University of California • Berkeley *S THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA GIFT OF Mrs* Edwin Grabhorn : x fi' Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from Microsoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/broadgrinscompriOOcolmrich BY GEORGE COLMAN, THE YOUNGER. LONDON: PRINTED BY J. M'CREERY, FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND. 1816. BROAD GRINS ; BY GEORGE COLMAN, THE younger; COMPRISING, WITH NEW ADDITIONAL TALES IN VERSE, THOSE FORMERLY PUBLISH'D UNDER THE TITLE OF « MY NIGHT-GOWN AND SLIPPERS." " DEME SUPERCILIO NUBEM." THE SIXTH EDITION. LONDON : PRINTED BY J. M2 36 WILL WADDLE, whose temper was studious and lonely, Hire'd lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only ; But Will was so fat he appear'd like a ton ; — Or like Two Single Gentlemen roll'd into One. He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated ; But, all the night-long, he felt fever'd, and heated; And, tho* heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep, He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep. Next night 'twas the same ! — and the next ; — and the next; He perspire'd like an ox ; he was nervous, and vex'd ; Week past after week ; till, by weekly succession, His weakly condition was past all expression. 37 In six months, his acquaintance began much to doubt him: For his skin, * like a lady's loose gown," hung about him. He sent for a Doctor ; and cried, like a ninny, ** I have lost many pounds — make me well — there's a guinea." The Doctor looked wise : — " a slow fever," he said : Prescribed sudorificks, — and going to bed. " Sudorificks in bed," exclaim'd Will, " are humbugs! " I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs !" Will kick'd out the Doctor : — but, when ill indeed, E'en dismissing the Doctor don't always succeed ; So, calling his host — he said — " Sir, do you know, " I'm the fat Single Gentleman, six months ago ? 3S ". Look'e, landlord, I think," argued Will, with a grin, " That with honest intentions you first took me in : " But from the first night — and to say it I'm bold — " I have been so damn'd hot, that Fm sure I caught cold." Quoth the landlord — u till now, I ne'er had a dispute ; n Fve let lodgings ten years ; — Fm a Baker, to boot ; u In airing your sheets, Sir, my wife is no sloven ; " And your bed is immediately over my Oven." "The Oven!!!" says Will; — says the host, "- why this passion ? 1 In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. " Why so crusty, good Sir ?" — " Zounds !" cries Will, in a taking, " Who wouldn't be crusty, with half a year's baking ?" 39 Will paid for his rooms ; — cried the host, with a sneer, " Well, I see you've been going away half a year :" u Friend, we can't well agree, — yet no quarrel" — Will said; — u But Td rather not perish, while you make your bread"* • This is the conclusion of all that was originally printed under the title «>f " My Night-Gown and Slippers" THE KNIGHT AND THE FRIAR. PART FIRST. IN our Fifth Harry's reign, when 'twas the fashion To thump the French, poor creatures ! to excess ;- Tho* Britons, now a days, shew more compassion, And thump them, certainly, a great deal less; — 41 In Harry's reign, when flush'd Lancastrian roses Of York's pale blossoms had usurp'd the right j* As wine drives Nature out of drunkards' noses, Till red, triumphantly, eclipses white ; In Harry's reign — but let me to my song, Or good king Harry's reign may seem too long. Sir Thomas Erpingham, a gallant knight, When this king Harry went to war, in France, Girded a sword about his middle ; Resolving, very lustily, to fight, And teach the Frenchmen how to dance, Without a fiddle. * Roses were not emblems of faction, cries the Critick, till the reign of Henry the Sixth. Pooh ! This is a figure, not an anachronism. Suppose, Mr. Critick, you and all your descendants should be hang'd, although your father died in his bed :— Why then posterity, when talking of your father, may allude to the family gallows, which his issue shall have render'd noto- riously symbolical of his House, 42 And wond'rous bold Sir Thomas prove'd in battle, Performing prodigies, with spear and shield ; His valour, like a murrain among cattle, Was reckon'd very fatal in the field. Yet, tho' Sir Thomas had an iron