fir-tree tops 
 
 In the evening breezes wave. 
 And the bright moon shone on a cross of stone 
 
 That stood on a warrior's grave. 
 
 His horse took fright at a flitting light 
 
 That danc'd round the grave of the dead, 490 
 
 But the knight rais'd his voice, and at the noise 
 The unearthly revellers fled. 
 
CANTO THE SECOND 31 
 
 His armour rung, as the warrior sprung 
 
 From his charger's back so high. 
 For a maid alone, clasp'd the cross of stone, 
 
 And heav'd a bitter sigh. 
 
 With hasty stride, he gain'd her side 
 As she kneel'd 'mid the falHng dew. 
 
 Her flowing hair hid a fac-e most fair 
 
 But o'erspread with a deathly hue. 500 
 
 ' Sir knight,' she said, as she rais'd her head. 
 And wav'd her lily hand, 
 
 ' Oh swear to me, by the sacred tree 
 ' That grows in the holy land : 
 
 ^That when Fm dead, my corpse shall be 
 laid 
 ^ By the form that moulders here, 
 ^ For this lowly grave, holds the bones of the 
 brave 
 * And to Bertha they are dear — 
 ' From the dawn of youth, with fervor and 
 truth 
 ' Did Harold his Bertha adore, 5 1 o 
 
 ' But his race is run, like the setting sun, 
 'And soon will my sorrow be o'er.' 
 
32 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 With voice aloud^ the warrior vow'd 
 
 Her wishes to fulfil ; 
 Then lent his aid to support the maid 
 
 For her pulse beat slow and still — 
 The moon did shroud behind a cloud, 
 
 As — ^my Harold, 1 come/ she cried. 
 Low moan'd the blast as her spirit pass'd, 
 
 She sunk in his arms and died. 520 
 
 Beneath the moss, close to the cross. 
 
 He dug her grave with his sword ; 
 And gently he laid, the lovely maid 
 
 To rest by the knight she ador'd. 
 His sword did gleam, in the moon's pale beam. 
 
 As he wav'd it over her grave. 
 And the valley rung, as a requiem he sung 
 
 For the repose of the lovely and brave. 
 
 Then his horse he bestrode, and fast he rode 
 
 Away from the dismal scene, 530 
 
 Yet oft he sigh'd, as the cross he spy'd 
 
 Amid the fir trees green. 
 Now over their grave does the cypress wave, 
 
 And the peasant avoids that way. 
 But as warriors ride, they step aside 
 
 For their soul's repose to pray. 
 
CANTO THE SECOND 
 
 33 
 
 At closing day^ the sun's last ray 
 
 Touches the cross of stone. 
 There zephyrs bring the sweets of spring, 
 
 And there the first flow'rs are blown. 540 
 And legends tell, when the curfew bell 
 
 Fills the vale with its mournful sound, 
 That fairies come, to deck the tomb. 
 
 And sigh the graves around. 
 
T 
 
 CANTO THE THIRD 
 
 HE old 'squire of late was pensive grown, 
 
 Oft visits his desk of walnut brown, 
 
 An old desk that was guarded by lock and 
 
 by key, 
 
 Heavy to feel, and tremendous to see. 
 
 That his parchments and papers therein 
 
 might safe be. 
 
 Excepting himself no living wight 550 
 
 Into that desk had gotten a sight ; — 
 
 When it was open'd, he rummag'd to find 
 
 Parchments and papers 'mid letters quite 
 
 buried. 
 
 But the wrong one still came, nor the right 
 
 could he find, 
 
 As he ne'er could do ought when he thought 
 
 himself hurried : 
 
 When being determined to make more room. 
 
 His eyes on a bundle of letters were cast. 
 
 To the fire in his wrath he did them doom. 
 
 But he squeez'd them into a drawer at last. 
 34 
 
CANTO THE THIRD 35 
 
 Some of the letters he got by frank, 560 
 
 Enclos'd within a paper blank. 
 
 In which he kept them constant laid, 
 
 For of prying eyes he was afraid. 
 
 He had put them by, in his desk to lie, 
 Wrapp'd in paper stout and strong. 
 
 They were tied with a string, 
 
 And seal'd with his ring. 
 And written thereon from whom they did 
 
 come. 
 Some were seal'd with the arms of great men. 
 Of these were carefully counted ten ; 570 
 
 A number more of meaner stamp, 
 Help'd the room in his desk to cramp ; 
 And oft he cry'd ' Deuce take this writing, 
 ^'Tis fit for nothing but candle lighting.' 
 Yet by dint of patience at length he found 
 The parchments he sought with red tape bound. 
 
 Why hath the 'squire these unusual toils } 
 What are the parchments for which he 
 
 turmoils } 
 Hath he some new lease to read over forgot ? 
 Perhaps some shy tenant whose rent he hath 
 
 not 580 
 
36 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Ileceiv'd in due time^ or 'gainst compact durable 
 Had two wheat crops running from off the 
 
 same arable. 
 No — he'd weightier matters than these on his \ 
 
 handsj 
 No less than a water-course turned from his 
 
 lands, 
 By the miller of Baconsfield's merciless hands. 
 He had ground for the hall time quite out 
 
 of mind. 
 Had toU'd every sack thrice the 'squire had to 
 
 grind. 
 Had grown rich, had grown fat, and increas'd 
 
 the mill's pow'r, 
 'Till the stream that had serv'd him for long 
 
 time before, 
 Was now far too scanty, so gently by inches 590 
 He began like a mole to open his trenches. 
 Thus in progress of time he had gain'd the 
 
 whole streamlet. 
 That had furnished the hall and great part of 
 
 the hamlet ; 
 Grew bold and declar'd that the stream had 
 
 come to him. 
 Nor the 'squire, nor the hamlet, should e'er get 
 
 it from him. 
 
5 -S 
 
 
CANTO THE THIRD 37 
 
 It should run where it did^ let them all do 
 
 their worst, 
 And the 'squire and the hamlet, he said, might 
 
 be curst. 
 
 Resolv'd now it was that the young 'squire 
 
 should travel 
 To London, with parchments to lay before 
 
 council ; 
 To state the whole matter, and bring down 
 
 some witnesses, 600 
 
 Codgers of ninety — born on the premises. 
 His new clothes were sent home, his linen 
 
 well air'd. 
 Neither trouble nor cost for the journey were 
 
 spar'd ; 
 Kind mamma herself, that all might be right. 
 Had every thing pack'd and arrang'd in her 
 
 sight ; 
 
 The trunks and portmanteaus were fill'd, till 
 
 the locks 
 Could scarcely be clos'd, spite of pressure or 
 
 knocks. 
 Old Roger array'd in a livery new". 
 With facings of buff on a coat of sky blue. 
 
38 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Inexpressibles red^, and a jolly red face^ 6io 
 Yellow waistcoat of plushy and a hat with gold 
 
 lace, 
 Look'd most consequential, prepar'd to attend, 
 He thought himself less of the servant than 
 
 friend. 
 Ambitious to sport his new livery in town. 
 Full of wonders to tell when again he came 
 
 down. 
 Well wrapp'd in great coats they set off by the 
 
 mail, 
 Tho' to take all the luggage they could not 
 
 prevail ; 
 So 'twas sent by the waggon, a ponderous 
 
 load, 
 And was only three days and two nights on 
 
 the road. 
 
'*:*:i|J^ 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 
 
 OEHOLD our 'squire amved in London, 620 
 Look'd just like one escap'd from dungeon, 
 Staring as if with sunshine puzzled, 
 Goggles and stops, with sights bamboozled. 
 It was not long before some rumiins, 
 Hemm'd in the 'squire by private summons. 
 The flash-man faced, and said, ' My dear 
 
 sir — 
 ^'Pon honor — sure I've had the pleasure 
 ^ Of meeting somewhere — shall be most happy 
 ^To learn — if well — your fam'ly party.' 
 Peers at the gull — thro' golden eye glass, 630 
 Clears out his fob ; meanwhile, alas ! 
 A fry behind each pocket rummage. 
 Nor doth the squire suspect the damage. 
 But smil'd, and tried to recollect him. 
 The spark, lest some one should suspect 
 
 him. 
 Quick took his leave with bow and scrape. 
 Crying — ' 'pon honor — I mistake ! ' 
 
40 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 The thieves thought a cutler they'd robb'd by 
 
 the load. 
 That morning his pockets so amply he'd 
 
 stow'd ; 
 Such pockets a sportsman would choose in a 
 
 coat 640 
 
 (Not dandified cut, that would scarce hold a 
 
 groat). 
 But pockets — in short, we shall say what they 
 
 held. 
 Such pockets, none ever but smugglers beheld. 
 In the Strand, a mock auction had tempted 
 
 him in. 
 Where they sold silver'd knives — but the silver 
 
 was thin, 
 He bought a few dozens — and walking towards 
 
 home 
 Met a Jew with silk stockings, so cheap he 
 
 took some. 
 Say eight or ten pairs which he popp'd in his 
 
 pocket. 
 Well pleas'd, march'd away said his purse he 
 
 would lock it, 
 Determin'd to buy no more bargains that 
 
 day — 650 
 
 Ah me ! — how^ easy it is thus to say — 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 41 
 
 Close at hand on a book-stall star'd full in his 
 
 face 
 Ev'ry Man his own Lawyer — so to study his 
 
 case 
 He bought it^ along with the Gard'ners 
 
 Calender. 
 The Young Man's Companion^ and New Ready 
 
 Reck'ner : 
 Some few other trifles with these were close 
 
 cramm'dj 
 A stout Barcelona^ and snuff box japann'd ; 
 All — the rogues took away and sav'd him the 
 
 chagrin 
 Of knowing how deeply he had been taken in. 
 
 Squire Careless' first call^ as in duty bound^ 660 
 
 Was made to some friends^ who were easily 
 found 
 
 By the assistance of maps, directories, and 
 coachmen ; 
 
 One liv'd in the country about two miles from 
 Hoxton ; 
 
 Mamma's sister's son, his name Jemmy Grace- 
 ful, 
 
 Chose to live out of town because it was health- 
 ful ; 
 
*^ 
 
 42 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Rather fattish and shorty he talk'd much of 
 
 sporting, 
 Kept his dog and his gun, with all that sort of 
 
 thing. — 
 Edward Careless, another, as nearly related. 
 On the side of his father, rather tall as 'tis 
 
 stated. 
 Was as fond of the country, so liv'd out of 
 
 town 670 
 
 At a place in the west, — by name Bayswater 
 
 known. 
 Was equally fond of a dog and a gun. 
 Much inclin'd to be witty, or thought so by 
 
 some. 
 
 No wonder of London our hero grew tir'd. 
 Pacing oft 'tween his cousins oft sadly 
 
 bemir'd. 
 Hackney coaches he hated, for oft he'd heard 
 
 read 
 Resurrection men hir'd them at night for the 
 
 dead, 
 And thought of a song he had heard in some 
 
 place. 
 Which ends with — ^"^ Hurra — the dead ride 
 
 apace." 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 43 
 
 His horses_, poor things^ he had left them at 
 
 home 680 
 
 As they ne'er would be curried but by their 
 
 own groom. 
 So trudg'd it on foot, much amaz'd 'twas no 
 
 shorter 
 'Tween Jemmy's at Hoxton and Ned's at 
 
 Bayswater. 
 Friend Roger stuck close and was ne'er far 
 
 behind 
 For before they set off the old Dame did remind 
 Old Roger of all the sad dangers in town, 
 That her son was too careless, alas ! she must 
 own ; 
 So begg'd he'd always be about, 
 Nor suffer him alone go out. 
 But most especially at night 690 
 
 When luckless birds do take their flight. 
 Thus whatsoever road he trod 
 Roger was there his sturdy guard. 
 And well it was — full many a one 
 Laid a frail hand, his arm upon ; 
 Roger loud hem'd, his master knew. 
 Gave them a trifle and withdrew. 
 So pass'd in safety many a round, 
 Hodge still his guardian angel found. 
 