fist, He was, at heart, a mild Philanthropist. Much did he grieve, when making Frenchmen die, To any inconvenience to put 'em : * It quite distress'd his feelings," he would cry, " That he must cut their throats," and, then he cut 'em. Thus, during many a Campaign, He cut, and grieve'd, and cut, and came again ;- Pitying, and killing ; 43 Lamenting sorely for men's souls, While pretty little eyelet holes, Clean thro* their bodies he kept drilling : Till palling on his Laurels, grown so thick, (As boys pull blackberries, till they are sick,) Homeward he bent his course, to wreath 'em ; And in his Castle, near fair Norwich town, Glutted with glory, he sat down, In perfect solitude, beneath 'em. Now, sitting under Laurels, Heroes say, Gives grace, and dignity — and so it may When men have done campaigning ; But, certainly, these gentlemen must own That sitting under Laurels, quite alone, Is much more dignified than entertaining. 44 Pious JEneas, who, in his narration Of his own prowess, felt so great a charm ; — (For, tho' he feign'd great grief in the relation, He made the story longer than your arm ;*) Pious iEneas no more pleasure knew Than did our Knight — who could be pious too — In telling his exploits, and martial brawls : But pious Thomas had no Dido near him — No Queen — King, Lord, nor Commoner to hear him — So he was force'd to tell them to the walls : * " Quis taliafando " Temperet a lachrymis ?" says iEneas, by way of proem; yet, for a Hero, tolerably " use'd to the melt- ing mood," he talks, on this occasion, much more than he cries ; and, though he begins with a wooden Horse, and gives a general account of the burning of Troy, still the " quorum pars magna fui" is, evidently, the great induce- 45 And to his Castle walls, in solemn guise, The knight, full often, did soliloquize :— For " Walls have ears/' Sir Thomas had been told ; Yet thought the tedious hours would seem much shorter, If, now and then, a tale he could unfold To ears of flesh and blood, not stone and mortar. At length, his old Castellum grew so dull, That legions of Blue Devils seize'd the Knight; Megrim invested his belaurelPd skull ; Spleen laid embargoes on his appetite ; uient to his chattering :— accordingly, he keeps up Queen Dido to a scandalous late hour, after supper, for the good folks of Carthage, to tell her an egotisti- cal story, that occupies two whole books of the JEneid.— Oh, these Heroes J— I once knew a worthy General— but I wont tell that story. 46 Till, thro* the day-time, he was haunted, wholly, By all the imps of " loathed Melancholy !" Heaven keep her, and her imps, for ever, from us ! An Incubus,* whene'er he went to bed, Sat on his stomach, like a lump of lead, Making unseemly faces at Sir Thomas. Plagues such as these might make a Parson swear ; Sir Thomas, being but a Layman, Swore, very roundly, d la militaire, Or, rather, (from vexation) like a Drayman : • Far be it from me to offer a pedantick affront to the Gentlemen who peruse me, by explaining the word Incubus; which Pliny and others, more learnedly, call Ephialtes.—I, modestly, state it to mean the Night-Mare, for the information of the Ladies. The chief symptom by which this affliction is vulgarly known, is a heavy pressure upon the stomach, when lying in a supine posture in bed. It would terrify some of my fair readers, who never expe- rience'd this characteristick of the Incubus, were I to dwell on its effects ; and it would irritate others, who are in the habit of labouring under its sensations. 47 Damning his Walls, out of all line and level; Sinking his drawbridges and moats ; Wishing that he were cutting throats And they were at the devil. u What's to be done," Sir Thomas said, one day, * To drive Ennui away ? " How is the evil to be parried ? u What can remind me of my former life ? " Those happy days I spent in noise and strife !" The last word struck him ; " Zounds !" says he, " a Wife !" And so he married. Muse ! regulate your pace ; — Restrain, awhile, your frisking, and your giggling ! Here is a stately Lady in the case : We mustn't, now, be fidgetting, and niggling. 48 O God of Love ! Urchin of spite, and play ! Deserter, oft, from saffron Hymen's quarters ; His torch bedimming, as thou runn'st away, Till half his Votaries become his Martyrs ! Sly, wandering God ! whose frolick arrows pass Thro' hearts of Potentates, and Prentice-boys ; Who mark'st, with Milkmaids' forms, the tell-tale grass, And make'st the fruitful Prude repent her joys ! Drop me one feather, from thy wanton wing, Young God of dimples ! in thy roguish flight ; And let thy Poet catch it, now, to sing The beauty of the Dame who won the Knight I Her beauty ! — but Sir Thomas's own Sonnet Beats all that I can say upon it. SIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM's* SONNET ON HIS LADY, 1 StJCH star-like lustre lights her Eyes, They must have darted from a Sphere, Our duller System to surprise, Outshining all the Planets here ; * An old Gentlewoman, a great admirer of the ^Tacft %ZtttX y (as many old Gentlewomen are) presented the Author of these Tales with the Original 50 And, having wander'd from their wonted place, Fix in the wond'rous Heaven of her Face. 2 The modest Rose, whose blushes speak The ardent kisses of the Sun, Offering a tribute to her Cheek, Droops, to perceive its Tint outdone ; Then withering with envy and despair, Dies on her Lips, and leaves its Fragrance there. MS. of this Sonnet; advising the publication of a facsimile of the Knight's hand-writing. It is painful, after this, to advance, that the Sonnet, so far from being genuine, is one of the clumsiest literary forgeries, that the present times have witness'd. It appears, in this authentick Story, tbat Sir Thomas Erpingham was married in the reign of Henry the Fifth; and it is evidently intended, that Moderns should believe he writ these love-verses almost immediately after his marriage; not only from the ardour with which he celebrates the beauty of his wife, but from the circumstance of a man writing any love-verses upon his wife at ail;— but the stvle and language of the lines are most glaringly incon- sistent with their pretended date. The fact is, we have here foisted upon us a 51 3 Ringlets, that to her Breast descend, Increase the beauties they invade ; Thus branches in luxuriance bend, To grace the lovely Hills they shade ; And thus the glowing Climate did entice Tendrils to curl, unprune'd, o'er Paradise. close imitation of COWLEY, (vide the MISTRESS) who was not born till the year l6l3,— two centuries after the era in question. Chaucer died, A. D. 1400 ; and Henry the Fifth (who was king only 9 years, 5 months, and 11 days) began his reign scarcely 13 years after the death of that Poet. Sir Thomas, then, must, at least, have written in the obsolete phraseology of Chaucer, — and, probably, would have imitated him,— as did Lidgate, Occleve, and others; — nay, Harding, Skelton, &c. who were fifty or sixty years subsequent to Chaucer, were not so modern in their language as their celebrated prede- cessor. Having, in few words, prove'd (it is presume'd) this Sonnet to be spu- rious, an apology may be thought necessary for not saying a great deal more; —but this Herculean task is left, in deference, to the disputants on Vortigem ; who will, doubtless, engage in it, as a matter of great importance, and, once more, lay the world under very heavy obligations, with various Pamphlets in Folio, upon the subject :— and, surely, too many acknowledgments cannot be given to men who are so indefatigably generous in their researches, that half E 2 52 Sir Thomas having close'd his love-sick strain,, Come, buxom Muse ! and let us frisk again ! Close to a Chapel, near the Castle-gates, Dwelt certain stickers in the Devil's skirts ; Who, with prodigious fervour, shave their pates, And shew a most religious scorn for shirts. Their House's sole Endowment was our Knight's : — Thither an Abbot, and twelve Friars, retreating, Conquer'd (sage, pious men !) their appetites With that infallible specifick — eating. the result of them, when published, causes even the sympathetick reader to labour as much as the Writer ! How ungratefully did Pope say ! " There, dim in clouds, the poring Scholiasts mark, " Wits, who, like owls, see only in the dark; " A lumber-house of books in every head; " For ever reading, never to be re^d^—Thtnciad, 53 'Twould seem, since tenanted by holy Friars, That Peace and Harmony reign'd here eternally ;- Whoever told you so were cursed liars ; — The holy Friars quarrell'd most infernally. Not a day past Without some schism among these heavenly lodgers ; But none of their dissensions seem'd to last So long as Friar John's and Friar Roger's. I have been very accurate in my researches, And find this Convent (truce with whys and hows) Kept in a constant ferment with the rows Of these two quarrelsome fat sons of Churches. 