44 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Save all but slight mistakes which 
 ne'er 700 
 
 Could be forseen or cause much fear. 
 
 In the streets his round phiz_, and good 
 
 temper'd surprize, 
 With his gorgeous attendant, attracted all 
 
 eyes, 
 And oft the fix'd stare of the loungers 
 
 distress'd him, 
 Whilst their scents and perfumes as they 
 
 pass'd quite oppress'd him ; 
 But Hodge, who still follow'd his master 
 
 behind. 
 Thought the cause of this staring he clearly 
 
 defin'd, 
 He had mark'd with surprize the strange 
 
 diff'rence in air, 
 'Twixt his master and them, and thought well 
 
 might they stare 
 At a figure so strongly contrasting their 
 
 own, 710 
 
 Though which he preferr'd Hodge scarcely 
 
 could own. 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 45 
 
 But thought a few lessons in dancing must 
 
 change, 
 The diffrence he saw and considered so 
 
 strange. 
 One mom from the window Hodge made 
 
 him remark, 
 A school for grown gemmen by Mr. le 
 
 Clerc, 
 Where quadrilles were taught at six lessons 
 
 per guinea. 
 And the pupil made perfect, if not quite a 
 
 ninny. 
 Being near them the 'squire good natur'dly 
 
 thought, 
 'Twould only be neighbourly there to be 
 
 taught. 
 For oft in a dance he had sorely been 
 
 vex'd, 720 
 
 To find Isabella so sadly perplex'd 
 With a partner who scarce knew the diff'rence 
 
 between 
 A dance in the hall or a romp on the 
 
 green. 
 Now fully determin'd to thoroughly learn 
 Each myst'ry of dancing before his return, 
 
46 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Very early that ev'ning he sought the first floor 
 Fill'd by Mr. le Clerc^ just facing then- door. 
 The first moment our squh*e cast his eyes on 
 
 the rout^ 
 Lovely belles^ and gay beaux that were sailing 
 
 about ; 
 Some with hat under arm, I think call'd 
 
 chapeau bras^ 730 
 
 The dames ogled the squire, some titter'd 
 
 ' ha ! ha ! ' 
 The beaux with their glasses did him sore 
 
 affright. 
 For he thought of his pockets, and held them 
 
 quite tight. 
 At length Monsieur le Clerc set all matter to 
 
 rights, 
 First touching the entrance, then snuffing his 
 
 lights, 
 Screw'd his kit into tune ; then said, ' Sir, if 
 
 you please 
 ^ We'll now take our lesson — but straighten 
 
 your knees, 
 ^ Pray hold up your head, your chest gracefully 
 
 bear, 
 ' Your toes out, or you'll cut your own ancles, 
 
 I fear. 
 
C" 
 
 %\yr:^ 
 
 
 ''T4y«t. /• 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 47 
 
 ' Do Sir stand up straight — and don't pro- 
 
 tuberate 740 
 
 ' So much in the rear — nor your cheeks so 
 
 inflate^ 
 ' I must give you more ease/ the squire heard 
 
 with pleasure 
 And gladly sat do\vn_, fatigued beyond measure. 
 Perspiring, and trusting his lesson was over 
 Wishing Mr. le Clerc and the dancing at 
 
 Dover. 
 
 Full oft did he in vain essay 
 The graceful step, air degagee. 
 Monsieur le Clerc oft tried in vain — 
 (To bend the monarch of the plain 
 Were easier far than give young Careless 750 
 The power to dance or move with a grace) 
 For having hopp'd, waltz'd and quadrill'd. 
 With heat parboil'd, and nearly grill'd. 
 Kicking and flound'ring like a dray horse — 
 Not quite so lively — thus of course 
 The dancing master and his pupils 
 Thought 'twould be best to end his revels. 
 Monsieur le Clerc, did then him assure 
 ^ Glad should have been, t'have had the 
 pleasure 
 
48 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 ^To give him lessons but with pain 760 
 
 ' Begg'd to inform him, much again- 
 
 ' -st his wish, he had no genius — 
 
 ' Hop'd no offence, for 'twas most heinous 
 
 ' To inform a ge'man in phiin terms 
 
 ' Who plainly shew'd he had the germs 
 
 ' Of taste for dancing latent in him, 
 
 ' That nature had done nothing for him.' 
 
 He, wearied with waltzing and reeling, forsooth. 
 Was certain his teacher spoke nothing but 
 
 truth, 
 And gladly escaping from twee-diddle-dum, 770 
 Grew worse tir'd of town and wished himself 
 
 home ; 
 But numberless matters were yet left undone, 
 And his portrait that morning was only begun. 
 He had seen his two relatives painted to th' 
 
 life. 
 And must needs to sit himself — to Mister 
 
 Pallet-knife, 
 Who made a most wonderful likeness of all 
 That did him the honour, to sit or e'en call — 
 A great genius he was of the very first water, 
 Water colours or oils— to him 'twas no matter— 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 49 
 
 Speaking likenesses made^ and had made 
 
 cousin Jemmy's 780 
 
 Look as if it could pop out a half score of dam- 
 
 mes, 
 Cousin James thought it like, but a little too 
 
 shady. 
 The squire thought so too — and a little too 
 
 ruddy. 
 In fact it appear' d like a full blown red rose, 
 With a glistening bright spark at the end of the 
 
 nose ; 
 Our hero car'd nought for such trifling faults 
 And found sitting easier — much than to waltz, 
 Sothefam'd Mr. Pallet-knife having pre-^ 
 
 par'd. 
 And the squire for a full face his wishes 
 
 declar'd, 
 With his hands stuck in side, thus on 
 
 canvas appear'd ; J 790 
 
 Always previous to sitting he took a few 
 
 glasses 
 To keep him awake — and to throw in the 
 
 graces ; 
 When finish'd 'twas seen by all friends far and 
 
 near. 
 All declar'd it a likeness, indeed that was clear ; 
 4 
 
50 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Men thought it too handsome^ not so said the 
 
 ladies, 
 (Indeed they are always the best natur'd 
 
 bodies), 
 Some thought it a little too full in the face, 
 Others thought that it wanted Squire Careless' s 
 
 grace ; 
 Some thought it too fat, — and some quite too 
 
 buckish — 
 Some thought tliat the nose was a little too 
 
 snubbish. — 800 
 
 But with noses how hard it is, people to please 
 
 'em. 
 Nam non cuique datum est habere nasum. 
 Some said that the eyes should have been 
 
 somewhat smaller, 
 That the mouth should have smil'd more, the 
 
 figure been taller ; 
 Whilst some stedfastly gaz'd — then cried out 
 
 ^Oh! dear, 
 ' How like some one I've seen, but I do not 
 
 know where.' 
 Thus having been seen, prais'd, flatter'd, and 
 
 blam'd, 
 'Twas sent down to the hall, being previously 
 
 fram'd ; 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 51 
 
 Adding one portrait more to the family stock 
 At Baconsfield hall — a true chip ofF the 
 
 block. 810 
 
 Nor needs it here be said or sung, 
 How the country round, both old, and young, 
 Came to Baconsfield hall to see the new picture, 
 Shown to all rich and poor, to each with a 
 
 lecture. 
 From the 'squire in the parlour to housekeeper's 
 
 room. 
 Telling whom he resembled, to each that did 
 
 come. 
 How amazingly like to the 'squire's great grand 
 
 uncle 
 Had not quite so much flesh, or his nose of 
 
 carbuncle ; 
 Was strikingly like Madam's maiden aunt Dolly, 
 But plumper withal, and not so melancholy. 820 
 In short 'twas declar'd he'd old madam's kind 
 
 look. 
 With his father's hook nose which could ne'er 
 
 be mistook ; 
 Each lecture was finish' d with virtuous old wine. 
 And a bit of substantial, say cold fowl and 
 
 chine. 
 
52 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 But still our 'squire^ who ease admir'd, 
 
 Grew more and more of London tir'd — 
 
 It's heated atmosphere oppress'd him. 
 
 And its continual crowds distress'd him ; 
 
 Fatigued with running after sights_, 
 
 With busy days and restless nights, 830 
 
 And wearied with eternal noise, 
 
 Once more he long'd for rural joys ; 
 
 Most gladly would have hasten'd down, 
 
 But the cause which brought him to town. 
 
 On which opinions were divided. 
 
 Was still by council undecided. 
 
 Thus longer being compell'd to stay 
 
 He oft to ennui fell a prey. 
 
 One day his cousin much in haste 
 
 Somie cards upon his table plac'd — 840 
 
 With pleasure said — ' Look there, my friend, 
 
 ' You'll see the world at the west end ; 
 
 ' The invitation 's from a lady — 
 
 ' Of course it is a full dress party — 
 
 ' You see it is in Berkeley Square, 
 
 ' A first-rate circle will be there, 
 
 ' And well I know what crowds will come — 
 
 ' You see 'tis Lady L at home.' 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 53 
 
 Time in all places hastes away, 
 
 Full soon arriv'd the stated clay, 850 
 
 The evening came, when drest in state 
 
 They met — the 'squire did think it late — ■ 
 
 At ten o'clock, in haste they drove 
 
 'Midst fashion's polish'd sphere to move. 
 
 The 'squire was astound when they stop'd at 
 
 the door. 
 To see three hundred carriages, or more — 
 And a start something like to a galvanic shock. 
 He receiv'd by the footman's loud thund'ring 
 
 knock : 
 The door op'ning wide shew'd two footmen tall. 
 And a brilliant light streaming, forth from the 
 
 hall ; 860 
 
 Their names were announc'd, up the steps quick 
 
 they ran. 
 In the hall they were met by a most civil man. 
 Who took from them their hats, in each put a 
 
 ticket. 
 And gave to each owner, another just like it. 
 They hasten'd up stairs, where on each side 
 
 were seen 
 Flow' ring shrubs and exotics of beautiful green ; 
 
54 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Camelia japonicas gracefully rose 
 
 'Midst the Cape jessamine, and the bright 
 
 Chinese rose, 
 The ferraria tigrada's rich scarlet was seen 
 With the iris pavonia and lovely glycene ; 870 
 The almond tree's beautiful lovely pink bloom, 
 From which there was wafted the sweetest 
 
 perfume ; 
 The pale yellow lemon, the orange tree gay. 
 With the mimosa's trembling and sensitive 
 
 spray ; 
 These amongst marble vases and figures were 
 
 plac'd. 
 Displaying at once both profusion and taste, 
 A display that our hero ne'er witness'd before. 
 Now both being arriv'd at the drawing room 
 
 door. 
 Their names w^ere announc'd for the last time 
 
 and place. 
 And la Dame de la Maison receiv'd them with 
 
 grace. 880 
 
 What can express our 'squire's surprize, 
 When burst upon his wond'ring eyes. 
 That brilliant flood of glitt'ring light. 
 Where groups of lords and ladies bright 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 55 
 
 Were raiig'd around in fair array, 
 
 Sparkling with various jewels gay. 
 
 And glitt'ring gauze, and nodding plumes. 
 
 Were sailing round the crowded rooms. 
 
 Then such a bright display of charms. 
 
 Such ivory necks, such polish'd arms, 890 
 
 Some shaded by a drapery slight 
 
 Of veil or scarf — of tissue light ; 
 
 Colours of such brilliant hues. 
 
 Of lilacs, crimsons, pinks and blues. 
 
 Had never to his sight been given 
 
 By rainbow in the summer heaven. 
 
 All was so lovely it might seem 
 
 Like mem'ry of a fairy dream; 
 
 Yet 'midst it all his faithful mind 
 
 Turn'd to the fair he'd left behind. 900 
 
 He gaz'd on many a lovely face. 
 
 With dimpled smile and witching grace. 
 
 On many a ringlet's waving curl 
 
 Which deck'd the daughter of an earl ; 
 
 On rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes. 
 
 Which princes might have thought a prize, 
 
 On many a beauteous blooming belle 
 
 Yet none to him were Isabelle. 
 
56 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 He mark'd the lady patient stand 
 
 Near to the door and give her hand 9 1 o 
 
 To all who enter'd with such grace 
 
 Tho' hundreds seem'd to crowd the place — 
 
 He thought — 'tis strange she should stand there. 
 
 About them all she cannot care ; 
 
 He little knew the self devotion 
 
 Requir'd by etiquette and fashion ; 
 
 But as he wander'd thro' the room 
 
 He found to stand would be his doom. 
 
 As not a seat was vacant found — 
 
 And when the tea was handed round 920 
 
 He thought that it was ought but good, 
 
 Having to take it as he stood. 
 
 When sounds stole on his list'ning ears, 
 
 Sweet as the music of the spheres. 
 
 These to the farthest room him drew, 
 
 To list the notes of sweet Carew 
 
 Who sweetly sung a simjole lay 
 
 That well he knew, ^ Auld Robin Gray.' 
 
 Its melting pathos soon was o'er. 
 
 Much did he wish for an encore ; 930 
 
 She rose, and Braham in her stead. 
 
 Sang — ' Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled.' 
 
 Sparkled each eye with livelier fire. 
 
 And ev'ry pulse was throbbing higher 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 57 
 
 In manly forms and breasts of snow, 
 Whilst every cheek show'd richer glow. 
 
 And every heart felt deeper thrill. 
 And all amongst the list'ning throng, 
 
 Declar'd that such exquisite skill 
 Was matchless 'mongst the sons of song. 940 
 
 Perchance it need not be observed 
 How ices rich and creams were serv'd, 
 And ever and anon the 'squire, 
 Seeking to quench the thirst and fire 
 That in him rag'd from heated rooms. 
 Spares not each tray that near him comes. 
 
 Then came a gay obliging fair 
 
 W^ho warbled an Italian air. 
 
 But the 'squire knew neither words or tune. 
 
 And left to seek the dancing room, 950 
 
 Where moving to the sprightly note 
 
 Fairy figures seem'd to float. 
 
 And to the harp's inspiring thrill 
 
 Jocund danc'd the gay quadrille. 
 
 The 'squire stood gazing on the scene. 
 
 Absent as there he had not been. 
 
58 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 His arm against a pillar lean'd 
 
 Where laurel boughs his figure screen'd ; 
 
 To Isabel his fancy turns, 
 
 Then humm'd a song from Robin Burns : 960 
 
 " Yestreen when to the trembling string, 
 " The dance gae'd thro' the lighted ha', 
 
 " To thee my fancy took its wing, 
 " I sat but neither heard nor saw, 
 
 " Tho' this was fair and that was braw, 
 " And that the toast of a' the town, 
 
 " I sigh'd and said among thein a' 
 "There's none like Mary Morison." 
 
 {Vide Burns Potnns.) 
 
 His transient reverie scarce was o'er. 
 
 When moving thro' the op'ning door 970 
 
 Group after group he saw pass on. 
 
 So thought amongst them he'd make one ; 
 
 Straight on, the gay assembly past. 
 
 All seem'd afraid of being last. 
 
 The folding doors were open thrown. 
 
 There many a brilliant wax-light shone. 
 
 From silver branches tall and bright. 
 
 Throwing their vivid rays of light 
 
 Over the costly supper board. 
 
 With elegance and luxury stor'd, 980 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 59 
 
 In the conservatory laid, 
 
 Where choicest plants their pleasing shade 
 
 Of freshest green, contrast complete 
 
 With scarlet cov'ring of each seat. 
 
 In shape the tables were to see 
 
 Much like the great Greek letter p. 
 
 Soon at these tables all were set — 
 
 We mean all those who got a seat 990 
 
 For numbers were obliged to stand 
 
 And take their suppers in their hand. 
 
 Luck'ly our 'squire at table plac'd 
 
 On each side was by lady grac'd. 
 
 A fat old dowager sat next him 
 
 And very often much perplex'd him — 
 
 ' Sir, shall I thank you for a custard ? ' 
 
 He stretch'd his arm out, brisk as mustard. 
 
 And a tall Chinese tower laid low, 
 
 Deep buried in an apple snow. 1000 
 
 While some one standing near the table 
 
 Said, ' You've o'erthrown the tow'r of Babel.' 
 
 Next handing over a French biscuit. 
 
 He crush'd in his haste a Chantilly basket, 
 
 Deeply he blush'd, but 'twas too late. 
 
 The shiver'd fragments fill'd his plate — 
 
6o THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 But very soon they disappear'd 
 
 A floating island too he clear'd^ 
 
 A wag, who mark'd their luckless doom, 
 
 And had at table found no room, k 
 
 Said to another in his ire, 
 
 •^That's Thalaba the great destroyer.' 
 
 One lady asks a glass of wine — 
 
 Another begs a slice of pine — 
 
 The finest pine he near him drew. 
 
 And when he'd cut it fair in two. 
 
 One piece he handed to the lady, 
 
 To eat the other soon was ready ; 
 
 But cruel fate is willing ever 
 
 Man and his joys at once to sever, i 
 
 A gentleman held out a plate. 
 
 And said, ' Sir, e'er it is too late, 
 
 ' A lady wishes for a slice,' 
 
 The rest he gave, which in a trice 
 
 Vanish'd away like summer ice. 
 
 Our hero ne'er was prone to fret. 
 
 For all was fish that came to net ; 
 
 Quickly himself and teeth consol'd. 
 
 Swallowing of rich blanc mange a mould, 
 
 'Mongst eatables where'er they stood, 1030 
 
 He truly made a direful road. 
 
CANTO THE FOURTH 6i 
 
 And many a glass of bright champagne 
 Refresh'd hmi o'er and o'er again ; 
 With chateau marjot and barsac^ 
 Rich burgundy and frontignac, 
 Malmsey madeira, and bucellas. 
 Things that are lov'd by all good fellows. 
 
CANTO THE FIFTH 
 
 /^UR 'squire 'gainst his will^ was still forc'd 
 
 to remain 
 To consult with the lawyers^ and witnesses 
 
 gain- 
 He had travell'd the town o'er^ with various 
 
 mishaps 1040 
 
 Had seen all the lions far as West- India 
 
 docks ; 
 'Though the op'ra yet was unseen — Cousin 
 
 Jemmy 
 Took two tickets, and paid for the same just 
 
 a guinea ; 
 The evening arriv'd, when both drest quite 
 
 pretty, 
 The 'squire and his cousin, went to see 
 
 Ambrogetti ; 
 Thro' crowds of gay ladies, and legions of 
 
 lacqueys, 
 Push'd their way to the pit, amidst other 
 
 'squire Jackeys ; 
 
 62 
 
CANTO THE FIFTH 63 
 
 After viewing the pit^ our friend James, with 
 
 high mind_, 
 Took the 'squire thro' the lobbies, on a box 
 
 much incUn'd ; 
 The keepers address'd, ^ Can you give us a 
 
 box?' 1050 
 
 With the siher key added that opens all 
 
 locks. 
 Said the grave looking keeper, ' I really dont 
 
 know 
 ' Unless \\e have one in the next tier below.' 
 When having gone through all his usual 
 
 grimaces 
 Our 'squire and his coz in a snug side box 
 
 places ; 
 Ambrogetti appear'd, and in Don Giovanni, 
 Gain'd the heart of our 'squire, and applauses 
 
 of many. 
 He bounc'd from his seat, and bawl'd out 
 
 aloud, 
 ^ That 's well done Giovanni,' not a little the 
 
 crowd 
 Were amaz'd to hear cried, 'stead of usual, 
 
 ^ bravo,' 1060 
 
 Such strange English sounds, so unusual all 
 
 know ; 
 
64 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 His cousin was shock'd, and declared that the 
 
 feshion 
 Was to sit still and cool^ nor e'er suffer jmssion 
 Of pleasure or pain^ e'er to alter one feature, 
 To sit like stone statues, and subdue our nature. 
 Thought the 'squire this is strange, but come 
 
 what may come. 
 Whilst at Rome we must do as they still do at 
 
 Rome. 
 Next the ballet commenc'd, when they danced 
 
 with such vigor. 
 And the dancers, the most made of every 
 
 figure : 
 ^ Bless my soul,' said our 'squire, ^ bless my 
 
 eyes what a sight, 1070 
 
 ' Could man e'er think the like, well the 
 
 people are right, 
 ^To sit still like stone statues, and their 
 
 feelings subdue. 
 ' Body o' me', quoth the 'squire, ^ it is certainly 
 
 true 
 ^That the ladies in dancing the men do 
 
 outstrip, 
 ' For I vow on my soul I ne'er saw such a leap, 
 ' Or leg lifted so high, or with such bouncing 
 
 step.' 
 
CANTO THE FIFTH 65 
 
 He thought all these things^ and perhaps 
 
 something more^ 
 But kept perfectly quiet^ for still had in 
 
 store 
 His cousin's advice^ only one remark ofFer'd, 
 Such dancing at Baconsfield ne'er would be 
 
 suffer' d. 1080 
 
 He retir'd from the house when the pieces 
 
 were finish 'd. 
 With amazement and wonder ; some little 
 
 diminish'd 
 His taste for an opera^ yet ne'er could forget he 
 The blithe looks and full tones of fam'd 
 
 Ambrogetti. 
 Tho' the dancing was fine^ it was not quite his 
 
 choice 
 And his heart he'd near lost to Corri's sweet 
 
 voice. 
 
 Next morn with joy our 'squire was 
 
 stopp'd, 
 Just going out_, as the postman knock'd^ 
 The letter ta'en^ the superscription^ 
 Show'd his sire's hand in the direction; 1090 
 Hast'ly he turn'd into the parlour^ 
 Dreading for th' lawyers some fresh order ; 
 
 5 
 
66 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 ( Cursing the tedious forms of law 
 Troubles and forms he ne'er foresaw) ; 
 But oh ! what pleasure on him seiz'd 
 When half the letter he'd perus'd^ 
 ^ Roger/ he cries, ' Roger come here, 
 ' Read me this letter, quick, I fear 
 ' My eyes deceive me, — is it clear 
 ' The miller's repentance is sincere ? ' i loo 
 Roger with care the letter conn'd, 
 Mark'd how the dots and pot-hooks join'd. 
 At length pronounc'd the agreeable news. 
 That the knave of a miller had alter'd his 
 
 views. 
 Had return'd the small stream to the place 
 
 where it ran, 
 Had done all to make friends that man possibly 
 
 can ; 
 He had begg'd the 'squire's pardon, had offer'd 
 
 to pay 
 The expense he'd been at, would he justice 
 
 delay ; 
 Had grown sick of the law, had by all been 
 
 forsaken. 
 Had made friends with the 'squire, and by him 
 been forgiven. mo 
 
CANTO THE FIFTH 67 
 
 It need not be said how his friends quickly 
 
 were 
 Inform'd of this change in the miller's affair ; 
 And inviting his cousins to Baconsfield Hall, 
 To partake of their sports and what cheer 
 
 might befal, 
 He promis'd them both great abundance of 
 
 sport 
 In shooting, in hunting, in all things, in 
 
 short. 
 He told them the manor was well stock'd 
 
 with game. 
 And was free to all friends, whensoever they 
 
 came. 
 Cousins Edward and James both sportsmen, 
 
 soi-disant. 
 Accepted his offer, said both were pro- 
 ficient 1 1 20 
 And fond of field sports, and hap what might 
 
 hap. 
 In six daj^s at the most at the hall they would 
 
 sup. 
 