64 But when Sir Thomas went to his devotions, Proceeding thro* their Cloister with his Bride, You never could have dream'd of their commotions. The stiff-rump'd rascals looked so sanctified : And it became the custom of the Knight To go to matins every day ; He joggM his Bride, as soon as it was light, Crying, <( my dear, 'tis time for us to pray." — This custom he established, very soon, After his honey-moon. Wives of this age might think his zeal surprising ; But much his pious lady did it please, To see her Husband, every morning, rising, And going, instantly, upon his knees. 55 Never, I ween, In any person's recollection, Was such a couple seen, For genuflection ! Making as great a drudgery of prayer As humble Curates are oblige'd to do, — Whose labour, wo the while 1 scarce buys them cassocks ; And, every morning, whether foul or fair, Sir Thomas and the Dame were in their pew, Craw-thumping, upon hassocks. It could not otherwise befall (Sir Thomas, and his Wife, this course persuing,) Put that the Lady, affable to all, 56 Should greet the Friars, on her way To matins, as she met them, every day, Good morninging, and how d'ye doing ; Now nodding to this Friar, now to that, As thro' the Cloister she was wont to trip ; Stopping, sometimes, to have a little chat, On casual topicks, with the holy brothers ;- So condescending was her Ladyship, To Roger, John, and all the others. All this was natural enough To any female of urbanity ; — But holy men are made of as frail stuff As all the lighter sons of Vanity ! — 57 ■ And these her Ladyship's chaste condescensions, In Friar John bred damnable desire ; Heterodox, unclean intentions ; — Abominable in a Friar ! Whene'er she greeted him, his gills grew red, While she was quite unconscious of the matter ; — But he, the beast ! was casting sheeps-eyes at her, Out of his bullock-head. That coxcombs were and are, I need not give, Nor take the trouble, now, to prove ; Nor that those dead, like many, now, who live, Have thought a Lady's condescension, love. 58 This happen'd with fat Friar John ; — Monastick Coxcomb ! amorous, and gummy ; Fiird with conceit up to his very brim ! — He thought his guts and garbage doated on, By a fair Dame, whose Husband was to him Hyperion to a mummy. Burning with flames the Lady never knew, Hotter and heavier than toasted cheese, He sent her a much warmer billet-doux Than Abelard e'er writ to Elo'ise. But whether Friar John's fat shape and face, Tho 5 pleading both together, 59 Were sorry advocates, in such a case ; — Or, whether He marr'd his hopes, by suffering his pen With too much fervour to display 'em ; — As very tender Nurses, now and then, Cuddle their Children, till they overlay 'em ;- 'Twas plain, his pray'r to decorate the brows Of good Sir Thomas was so far from granted, That the Dame went, directly, to her spouse, And told him what the filthy Friar wanted. Think, Reader, think! if thou hast ta'en, for life, A partner to thy bed, for worse or better, 60 Think what Sir Thomas felt, when his chaste wife Brandish'd, before his eyes, the Friar's letter ! He felt, Sir, — Zounds ! Yes, Zounds ! I say, Sir, — for it makes me swear — More torture than he suffer'd from the wounds 61 He got among the French, in France ; — Not that I take upon me to advance The knight was ever wounded there. Think gravely, Sir, I pray : — fancy the knight- (Tis quite a Picture) — with his heart's delight ! Fancy you see his virtuous Lady stand, Holding the Friar's foulness in her hand ! — How should Sir Thomas, Sir, behave ? Why bounce, and sputter, surely, like a squib :-*- You would have done the same, Sir, if a knave, A frouzy Friar, meddle'd with your Rib. His bosom almost burst with ire Against the Friar ? ;.i 62 Rage gave his face an apoplectick hue ; His cheeks turn'd purple, and his nose turnM blue ; He swore with this mock Saint he'd soon be even ; — He'd have him flay'd, like Saint Bartholomew ; — And, now again, he'd have him stone'd, like Stephen. But, " Ira furor brevis est" As Horace, quaintly, has expressM ;- Therefore the