 Mr. Edward begg'd hard he would grant his 
 
 attention. 
 Before he went down to a pleasing collection 
 
68 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Of paintings, to sell on the following day, 
 
 At an auction much fam'd, 'twould cause little 
 
 delay ; 
 Himself was a judge, and would go with the 
 
 'squire, 
 Lov'd paintings to view, and was sometimes a 
 
 buyer. 
 The 'squire could not refuse for one single 
 
 day. 
 So agreed 'twas in London, one day more to 
 stay; i^S^ 
 
 To view this collection, describ'd as most 
 
 pleasing. 
 Fond of pictures, he hoped to find it amusing. 
 The morrow soon came, both went to the room, 
 So early the auctioneer was not yet come. 
 Walking all round, with minute inspection. 
 The 'squire look'd to find out this pleasing 
 
 collection ; 
 For on high stood a Judith with Hol'ferne's 
 
 head. 
 Near to which was poor Lazarus rais'd from 
 
 the dead ; 
 Below cruel Herod's Massacre display'd. 
 And mothers with grief agonizing pour- 
 tray'd; i^o 
 
(Goes to a picti-tre saile. 
 
 T?u Ttct-t plcascnj/ /)i:clure Ti'ns Salomons jtulffTrunir, 
 WTure a Centinel held a. fine dade o'er lA^ pavcTrterU: 
 
CANTO THE FIFTH 69 
 
 Some half score of Magdalens^ some done by 
 
 GuidO;, 
 Some copied from some one^ perhaps from 
 
 Correggio, 
 With the head of om* Saviour most painfully 
 
 just 
 To the life, when the thorns in his temple 
 
 were thrust. 
 It was call'd Carlo Dolce, indeed 'tis no 
 
 matter 
 By whom it was painted, for never was better 
 Pain painfully painted, nor e'er was array'd 
 Such deep marks of grief as the Saviour 
 
 betray'd. 
 The next pleasing picture was Solomon's 
 
 J udgment. 
 Where a sentinel held a fine babe o'er the 
 
 pavement, 1150 
 
 By one heel in the air, and ready to sever 
 The infant in two, to please the false mother. 
 Next in line stood the Ark enveloped in 
 
 fogs. 
 On the foreground dead bodies, men, horses 
 
 and dogs ; 
 Said Edward, ' The painter has put you into a 
 ' Sad thick hazy weather, I think, Mr. Noah.' 
 
70 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 The porter observ'd that the painter was 
 
 Avrong 
 ' As it rained successfully forty days long.' 
 
 Our hero pass'd on^ and was very much 
 
 tired 
 At this heap of old paintings^ his friend so 
 
 admir'd ; 1160 
 
 Was just going to take leave^ when looking up 
 
 higher, 
 Saw an oddly group'd picture, 'twixt two Dutch 
 
 towns on fire ; 
 St. Anthony preaching 'twas unto the 
 
 fishes, 
 Above a dead game piece, with three brazen 
 
 dishes. 
 ' Zooks, I ne'er understood that fishes could 
 
 hear, 
 ' But 'tis painted so lively the fact seems quite 
 
 clear,' 
 Cried he, ' Cousin that 's mine should it cost 
 
 ten pounds,' 
 But he got it for less, paying only five 
 
 crowns. 
 
CANTO THE FIFTH 71 
 
 When the picture came home he found hidden 
 
 treasure^ 
 On the back was the sermon^ the thing gave 
 
 him pleasure, 1170 
 
 So got it translated, and sent to the country, 
 Where it edified all, but most fishing 
 
 gentry. 
 
THE SERMON 
 
 {Vide Addison s Letters from Italy.^ 
 
 T'\7'HEN the hereticks would not regard the 
 preaching of St. Anthony^ he betook 
 himself to the sea shore^ where the river 
 Marrechia runs into the Adriatic^ and having 
 called the fish together^ they came swimming 
 towards him in such vast shoals, from the sea 
 and from the river, that the surface of the 
 water was quite covered with their multitudes ; 
 they quickly ranged themselves, according to 
 their several species, into a very beautiful con- 
 gregation, and like so many rational creatures, 
 presented themselves before him. St. Anthony 
 was so struck with the miraculous obedience 
 and submission of these poor animals, that he 
 found a secret sweetness distilling upon his soul, 
 and at last addressed himself to them in the 
 following words : — ' My dearly beloved Fish — 
 the goodness of providence shines out in you 
 more eminently, and appears after a more par- 
 
 72 
 
THE SERMON 73 
 
 ticular manner, than in any other created 
 bemgs. For notwithstanding you are compre- 
 hended under the name of reptiles, partaking 
 of a middle nature between stones and beasts, 
 and imprisoned in the deep abyss of w^aters ; 
 notwithstanding you are tost among billows, 
 thrown up and down by tempests, deaf to 
 hearing, dumb to speech, and terrible to behold ; 
 notwithstanding, I say, these natural dis- 
 advantages, ye have been favoured in a most 
 wonderful manner. It is from above, my 
 beloved fish, that you have received being, life, 
 motion, and sense. In compliance with your 
 natural inclinations, the whole world of waters 
 has been given for your habitations. They 
 have been furnished with lodgings, chambers, 
 caverns, grottos, and such magnificent retire- 
 ment, as are not to be found within the seats 
 of kings, or in the palaces of princes ; you have 
 the waters for your dwelling, a clear transparent 
 element brighter than crystal, you can see from 
 its deepest bottom every thing that passes on 
 the surface, you have the eyes of a Lynx, or 
 of an Argus ! you are guided by a secret and 
 unerring principle, delighting in every thing 
 that may be beneficial to you, and avoiding 
 
74 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 every thing that may be hurtful : you are carried 
 on by a hidden instinct to preserve yourselves, 
 and to propagate your species ; you obey in all 
 your actions, works, and motions, the dictates 
 and suggestions of nature, without the least 
 repugnance or contradiction ; the colds of 
 winter, and the heats of summer, are equally 
 incapable of molesting you ; a serene or a 
 clouded sky are indifferent to you ; let the 
 earth abound in fruits, or be curst with scarcity, 
 it has no influence on your welfare ; you live 
 secure in rains and in thunders, lightning, and 
 earthquakes ; you have no concerns in the 
 blossoms of spring, or in the glowings of 
 summer, in the fruits of autumn, or in the frosts 
 of winter; you are not solicitous about hours 
 or days, months or years ; the variableness of 
 weather or the change of seasons. In what 
 a wonderful manner were you distinguished 
 among all species of creatures that perished in 
 the universal deluge, you only were insensible 
 of the mischief that laid waste the whole world. 
 All this ought, as I have already told you, to 
 inspire you with gratitude for such particular 
 grace and privileges heaped upon you, — and 
 since for all this you cannot employ your 
 
THE SERMON 75 
 
 tongues in the praise of your benefactor_, and 
 are not provided with words to express your 
 gratitude, make at least some sign of reverence ; 
 bow yourselves at his name, give some show of 
 gratitude to the best of your capacities ; express 
 your thanks in the most becoming manner that 
 you are able, and be not umnindful of all the 
 benefits that have been bestowed upon you." 
 
 He had no sooner done speaking, but behold 
 a miracle. The fish, as though they had been 
 endued with reason, bowed down their heads 
 with all the marks of a profound humility and 
 devotion, moving their bodies up and down 
 with a kind of fondness, as approving what had 
 been spoken by the blessed Father, St. Anthony, 
 — who having given his benediction to the fish 
 dismissed them."^ 
 
 * A number of passages in the original have been left 
 out, as they savoured too much of impiety. 
 
CANTO THE SIXTH 
 
 At close of an autumnal day, 
 
 When hills and dales in sombre grey 
 
 Lay stretch' d afar ; the setting sun, 
 
 From off the landscape, newly gone, 
 
 Had left a tinge, ruddy and warm. 
 
 Streaking the west with ev'ry charm 
 
 Of varying colour, whilst afar 
 
 Arose the queen of beauty's star ; 1 180 
 
 The silent groves of dark brown oak. 
 
 Were wreath'd in curls of light blue smoke. 
 
 Sent from the cotter's evening fires, 
 
 Issuing in tall fantastic spires ; 
 
 Tranquillity and peace o'er all, 
 
 From lowly cottage to the hall. 
 
 Its kindliest influence had shed. 
 
 In short some folks were going to bed ; 
 
 When a loud clanging of the gates 
 
 Disturb'd the dogs, w hose noisy pates 1 1 90 
 
 Declar'd alarm, that some one came. 
 
 Perhaps a poacher questing game ; 
 
 76 
 
CANTO THE SIXTH 77 
 
 Baconsfield Hall resounded through 
 
 With clamours of her canine crew^ 
 
 When a loud knock disturb'd them more, 
 
 They shook the house with wild uproar. 
 
 A careful servant from within^ 
 
 Asks who it is^ that caus'd this din ; 
 
 Soon as our young 'squire's well - known 
 
 voice 
 Had spoke outside, chang'd was the noise, 1 200 
 Quick op'd the door, out rush'd the crew, 
 Of men, and dogs, and near o'erthrew 
 With boist'rous joy, the 'squire ; and Roger 
 With friendship baited, like a badger. 
 Dogs pull'd his clothes, men shook his hand. 
 With kindness torn, could hardly stand — 
 Glad to escape in slipp'd our 'squire. 
 Soon was he plac'd before his sire. 
 His mother, and dear Isabelle, 
 The sweetest maid of that lone dell. 1 2 i o 
 
 Must we recount what then was said ? 
 The joy, the welcome, and kiss paid 
 To duty, and affection ? — no — 
 Suffice 't to say — before we go 
 From this fond scene, that hearts so glad 
 Were long in parting, to each bed. 
 
78 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Next early morn found all the house 
 
 Atth-'d betimes — 'Squire John, of course, 
 
 Paid his first visit to the stable, 
 
 Found all the horses fat and able ; 1220 
 
 Known was his voice, and many a nose. 
 
 With kindly snuffs, rubb'd o'er his clothes. 
 
 Each place he visited in turn. 
 
 For never heart did kindlier burn. 
 
 For home and all the joys it held ; 
 
 Gladly return'd, that home beheld 
 
 Its heir and hope, and happier grew. 
 
 No happier home the world e'er knew. 
 
 The sire, the mother, Isabelle, 
 
 'Squire John to them did often tell 1230 
 
 Of all his haps, good, bad, and worse. 
 
 As through the town he took his course. 
 
 Thankful his mother heard, and knew 
 
 Hodge to his charge had been so true. 
 
 Numberless presents had he brought. 
 
 For which the town had well been sought, 
 
 And still 'twas found, perhaps if least. 
 
 That Isabelle's were always best. 
 
 The week pass'd o'er, and now came down, 
 The 'squire's two cousins, fresh from town, 1 240 
 
CANTO THE SIXTH 79 
 
 Astonish'd much to find the place 
 
 So antiquated — void of grace. 
 
 Happy to see, 'twas in their power, 
 
 Improvements to suggest each hour ; 
 
 Which way so e'er they turned their looks. 
 
 Regretted much they'd brought no books 
 
 On landscape, gard'ning and the like. 
 
 For modelling something out to strike. 
 
 Both said the hall did want a front ; 
 
 Almost their uncle did affront, 1250 
 
 By quizzing an old fashion'd lawn. 
 
 Where always at the prime of morn. 
 
 The 'squire an early walk enjoy'd. 
 
 His mind on morning thoughts employ'd ; 
 
 'T had been for generations past, 
 
 A snug dry path Avhen skies o'er cast 
 
 With low'ring clouds portending rain^ — 
 
 From thence he soon the house could gain. 
 
 Had been the scene of 's infant sports. 
 
 Scenes recollection fondly courts ; 1260 
 
 Of nameless joys, that hold control 
 
 By mem'ry's links fix'd in the soul. 
 
 Quick our young hero turn'd the tide. 
 
 By recommending both to ride. 
 
 To view the kennel, and the fields — 
 
 Each unreluctant to him yields. 
 
8o THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Spoke then of hunting cousin James^ 
 
 Edward an odd affair then names. 
 
 Tells how coz Jemmy at an auction. 
 
 For a few pounds and some small fraction, 1270 
 
 Had bought a horse such none e'er saw, 
 
 Was all o'er blemish, fault, and flaw ; 
 
 'T had been describ'd a first rate cob. 
 
 The best in England — ev'ry job 
 
 Would suit — had carried a lady. 
 
 Was safe in harness and quite steady. 
 
 The fleetest hunter — he could run 
 
 Up to the hounds — with twenty stone — 
 
 Fit for gentlemen, timid and elderly — 
 
 Knee up in high style could canter cleverly, 1 280 
 
 Would walk up to a five barr'd gate 
 
 But if he'd leap it — did not state ; 
 
 Colour bright bay, and was only sold 
 
 Because not wanted, as we were told. 
 
 James rode him down one clay to Slough, 
 
 To try his paces, and to know 
 
 If he'd turn out the horse describ'd — 
 
 But on the way was quizz'd and gib'd 
 
 To such degree, he left his steed. 
 
 Return' d, per coach, with better speed. 1290 
 
CANTO THE SIXTH 8i 
 
 Edward declar'd he ne'er had seen 
 
 A man like him, so taken in. 
 
 James said 'twas true, and curst the sale, 
 
 And begg'd that Ned would end the tale, 
 
 Said since that time he ne'er could bear 
 
 Of that day's ride, to Slough, to hear. 
 
 The morn rose lovely, clear, and grey. 
 
 Mild presage of a beauteous day. 
 
 Blithe with its earliest dawn arose 
 
 Our hero and our city beaux ; 1300 
 
 On country pleasures all intent. 
 
 And on grouse shooting that day bent ; 
 
 With hungry faces all were met. 
 
 Close round the breakfast table set. 
 
 Where food of various kinds was plac'd. 
 
 Such as keen sportsmen love to taste ; 
 
 Rich potted lobster, season'd high. 
 
 Salt salmon, and a pigeon pie ; 
 
 With pickled herring — still the worst 
 
 Provocative of mighty thirst — 13 10 
 
 Cold round of beef, — oysters and ham ; 
 
 Eggs, honey, marmalade and jam ; 
 
 Coffee and tea for free diluting. 
 
 With rum and milk, known good for shooting ; 
 
82 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 The dogs stood by^ a steady band^ 
 Fed with odd bits, from ev'ry hand. 
 
 Cousin Jemmy was drest in a coat of fine 
 
 blue, 
 And full jockey boots, which that morning 
 
 were new ; 
 His hat smoothly brush'd, a most exquisite 
 
 tete 
 Crown'd the cockneyfied sportsman's fat jolly 
 
 pate: 1320 
 
 Cousin Edward was too quite as neat and gay 
 
 looking, 
 Fit for Bond Street, but certainly not for 
 
 grouse shooting ; 
 Much shorter in stature, but nature all good 
 Had ordain'd that in vain he should ne'er take 
 
 his food. 
 Their very gay cut, the young 'squire smil'd to 
 
 see. 
 Thought Roger, ' Od dang it, how fine they 
 
 both be.' 
 In truth a strange contrast between them was 
 
 seen 
 And the 'squire in his short shooting coat of 
 
 dark green. 
 
CANTO THE SIXTH 83 
 
 Strong shoes, woollen stockings_, and leggings 
 
 well mill'd, 
 For in grouse shooting mysteries deep he was 
 
 skill'd ; 1330 
 
 With a hat that had oft been a true friend 
 
 before. 
 Thro' many a wet day on the heath tangled 
 
 moor, 
 Well equipp'd with ham sandwiches, beef and 
 
 cold tongue, 
 In a bag w^hich with game should be fill'd e'er 
 
 'twas long, 
 On the helpers' broad shoulders most carefully 
 
 plac'd. 
 While a bottle of brandy each side pocket grac'd. 
 
 They pass'd the stately avenue. 
 
 And cross'd the lawn, begem'd with dew ; 
 
 Straight onward thro' the valley hied. 
 
 In merry converse side by side. 1340 
 
 The blithsome birds on every spray, 
 
 Sung forth their matin roundelay. 
 
 Which on the healthy breath of morn, 
 
 W^as cheerly o'er the valley borne. 
 
 Never was there a lovelier road. 
 
 Nor e'er by happier footsteps trode. 
 
84 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 They cross'd the water — blue and cahn 
 
 Was the tranquil sky — the air was balm ; 
 
 The tints of autumn mingled round 
 
 On tree and shrub and broken ground^ 1350 
 
 Blending such richly varied hues 
 
 As painter's happiest thought would chuse. 
 
 Progressing on — Ned saw a rabbit, 
 
 ' Softly/ he cried, ' we soon will nab it.' 
 
 Quick fir'd both barrels in his haste. 
 
 But O ! what havoc and dire waste 
 
 Of mushrooms — by cooks understood 
 
 The soul of cook'ry, when 'tis good, 
 
 For luckless wight, he'd shot outright 
 
 Mushrooms, that to the morning light 1360 
 
 Rear'd their broad heads, a hedge beneath 
 
 When Ned came on them thus by stealth. 
 
 Huge toad stools too he overthrew. 
 
 Toads all that day the loss might rue ; 
 
 Much laugh'd the 'squire and so did all 
 
 To see how brisk he made them fall ; 
 
 Chuckled no little cousin Edward, 
 
 And cried, ^To kill I ne'er was backward, 
 
 ' Had they been rabbits or moor game, 
 
 'You see it would have been the same.' 1370 
 

 I i 
 
 ! 
 
CANTO THE SIXTH 85 
 
 Onward their path up hill they took^ 
 Winding beside a babbling brook. 
 The silver birch and stately pine. 
 
 Their branches o'er the footway flung — 
 Whilst woodbine wild, with eglantine 
 
 Their mingled odours round them flung. 
 Through tangled broom they push'd their way 
 Oft treading down the foxglove gay, 
 Startling the bees, who fill'd their cells 
 With honey from its pendant bells ; 1380 
 
 Breaking thro' wreaths of hop which hung. 
 From bush to briar in wild festoon ; 
 Scaring the lovely buttei*flies. 
 Who shook their wings of varied dyes. 
 Fluttering round in airy rings. 
 The loveliest of created things ; 
 Still higher as they wound along, 
 Cheer'd by the 'squire's good humour'd song. 
 More wildering still the pathway grew. 
 And thicker stood the drops of dew ; 1390 
 
 And closer was the copse wood seen. 
 Whilst 'mongst its boughs of varied green, 
 Fantastic crags here scatter'd lay, 
 Cover'd with moss and lichens grey ; 
 Forming a path so wild and sweet 
 'Twas sure some fairies lov'd retreat. 
 
86 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Still on they push'd through fern and briar, 
 
 Yet following Roger and the 'squire, 
 
 Who plodded slowly on before, 
 
 'Till all had gain'd the open moor. 1400 
 
 Then burst upon their wond'ring eye, 
 
 A vast expanse of moors and sky. 
 
 Where undulating hills and dales. 
 
 One universal heath prevails — 
 
 The astonish' d strangers rais'd their chins, 
 
 And stumbling often broke their shins, 
 
 Staring and flound'ring o'er the waste. 
 
 Eager for birds — to shoot — in haste. 
 
 Few minutes pass'd e'er two smart cracks, 
 
 Were heard at hand, behind their backs ; 1 4 1 o 
 
 When briskly looking round, beheld. 
 
 Jemmy himself and gun both spill'd. 
 
 He had stepp'd on a stone, which had slipp'd 
 from his feet. 
 
 And had found cousin Jemmy, a cool, tho' hard, 
 seat. 
 
 The shock doubtless had, as one may perpend, 
 
 When so hard he came down upon his latter 
 end, 
 
 Caus'd his fingers too hard on the trigger to 
 press. 
 
 Firing straight in the air, what could he do less. 
 
CANTO THE SIXTH 87 
 
 And — O dire mishap — his best kerse}Tiieres 
 
 were 
 Inexpressibly crack'd^ for they'd crack'd in the 
 
 rear^ 1420 
 
 And thro' the whole day our fat friend had to 
 
 rue, 
 Those fissures and rents thro' which the wind 
 
 blew. 
 ^ Dear cousin/ said Edward, ' I hope there's no 
 
 sin in 
 ' What I'm going to observe, that you're airing 
 
 your linen ; 
 ^ 'Mongst friends what occasion could thus you 
 
 induce 
 ^To fire an alarm, or hang out flag of 
 
 truce ? ' 
 ^Indeed,' cried out James, ^I hope there'll 
 
 no truce be 
 ' 'Twixt me and the grouse, and this you shall 
 
 soon see ? " 
 For an excellent point their prime dog just 
 
 nos'd, 
 A dog that ne'er err'd or ever was pos'd, 1430 
 Don walk'd boldly up, and as most people do 
 Follow'd straight his own nose, but always 
 
 more true. 
 
88 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Quick up rose twelve birds among them he 
 
 fir'd, 
 'Though he kill'd not a bird they were horribly 
 
 scar'd, 
 For his piece had miss'd fire, yet it famously 
 
 blaz'd 
 In the pan — so much — they were vastly amaz'd. 
 ' Bless my soul/ said the cousins, — the 'squire 
 
 was quite vex'd 
 And the shooter himself not a little perplex'd, 
 When about to re-load, he found out he had 
 
 not 
 Had a charge in his piece having clearly 
 
 forgot ; 1440 
 
 Roger mark'd down the birds and the 'squire 
 
 edg'd away 
 Much inclin'd to get game being a fine sporting 
 
 day— 
 So left his two friends with some dogs and a 
 
 helper 
 To make game of the grouse, and to hunt helter 
 
 skelter. 
 
§^. 
 
CANTO THE SEVENTH 
 
 npHEN winding down through narrow dells, 
 Fring'd with the wild heath's purple bells, 
 Ascending oft the rising knolls, 
 Where the grey cup moss fills its bowls 
 With morning dew — where insects dip 
 Their filmy wings and lave and sip. 1450 
 
 Here wild bees, with the sun's first ray. 
 Haste to employ their busy day ; 
 A tangled wild sequester'd scene. 
 Known only to the sportsman keen. 
 The lov'd retreat of moorland game. 
 To this known haunt our hero came. 
 With Roger and one old dog en traine. 
 That never made a point in vain. 
 
 The 'squire's sure gun had never fail'd, 
 Kill'd every where, o'er all prevailed. 1460 
 His bag and Roger's both were fill'd 
 With grouse that morning he had kill'd. 
 