knight, finding his foam and froth Work thro' the bung-hole of his mouth, like beer, Puird out the vent-peg of his wrath, To let the stream of his revenge run clear : Debating, with himself, what mode might suit him, To trounce the rogue who wanted to cornute him. 63 First, an attack against his Foe he plann'd, LearnM in the Field, where late he fought so felly ; That is — to march up, bravely, sword in hand, And run the Friar thro* his holy belly. At last, his better judgment did declare — Seeing his honour would as little shine By sticking Friars, as by killing swine — To circumvent him, by a ruse de guerre : And, as the project ripen'd in his head, Thus to his virtuous Wife he said : — i Now sit thee down, my Lady bright ! And list thy Lord's desire ; An assignation thou shalt write, Beshrew me ! to the Friar. 64 Aread him, at the midnight hour, In silent sort to go, And bide thy coming, in the Bower- For there do Crabsticks grow. He shall not tarry long ; — for why ? When Twelve have striking done, Then, by the God of Gardens !* I Will cudgel him till One/' * If the Knight knew the aptness, in its full extent, of his oath, upon this occasion, we must give him more credit for his reading than we are willing to allow to military men of the age in which he flourish'd;— for, observe: he vows to cudgel a man lurking to rob his Lady of her Virtue, in a bower; — how appropriately, therefore, does he swear by the God of the Gardens ! who is represented with a kind of cudgel (falx Ugnea) in his right hand ; and is, moreover, furnish'd with another weapon of formidable dimensions, (Horace calls it Palus) for the express purpose of annoying Robbers. " lures dextra coercet, u Obscanoque ruber porrectus abinguine PALUS/' 65 The Lady wrote just what Sir Thomas told her ; For, it is no less strange than true, That Wives did, pnce, what Husbands bid them do ;- Lord ! how this World improves, as we grow older ! She name'd the midnight hour ; — Telling the Friar to repair To the sweet, secret Bower ; — But not a word of any crabstieks there. It must be confess'd that the last mention'd attribute of this Deity was stretch'd forth to promote pleasure in some iustances, instead of fear; — for it was a sportive custom, in the hilarity of recent marriages, to seat the Bride upon his Palus ; — but this circumstance by no means disproves its efficacy as a dread to Robbers; on the contrary, that implement must have been peculiarly terrifick, which could sustain the weight of so many Brides, without detriment to its firmness, or elasticity. 66 Thus have I seen a liquorish, black rat, Lure'd by the Cook, to sniff, and smell her bacon ; And, when he's eager for a bit of fat, Down goes a trap upon him, and he's taken. A tiny Page, — for, formerly, a boy Was a mere dunce who did not understand The doctrines of Sir Pandarus, of Troy, — Slipp'd the Dame's note into the Friar's hand, As he was walking in the cloister ; And, then, slipp'd off, — as silent as an oyster. The Friar read ; — the Friar chuckle'd : — For, now the Farce's unities were right : Videlicet — The Argument, a Cuckold ; The Scene, a Bow'r ; Time, Twelve o'clock, at night. 67 Blithe was fat John 1 — and, dreading no mishap, Stole, at the hour appointed, to the trap ; But, so perfume'd, so musk'd, for the occasion, — His tribute to the nose so like invasion, — You would have sworn, to smell him, 'twas no rat, But a dead, putrified, old civet-cat. He reach'd the spot, anticipating blisses, Soft murmurs, melting sighs, and burning kisses, Trances of joy, and mingling of the souls ; When, whack! Sir Thomas hit him on thejoles. Now, on his head it came, now on his face, His neck, and shoulders, arms, legs, breast, and back ; In short, on almost every place We read of in the Almanack. f 2 6* Blows rattle'd on him thick as hail ; Making him rue the day that he was born ; — » Sir Thomas plied his cudgel like a flail, And thrash'd as if he had been thrashing corn. At length, a thump, — (painful the facts, alas I Truth urges us Historians to relate !) — Took Friar John so smart athwart the pate, It acted like a perfect coup de grace. Whether it was a random shot, Or aim'd maliciously, — tho' Fame says not — Certain his soul (the Knight so crack'd his crown) Fled from his body ; but which way it went, Or whether Friars' souls fly up, or down, Remains a matter of nice argument. 