 89 
 
go THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 The conqu'rors who were nearly conquer' d 
 (For both alas ! were sorely hunger'd)^ 
 Did now trace back their steps to find 
 
 The cousins and the helper's bag^ 
 Rich sav'ry recollections fill'd each mind^ 
 
 Such as ne'er sufFer'd hungry men to lag. 
 Onward they march'd with step unwearied^ 
 In line direct, nor never varied, 1470 
 
 Fording each brook that cross' d their way, 
 Scaling each hill before them lay ; 
 'Till gaining up a rocky height, 
 Where all the moors, before their sight 
 Lay, like a map, beneath their feet. 
 For all, but hungry eyes a treat. 
 Where every tinge and hue that's given 
 Beneath the canopied blue heaven. 
 Was cast around in light and shade. 
 Such as by flying clouds are made ; 1480 
 
 Where shade in rapid flight is urg'd. 
 By a bright light for ever verg'd : 
 Short stay they made, for Sancho true. 
 Some canine sounds had heard and knew. 
 (It was the terrier of the cousins, 
 Chacing the sheep which flew by dozens,) 
 He wagg'd his tail, with upward look 
 As much as said, could he have spoke, 
 
CANTO THE SEVENTH 91 
 
 ' Yonder 's friend Vixen^ and 'tis clear 
 ' Your cousins and the helper's near.' 1490 
 
 Nor was he wrong, for soon they spied 
 The friends and dogs, towards whom they hied ; 
 Trooping along in chang'd attire. 
 For one seem'd bronz'd all o'er with mire ; 
 Which drpng in the sun did cast 
 Around him a thick doubtful mist. 
 The taller man among the three 
 Mark'd him our witty friend to be. 
 Who seem'd across the heath to glare ^ 
 
 A threat'ning prodigy of war, 1500 '- 
 
 Wrapt in his own blue atmosphere. 
 
 At length all met — the cause was clear'd 
 
 Why cousin Edward thus appear'd. 
 
 Quoth 'Squire John Careless, ' Bless my eyes 
 
 ' I never was in such surprise, 
 
 ' To see him thus with dirt o'erwrapp'd, 
 
 ^Tell me good people how 't has happ'd.' 
 
 Our friend and cousin Master James, 
 
 In brief the story thus explains : 
 
 ' As o'er the moor a ruijoced course i ^ 10 
 
 ' We took in search of your fam'd grouse, 
 
 ^ Dreadfully tir'd with heath and stone, 
 
 ^ A fine green spot we popp'd upon. 
 
92 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 ' When Ned, our leader, saw how fine 
 ' The green appear'd, cried here we'll dine, 
 ^ Then bouncing forwards with a skip, 
 ' At the first plunge sunk to the hip, 
 ' And found the place, too late, alas ! 
 ' A deep, deceitful, green morass. 
 ^His cries soon brought us to the 
 place, 1520 
 
 ' And there we found, in piteous case, 
 ' Edward sunk nearly up to his face. 
 ' Upon the brink the helper knelt, 
 ' And drew him out by his shot belt, 
 ' A dismal sight bebrown'd all o'er, 
 ' With the mud washings of the moor ; 
 ' Sous'd in water and mire he was drench'd to 
 
 a sop, 
 ' And his new jockey boots were quite fill'd to 
 the top. 
 ' Our sport had been before much hurt, 
 ^By Vixen, that eternal flirt, 1530 
 
 ' Who, whether sheep or birds were near, 
 ^ Whatever 'twas. Vixen was there. 
 ' An unwhipp'd, babbling, snappish thing, 
 ' 'Pon honor, I declare, she'll swing. 
 ' For all the birds grew quite outrageous- 
 ' -ly wild — Vick more courageous, 
 
CANTO THE SEVENTH 93 
 
 ' Scour'd o'er the nioor_, and in a breath 
 ' Ranging afar clear' d all the heath.' 
 * Upon my word/ declar'd 'Squire John, 
 ' Had I this hapless chance but known, 1540 
 ' We'd both have been with you right 
 
 soon, 
 ' But let us on as 'tis near noon. 
 ' And near the edge of this wide heath, 
 ' Lowly and snug the hill beneath, 
 ^ Is plac'd a cottage where they sell 
 ^ (With caution I the secret tell), 
 ' Brandy and ale that's unexcis'd, 
 'Yet by keen sportsmen duly priz'd.' 
 And well it was the house was nigh. 
 For threat'ning shades had fill'd the 
 sky, 1550 
 
 The rain fell fast and fill'd each pool. 
 The deep wet heath their limbs did cool. 
 Yet heavier still the welkin low'rs 
 ('Tis said it never rains but pours). 
 And this our wearied sportsmen found. 
 Proved on many a hollow ground. 
 Where congregated waters, soil'd 
 With the dark earth, in eddies toil'd. 
 Amid the waste, these each were crost. 
 The last still proving much the worst, 1560 
 
94 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 As deep'ning down the hills they drew, 
 'Till the snug cottage blest their view. 
 
 A whiffling cur descried them far, 
 His noise soon brought unto the door 
 An active matron, whose keen eye, 
 Could friends, or foes, a mile descry ; 
 When viewing well the 'squire's firm step, 
 And Roger's face — red as a hep. 
 Enough had seen ; then with a flounce, 
 Scar'd off the children in a bounce ; 1570 
 Fir'd the dr}^ heather in the grate, 
 (Ne'er fir'd but on affairs of state), 
 That grac'd her parlour's warm retreat, 
 Dear to the sportsman's wearied feet. 
 
 Now as the party nearer drew. 
 
 Wreaths of blue smoke appear'd in view, 
 
 (Emblem of transitory pain 
 
 And fire-side joys return' d again.) 
 
 Curling athwart the grove and hill. 
 
 What pleasure did each bosom fill ; 1580 
 
 And through the rain just seen the fir-tree 
 
 grove. 
 That round the cottage slowly move 
 
CANTO THE SEVENTH 95 
 
 Their heads to the sighing gale and rain, 
 Rendering the blast of north wind vain ; 
 Tokens long known, of comfort near, 
 Good fires, good ale, and wholesome cheer. 
 
 Never did wearier trio enter 
 
 The lowly porch, plac'd near the centre 
 
 Of this thatch'd cot, whose opening door, 
 
 A various multitude did pour ; 1590 
 
 Forth from the house, issuing in haste. 
 
 Pigs upon fowls, and children press'd 
 
 With dogs and geese, a clamorous herd, 
 
 Who chose the house— place much admir'd 
 
 When storms assail'd — as warm and dry 
 
 The pigs preferr'd it to the stye. 
 
 Poultry detest whatever 's w et. 
 
 And geese expecting oft a bit 
 
 Of bread — a social silly brood 
 
 Are always nibbling where there 's food 1 600 
 
 The house's comforts these all shar'd. 
 
 For ne'er to ought that chose 'twas spar'd ; 
 
 Yet in this commonwealth 'twas known. 
 
 And out of precedent had grown. 
 
 That whensoe'er a stranger came. 
 
 If broom in hand was ta'en by dame, 
 
96 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Then the whole fry should hasten out. 
 Full oft 'twas done with fearful rout. 
 For pigs, 'tis known, have no discretion. 
 And hens will clack without cessation, 1610 
 And children too, delight in noise. 
 No matter whether girls or boys. 
 
 Our heroes, now the house was clear'd. 
 Dripping upon the floor appear'd. 
 As fully drench'd as river Naiads, 
 In fact they had not on two dry threads ; 
 Bustling about them the good matron, 
 With clothes well air'd, a full check'd apron. 
 And frequently exclaiming, stirr'd 
 About friend Ned, so much bemir'd, 1620 
 ' O la, where have ye been,' she cried, 
 ' Merely bog-trotting,' he replied. 
 With many a kind enquiry shames. 
 About his dress, our cousin James ; 
 He glad to escape, retir'd to undress. 
 And put on leather thirds, if one may so express, 
 Belonging unto the good dame's lanky husband, 
 A little too narrow at knee and at waistband. 
 His own, when quite dry, the dame well secur'd 
 With a patch that had much former service 
 endur'd. 1630 
 
CANTO THE SEVENTH 97 
 
 To name all the various items of dress_, 
 
 They each of them rob'd in — indeed 'twould 
 
 be useless^ 
 Suffice it, the husband, with his oldest son, 
 And no little contriving, help'd all with them 
 
 A luncheon next on board appears. 
 
 And soon our friends made up arrears 
 
 In that day's eating, which had been. 
 
 By chance and medley miforeseen. 
 
 Protracted long beyond the time 
 
 When they accustomed were to dine. 1640 
 
 Each plied his knife, nor ever stay'd 
 
 A hand, which nought but drink delay'd ; 
 
 'Till amply fiU'd and well diluted ; 
 
 Neglecting as hath been reputed 
 
 Charles's twelve golden rules, which were 
 
 Hung at the back of Johnny's chair. 
 
 Their horses come, their clothes prepar'd — 
 
 For home all hied — once more attir'd 
 
 Each in his own, but our two friends were 
 
 Now much more like some Newgate ranger, 1650 
 
 Or Friesland hen, when just at moulting. 
 
 Than Bond Street beaux return' d from shooting. 
 
98 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Oft did the friends make all the manor 
 
 Resomid with guns and Vixen's clamour ; 
 
 The birds did think the world at end. 
 
 And pray'd that Peace again might send 
 
 Her dove and olive branch to bless. 
 
 Once more their native wilderness ; 
 
 Yet little harm was done, nor life 
 
 Was lost in all this noisy strife. 1660 
 
 Nothing but horrid frights e'er prest 
 
 Or scar'd the lev'ret from her nest ; 
 
 The hares more quietly lay still. 
 
 Perceiving with what little skill 
 
 The quest was urg'd, and that alone 
 
 The strangers came, with each their gun 
 
 So carelessly in hand, that none 
 
 'Squire or man dare with them cc»me. 
 
 Hunting was tried with various luck. 
 
 Friend James, in leaping o'er a brook, 1670 
 
 Losing his seat — ah ! luckless elf. 
 
 Instead of horse, he spurr'd himself. 
 
 Ned to a gate rode boldly up. 
 
 But dreading much to try the leap, 
 
 Check'd hard his horse, who sudden stopp'd, 
 
 High o'er the gate friend Ned was popp'd ; 
 
^ 1 
 
CANTO THE SEVENTH 99 
 
 Leaving his horse with force projectile, 
 
 Clearing his leap ifi very high style. 
 
 Through fences oft made direful gaps, 
 
 'Till tir'd of these and like mishaps ; 1680 
 
 Wearied with country sports were grown, 
 
 Retrode again their steps to town. 
 
CANTO THE EIGHTH 
 
 /^UR hero now and Isabelle^ 
 
 Together rang'd each tangled dell. 
 
 And often in his morning ride, 
 
 On palfrey good she grac'd his side ; 
 
 And oft in ev'nings she would read 
 
 Poetic tales of knightly deed. 
 
 To which he lent attentive ear. 
 
 But the reader, not the tale, was dear ; 1690 
 
 For he lov'd to gaze on the sparkling 
 
 eye, 
 
 That seem'd o'er the letter'd page to fly. 
 
 Sometimes too he would snatch a kiss. 
 
 Which the maiden took not much amiss. 
 
 Yet a tale of wonder or of fear. 
 
 Would always gain his truant ear ; 
 
 And floating for some time remain 
 
 Within his unpoetic brain. 
 
 When one dark night returning home. 
 
 As it then happen'd, quite alone, 1700 
 
 100 
 
CANTO THE EIGHTH loi 
 
 He'd been with neighbouring friends to 
 
 dine^ 
 And drankj perhaps, too much of wine ; 
 The nearest path o'er the fields he took, 
 Which he thought led homeward by the 
 
 brook, 
 But deceiv'd by wine, took one w^hich led 
 By some ruins to a river's bed. 
 
 The fitful breeze in murmurs broke 
 The silence of the dreary hour. 
 
 As sighing through the monarch oak. 
 It moan'd around the moss-grown tow'r ; 1710 
 
 In deep'ning shades, the forest wide. 
 Its dark'ning solemn gloom display'd ; 
 
 Whilst echoes faint from the passing tide, 
 Sound mournful through the woodland glade. 
 
 Tower and turret, pale and grey. 
 Dimly appear'd thro' the dark brown trees. 
 Like a mist from the stream at closing 
 day. 
 Or a phantom that floats on the midnight 
 breeze. 
 
I02 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Was it the rush of the rising wind;, 
 That moan'd along the mountain side^ 1720 
 
 That made him so hastily look behind, 
 And fearfully list to the splashing tide. 
 
 Or was it some unearthly sprite. 
 That approach'd through the gloom by magic 
 power, 
 
 And broke on the ear of slumbering night, 
 At her deepest noon, at her darkest hour ? 
 
 No — all was still, save the wave on the 
 shore. 
 And noiseless as the sleep of death ; 
 
 And deeper and darker seem'd to low'r. 
 The brow of night in her ebon wreath. 1730 
 
 No storm was on the mountain side. 
 Nor scowling o'er the distant flood. 
 
 But hoarsely moan'd the coming tide. 
 And darker grew the neighb'ring wood. 
 
 The blasted pine, like a giant sprite. 
 Thro' the misty curtain glar'd, 
 
 A fearful form in the dubious light. 
 Which the 'wilder'd wanderer scar'd. 
 
CANTO THE EIGHTH 103 
 
 He started, it was not the breeze that 
 play'cl. 
 On the rippHng wave, or the pebbled 
 shore, 1740 
 
 No— he thought 'twas the water kelpy 
 neigh' d, 
 Which towards him approach'd with thund'ring 
 roar. 
 
 Huge, wild, and dread, seem'd the kelpy 
 grey. 
 As he sail'd in the moon's pale beam. 
 
 His lank hair wet by the dashing spray, 
 From the roaring torrent's stream. 
 
 His muscle eyes glar'd fearfully bright. 
 
 His breast of furze dimly show'd through the 
 
 night. 
 O'er which, from his cavern'd mouth ran a 
 
 stream. 
 And his hair of wet sedge slowly w^av'd in the 
 
 beam 1750 
 
 Of the moon — now struggling through a 
 
 cloud. 
 Whilst his breath came thick, and his pulse 
 
 beat loud, 
 
I04 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 The kelpy it was — he knew by its face^ 
 
 'Twas the same their Scotch gard'ner had seen 
 
 at that place ; 
 And onward he hurried in wild affright. 
 Through the path dimly seen in the pale moon- 
 light. 
 
 Now over the mountain_, field, and flood 
 Night again sunk in dark repose ; 
 
 Scarce could he hear the sigh of the wood, 
 Or see where the wall of Baconsfield rose. 1 760 
 
 When lo I from the mansion's window high, 
 A light beam'd over the country afar, 
 
 Seem'd a burning thread on the sable sky, 
 Or a ray of some lone forsaken star. 
 
 'Twas by Isabelle's hand in the window 
 plac'd. 
 What gloom could obscure its sacred ray ; 
 
 When it shone to bid the lover haste. 
 When it shone to guide the lover's way. 
 
 And well it was that there it stood, 
 To guide her hapless swain that night, 1770 
 
 For ne'er did weary seaman hail 
 The dancing light on the billow's breast. 
 
 That stream'd from the distant beacon pale. 
 The harbinger of home and rest. 
 
1 ."k 
 I ^ 
 
 
CANTO THE EIGHTH 105 
 
 With half the joy the young 'squh*e felt^ 
 When that bright beacon met his eye ; 
 
 Almost to the beam he could have knelt, 
 That told him home and its comforts were nigh. 
 
 Soon 'twas seen that the youthful 'squire, 
 Seldom from home in an ev'ning would 
 dine; 1780 
 
 And fair Isabelle seem'd more to admire, 
 Often would leave his friends or his wine. 
 To sit with her in the ev'ning' s decline. 
 
 The draft-board often so nicely she plac'd. 
 So neatly arrang'd his favorite room, 
 
 Where the old bow window with flowers was 
 grac'd, 
 And the ev'ning breeze gently spread their 
 perfume. 
 And soon as the zest of the game declin'd, 
 With a good humour' d smile to her music 
 would run ; 
 While at his ease he near her reclin'd, 1790 
 His favorite songs so sweetly she sung. 
 
 That our hero entranc'd on her accents hung. 
 
io6 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Oft he founds unless she appear'd at his side. 
 Of comfort and pleasure his moments were 
 
 void ; 
 Unless her white hand carv'd his favorite 
 
 pie, 
 The crust was too hard, or the seasoning too 
 
 high ; 
 The pickles she made were still sure to be 
 
 best. 
 And no salad was good but the one which she 
 
 drest. 
 His mother, who wish'd her young favorite to 
 
 share 
 The heart and domains of her dear son and 
 
 heir, 1800 
 
 Often tried with the art which a mother 
 
 possesses. 
 And learns the first time she her infant caresses. 
 By movements unseen to influence his mind, 
 'Till it lean'd to the point to which she 
 
 inclin'd ; 
 With pleasure she saw his affection display' d 
 In the constant attention he gave to the maid. 
 The servants and neighbours who liv'd them 
 
 beside, 
 Said that Miss Isabella would soon be a bride. 
 
CANTO THE EIGHTH 107 
 
 The old 'squire crack'd his jokes^ look'd pro- 
 vokingly sly, 
 
 And the fair Isabella was oft heard to sigh. 1 8 1 o 
 
 She had wish'd that her lover had been more 
 refined 
 
 In gesture, or manner, perhaps too in mind ; 
 
 But the warmth of his heart she from infancy- 
 knew. 
 
 And to her his affections had ever been true ; 
 
 Yet she felt that he might with more polish'd 
 outside. 
 
 Have been of his many good qualities void ; 
 
 His heart less good natur'd, or she less belov'd, 
 
 With less solid comforts than those she had 
 prov'd. 
 
CANTO THE NINTH 
 
 TXT' HEN lilies white their petals elose^ 
 
 And passing breezes waft perfume ; 1820 
 
 When insects in their cells repose^ 
 And evening shades their place resume ; 
 
 One twilight eve the pair were seen 
 Slow winding down an alley green^ 
 
 Where rose trees in luxuriant pride, 
 Their lovely branches hung, 
 
 They pass'd close by the dial grey, 
 
 Where every eve the parting ray 
 Of setting beams were flung. 
 
 That alley gently winding led 1830 
 
 Down by the violets' scented bed, 
 
 To where beneath the terrace green. 
 
 Was plac'd Acacia trees between 
 A lonely unfrequented walk. 
 Where lovers might securely talk. 
 
 And wile the hours away, 
 
 108 
 
CANTO THE NINTH 109 
 
 Nor fear observing ear or eye_, 
 
 For nought was there but trees and sky ; 
 
 Upon that terrace border grew^ 
 
 (Now spangled with the evening dew) 1 840 
 
 Lavender^ rosemary^ and thyme^ 
 
 Ne'er gather'd after sun's decHne. 
 
 The terrace ended in a bow'r^ 
 
 Where with the woodbine's fragrant flow'r^ 
 
 The dark green ivy closely twin'd, 
 
 And spreading limes their shade combin'd ; 
 
 The Acacia boughs a vista made^ 
 
 And thro' their gently moving shade 
 
 Was seen the Saxon tow'r and porch 
 
 Of the adjacent village church. 1850 
 
 A spot more lonely^ or more sweet, 
 
 Was ne'er of whisp'ring love the seat ; 
 
 Whilst as to hide their fervent vows, 
 
 The night wind gently swung the boughs. 
 
 And slowly swept the bow'r around. 
 
 Waving each leaf with rustling sound. 
 
 So still that ev'ning, and so clear, 
 
 I ween 'twas long to mem'ry dear. 
 
 For there the pair prolong'd their stay 
 
 Till the bright moon, with silver ray, i860 
 
 Through flying clouds shot from the sky, 
 
 In glorious full orb'd majesty, 
 
no THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Silv'ring each tree and dew gem'd flow'r, 
 
 And shining fully on the bow'r 
 
 Where they had spent that blissful hour. 
 
 They slowly left that witching place^ 
 
 And up the walk their steps retrace^ 
 
 Slow the homeward path they hied, 
 
 Still ling' ring at each other's side. 
 
 Till they had gain'd the great hall door — 1870 
 
 Then the young 'squire stepp'd on before, 
 
 Whilst Isabelle with footstep light 
 
 Swiftly into the parlour turn'd, 
 Where the tall candles clear and bright 
 
 On the tea table burn'd — 
 There dozing in her elbow chair, 
 In meditation or in pra3'er. 
 
 The good old lady sat ; 
 Two spaniels on the hearth rug lay. 
 
 Beside her favorite cat. 1880 
 
 She rais'd her head as to descry 
 
 What caus'd the maiden's speed, 
 Whose blushing cheek and down cast eye 
 
 The matron well could read. 
 
 Next morn to seek his worthy sire, 
 With face important, the young 'squire 
 
CANTO THE NINTH in 
 
 Pass'd half the mansion through ; 
 And in the butler's pantry found him^ 
 With brandy bottles gather'd round him, 
 
 Unpack'd from hamper new — 1890 
 
 Snugly he sat in elbow chair, 
 And held a glass just rais'd in air. 
 The sparkling liquid, ruby bright, 
 Intent he eyed 'twixt and the light. 
 And smack' d his lips, and cried ' Enough — 
 ' Aye, butler, this is the right stuff,' 
 ' 'Tis unadulterated Nantz, 
 ' The only good that comes from France ; 
 ^ Zounds 'twould put courage in a lamb 
 ^ Only to take one single dram ; 1900 
 
 ' 'Twould warm the heart 'tho' ne'er so cold, 
 c Making the veriest coward bold — 
 ' And should be treasur'd up like gold — 
 ' Not upon common days be wasted, 
 ' But only at a wedding tasted — ' 
 Just then his only son drew near— 
 
 (Speak of the d , and he'll appear — ) 
 
 The butler thought — whilst his young 
 
 master. 
 Speaking than usual something faster. 
 And looking, David then thought queer, 1910 
 Said, ' Father will you just step here, 
 
112 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 ' And with me to the terrace walk, 
 
 ^ I wish to have a little talk.' 
 
 The old 'squire rose and cross'd the floor^ 
 
 When soon as they had turn'd the door, 
 
 The butler nodded, winked, and laugh'd, 
 
 Then straight a glass of brandy quaffd. 
 
 And through the twisting passage hied, 
 
 That ran along the mansion's side. 
 
 Straight to the servant's hall — T920 
 
 — There a merry group he found, 
 
 Standing the long oak table round. 
 Or leaning 'gainst the wall — 
 
 Laughing and looking wond'rous knowing. 
 
 And plainly as he enter'd showing 
 The new^s he meant for all 
 
 By other means had been found out, 
 
 For by their mirth and laugh suppress'd, 
 
 Full soon the wily butler guess' d 
 
 The secret there was out. 1930 
 
 Friend David had not liv'd in vain 
 Through fifty winters and fourteen. 
 So knew that soon the hall would see 
 The wxdding which all wish'd should be — 
 
 And caught at the word as it fell from the 
 hp 
 
 Of the ven'rable' squire, and was quite on the tip- 
 
CANTO THE NINTH 113 
 
 toe of delight to be the first teller 
 
 Of news that would draw ev'ry cork in the 
 
 cellar ; 
 Yet he found that by secret intelligence 
 The news had outrun him — in breathless 
 
 suspense 1940 / 
 
 All ask'd him the where, when, and how, to 
 
 dispense — / 
 
 But no pleasures on earth are known to be 
 
 perfect. 
 And the when, where, and how, remain'd still 
 
 a secret. 
 
 Now throughout the whole household, from 
 butler to Giles, 
 
 Wherever they met there was nothing but 
 smiles ; 
 
 Sly glances were past 'twixt the maids and the 
 men, 
 
 Who often exclaim' d — '^ There'll be rare doings 
 then,' 
 
 While the housekeeper look'd most importantly 
 knowing. 
 
 And old David's joy often seem'd overflow- 
 ing, 
 8 
 
114 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 So delighted he was that he could not walk 
 straight^ 1950 
 
 And much more than common was given to 
 prate. 
 
 For the bow window'd room there came furni- 
 ture new. 
 The carpet and curtains were light brown and 
 
 blue ; 
 The red room was fresh furnish' d, the bed was 
 
 fresh hung, 
 The dressing room open'd, the sashes fresh 
 
 slung — 
 A carpet laid down on the dark oaken stairs. 
 And sundry places now suffer' d repairs ; 
 The wainscotted room, that look'd out to the 
 
 west. 
 Which a certain young lady had always lik'd 
 
 best, 
 When the sun was just setting, the old fashion'd 
 
 seat, i960 
 
 In the window's recess, was her favorite retreat : 
 It commanded a view o'er the country 
 
 extending. 
 Where hills, woods, and waters, in distance 
 
 were blending ; 
 
CANTO THE NINTH 115 
 
 And when on that scene, at the closing of 
 
 day, 
 The bright setting sun threw his rich parting 
 
 ray, 
 On the tops of the hills softly fading in air, 
 Few landscapes in beauty with that could 
 
 compare. 
 Our hero himself took the charge of this 
 
 room, 
 And soon had it clear'd from the cobwebs and 
 
 gloom. 
 With his mother's kind aid he hither had 
 
 plac'd 1970 
 
 Every relic that suited his Isabell's taste ; 
 The old India cabinet hither was brought. 
 With the chairs, whose work'd cushions, her 
 
 grandmother wrought. 
 For she treasur'd as sacred each old fashion'd 
 
 thing, 
 From the worm eaten press to the crush' d 
 
 signet ring ; 
 And the waiting maid said she was ^ Now very 
 
 sure 
 ' That the west room was meant for the lady's 
 
 boudoir.' 
 
ii6 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 The old 'squire seem'd delighted and bustled 
 
 about^ 
 Forgetting he'd just had a touch of the 
 
 gout — 
 To the cellar with honest friend David 
 
 descends^ 1980 
 
 His advice in wine corking fastidiously lends ; 
 Mix'd with many a tale of the times pass'd 
 
 away, 
 And the accidents queer of some deep drinking 
 
 day- 
 Stating how at the birth of his son, the young 
 
 'squire, 
 The October he'd brew'd at his special desire ; 
 Part of which at his christening by David was 
 
 broach 'd. 
 The reinainder of which was yet safe and 
 
 untouch'd. 
 Prime whizzing old stingo, that buzz'd in the 
 
 nose, 
 That when pour'd in the glass like a rich topaz 
 
 glows ; 
 Half now should be drank did he jovially 
 
 swear, 1990 
 
 The rest to be drank when his son had an 
 
 heir, 
 
CANTO THE NINTH 117 
 
 An eventful resolve^ as full many a butt 
 Remain'd for his friends to the test to be 
 
 put; 
 A direful presage of numberless quarrels^ 
 And bickerings that often break forth from ale 
 
 barrels ; 
 Of numberless friendships cemented by 
 
 drinking, 
 (The warmest of friendships^ to my humble 
 
 thinking), 
 These orders being given, up forth comes the 
 
 'squire, 
 His eyes brightly twinkling and nose red as 
 
 fire. 
 For he'd tasted his spirits, and ales put to 
 
 fine, 2000 
 
 Then come up "like a giant refreshed with 
 
 wine," 
 
 The old housekeeper next, with her huge 
 
 bunch of keys, 
 Unlock'd her choice noyeaus, and fam'd 
 
 ratifias. 
 Declaring though there fifty }^ars she had 
 
 been 
 Yet she ne'er such a joyful occasion had seen ; 
 
ii8 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Oft with her old mistress she held consulta- 
 tions^ 
 And gave to the maidens long winded orations, 
 With orders at morning to rise with the 
 
 sun. 
 Or the work that was needful would never be 
 
 done. 
 All this bustle oft caus'd a soft throbbing 
 
 emotion, 2010 
 
 In the fair source of all this unusual 
 
 commotion ; 
 To the next market town she was oft seen to 
 
 ride, 
 Where a gay mantua maker was known to 
 
 reside. 
 And the neighbours around soon call'd on Miss 
 
 Bright, 
 To learn if the bonnet was yellow or white ; 
 With a trimming of blond just to shadow the 
 
 face. 
 Or without — to be worn with a veil of thread 
 
 lace ; 
 If pelisse or a spenser that day would be 
 
 worn. 
 Or a robe trimm'd with lace, or a rich morning 
 
 gown ; 
 
CANTO THE NINTH 119 
 
 If the gloves to be given would be white or 
 buff, 2030 
 
 If the favours Avere made — if there would be 
 enough — 
 
 If two bride's maids to have was the lady's 
 intention, 
 
 With many et ceteras too tedious to mention. 
 
 The evening before this so much wish'd for 
 
 day, 
 Two servants appear'd each carrying a tray ; 
 On which were the bride cakes of wonderful 
 
 size. 
 Whose thick snowy icing delighted all eyes. 
 The housekeeper followed, hop'd they lik'd 
 
 her endeavours, 
 'Twas the result of all her confectional labours ; 
 When the icing was sawn, and the cakes were 
 
 divided, 2040 
 
 The rich layer of almonds their merits decided. 
 All declar'd the good dame had most fortunate 
 
 been. 
 For the cakes were as rich as if meant for a 
 
 queen. 
 But vain 'tis to tell the bustle and rout. 
 That pervaded the mansion within and without. 
 
I20 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 From the first peep of dawn^ till the lingering 
 
 chime 
 Of the old village church, told of midnight the 
 
 time — 
 Then one after another^ sadly sleepy and tir'd, 
 To their beds all their busy domestics retir'd — 
 Slept each in the hall alike soundly that 
 
 night? 2050 
 
 Or were some wide awake, when the first beam 
 
 of light 
 Faintly stream'd from the east, thro' the shades 
 
 grey and deep. 
 And wearied with thinking but then sunk to 
 
 sleep ? 
 Say ye, whom the sun with his bright golden 
 
 ray, 
 Hath witness'd awake on your own wedding 
 
 day. 
 
CANTO THE TENTH 
 
 '"pH ROUGH the curtain's partial shade, 
 
 Bright the cheering sun beams play'd, 
 Waking those who lightly slept, 
 And had 'till morn their vigils kept. 
 Freshly o'er the groves and fields, 2060 
 
 Every flow'r its odour yields, 
 While the laughing zephyr breathes 
 Freshly through the chaplet wreaths, 
 Twin'd of rose and myrtle sweet — 
 Then rising morn, with golden feet 
 Hasten'd o'er the dewy vale. 
 With the health inspiring gale. 
 Blithesome came each bidden guest. 
 
 In their bridal vestments dight. 
 To honour that eventful day, 2070 
 
 And grace the nuptial rite. 
 To Isabelle each youthful friend. 
 Does kind officious service lend. 
 And careful twines her braided hair. 
 
 Eager to deck the timid fair. 
 
 121 
 
122 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 And ev'ry art of dress supplied, 
 
 To grace our hero's youthful bride, 
 
 Whose changing cheek and throbbing breast, 
 
 Love, hope, and fear, alike confest. — 
 
 The jocund bridegroom, gay as air, 2080 
 
 Whose beaming smiles his joy declare — 
 
 Buxom youths of care devoid. 
 
 Attend to share the festive tide — 
 
 Whilst from ev'ry youthful eye, 
 
 Shoots in mirthful revelry, 
 
 Playful glances, gay and bright. 
 
 And passing fancies, quaint, and light. 
 
 To the church, which stood near as before has 
 
 been stated, 
 Mov'd the bridal array where the clergyman 
 
 waited ; 
 And never 'tis said had a happier pair, 2090 
 In the blest bonds of marriage been join'd by 
 
 his care ; 
 And no one had e'er more sincerely replied, 
 The momentous " I will," than the 'squire and 
 
 his bride ; 
 Whilst the hearts of all parties beat light in 
 
 each breast. 
 As the mystical ring on the finger was prest. 
 
CANTO THE TENTH 123 
 
 The bride's maids half envied, the groom's 
 
 men look'd sly, 
 All trusting the same ceremonial to try, 
 When the parson's injunction impress' d on 
 
 each mind, 
 ' Let no one divide those whom God hath here 
 
 join'd.' 
 The bUthe wedding peal then the gay bells 
 
 rung out, 2100 
 
 And forth from the church pass'd the glad 
 
 bridal rout. 
 
 Each house in the village that morn was 
 
 forsaken, 
 To the hall or the church each their way had 
 
 then taken. 
 With bright cheerful faces, they hurried along, 
 For the mansion was open'd to all that would 
 
 come. 
 The old spoke with glee of the times that 
 
 were gone. 
 The young talk'd in rapture of pleasures to 
 
 come ; 
 As each enter'd the house there was plenty of 
 
 cheer 
 Awaiting all comers — the particular beer 
 
124 THE OLD ENGLISH 'SQUIRE 
 
 Was tapp'd and prov'd rights for the black- 
 smith declar'd 2 1 1 o 
 
 He had drank round the country, but never 
 had heard 
 
 Ale sparkle and whistle, like this old humming 
 stuff, 
 
 And vow'd till that day he had ne'er had 
 enough ; 
 
 It made the dumb speak, and the lame drop 
 their crutch. 
 
 The village school-master ne'er once spoke of 
 birch ; 
 
 For beef, pudding, and ale, had so sharpen'd 
 his wits. 
 
 That funny he grew — and laugh'd— little bits 
 
 So voraciously eat, that the guests were amaz'd 
 
 Each laid down his knife — even boys on him 
 gaz'd. 
 
 All the villagers met in the large servant's hall. 
 And concluded the revels at night with a ball ; 
 Where with bosoms elated and spirits quite 
 gay, 2120 
 
 Delighted they danc'd till the first peep of day ; 
 For the 'squire ever lik'd all around him to see 
 With broad happy faces and hearts full of glee^ 
 
=^gl^^r^i 
 
 II 
 I! 
 
 ■^ "^ 
 ^.^ 
 
 '^ t^ 
 

 
CANTO THE TENTH 125 
 
 In the parlour less noisy but equally gay, 
 In social delights pass'd the hours away ; 
 And years rolling over this happy domain. 
 Still found all his household remaining the 
 
 same, 
 Except in a trifling addition of noise, 
 Caus'd by five lively girls, and as many fine 
 
 boys. 
 His benevolent heart and affectionate cares, 2130 
 Secur'd for him all their good wishes and prayers, 
 And none, though their station in life might 
 
 be higher, 
 Liv'd more lov'd and esteem'd than the old 
 
 English 'Squire. 
 
CONCLUSION 
 
 rj^x\REWELL^ my kind and wearied muse^ 
 
 My thanks I cannot thee refuse. 
 For though we've hobbled on at times. 
 And glad to catch at ought for rhymes. 
 And sometimes smooth and sometimes rough, 
 Have wander'd through — scarce well enough — 
 Yet who has jogg'd on life's rough road, 2140 
 Has seldom found his path too broad. 
 Frequently limping, hobbling o'er 
 Some furzy wild, or stony moor. 
 Glad when in shining plenteous vales. 
 Prosperity fills all his sails. 
 Ling'ring solicitous of ease. 
 The more he gets, more hard to please. 
 Yet when again life's road confines. 
 He shoves along through narrow'd lines, 
 Happy to gain a resting place, 2150 
 
 Which though but small, he takes with grace : 
 Thus — I my muse, thankful for all 
 Thy kindly aids — however small, 
 
 126 
 
CONCLUSION 127 
 
 Bid thee farewell, and when next woo'd. 
 For friendly aid to poet rude. 
 May 'squire as kind, and maid as fair, 
 And happiness like their's too rare. 
 Thy verse with sweeter measures swell. 
 Again, my muse, again, farew^ell ! 
 
 THE END 
 
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