69 Points so abstruse I dare not dwell upon ; Enough, for me, his body is not gone ; For I have business, still, in my narration, With the fat carcass of this holy porpus ; And Death, tho* sharp in his Administration, Never suspended such an Habeas Corpus. END OF PART I. THE KNIGHT AND THE FRIAR. PART THE SECOND. READER ! if you have Genius, you'll discover, Do what you will to keep it cool, It, now and then, in spite of you, boils over, Upon a fool. 71 Haven't you (lucky man if not) been vex'd, Worn, fretted, and perplex'd, By a pert, busy, would-be-clever knave, A forward, empty, self-sufficient slave ? And haven't you, all christian patience gone, At last, put down the puppy with your wit ; — On whom it seem'd, tho' you h?d Mines of it, Extravagance to spend a jest upon ? — And haven't you, (I'm sure you have, my friend !) When you have laid the puppy low, — All little pique, and malice, at an end, Been sorry for the blow ? And said, (if witty, so would say your Bard,) m Damn it ! I hit that meddling fool too hard ?" 72 Thus did the brave Sir Thomas say ; — Whose Genius didn't much disturb his pate : It rather, in his bones, and muscles, lay, — Like many other men's of good estate : Thus did Sir Thomas say ; — and well he might, When pity to resentment did succeed ; For, certainly, (tho' not with wit) the Knight Had hit the Friar very hard, indeed ! And heads, nineteen in twenty, 'tis confest, Can feel a crab-stick sooner than a jest. There was, in the Knight's family, a man Cast in the roughest mould Dame Nature boasts ; With shoulders wider than a dripping pan, And legs as thick, about the calves, as posts. 73 All the domesticks, viewing, in this hulk, So large a specimen of Nature's whims, With kitchen wit, allusive to his bulk, Had christenM him the Duke of Limbs. Thro'out the Castle, every whipper-snapper Was canvassing the merits of this strapper : Most of the Men voted his size alarming ; But all the Maids, nem. con. declared it charming ! This wight possessed a quality most rare ; — I tremble when I mention it, I swear ! Lest pretty Ladies question my veracity : 'Twas — when he had a secret in his care, To keep it, with the greatest pertinacity. 74 Pour but a secret in him, and 'twould glue him Like rosin, on a well-cork'd bottle's snout ; Had twenty devils come with cork-screws to him, Thev never could have screwed the secret out. Now, when Sir Thomas, in the dark, alone, Had kili'd a Friar, weighing twenty stone, Whose carcass must be hid, before the dawn, Judging he might as hopelessly desire To move a Convent as the Friar, He thought on this man's secresy, and brawn ;- And, like a swallow, o'er the lawn he skims, Up to the Cock-loft of the Duke of Limbs : 75 Where Somnus, son of Nox, the humble copy Of his own daughter Mors,* had made assault On the Duke's eye-lids, — not with juice of poppy, But potent draughts, distili'd from hops and malt. Certainly, nothing operates much quicker Against two persons' secret dialogues, Than one of them being asleep, in liquor, Snoring like twenty thousand hogs. * There is a terrible jumble in Somnus's family. He was the son of Nox, by Erebus;— and Erebus, according to different accounts, was not only Nox's husband, but her brother,— and even her son, by Chaos;— and Mors was daughter of Somuus, by that devil of a Goddess Nox, the mother of his father and himself! — The heathen Deities held our canonical notions in utter con- tempt; and must have laugh'd at the idea (which, surely, nobody does now,) of forbidding a man to marry his Grandmother. I Yet circumstance did, pressingly, require The Knight to tell his tale ; And to instruct his Man, knock'd down with ale, That he (Sir Thomas) had knocked down a Friar. How wake a man, in such a case ? Sir, the best method — I have tried a score- Is, when his nose is playing thoro' bass, To pull it, till you make him roar. A Sleeper's nose is made on the same plan As the small wire 'twixt a Doll's wooden thighs ; For pull the nose, or wire, the Doll, or Man, Will open, in a minute, both their eyes, 77 This mode Sir Thomas took, — and, in a trice, Grasp'd, with his thumb and finger, like a vice, That feature which the human face embosses, And pull'd the Duke of Limbs by the proboscis. The Man awoke, and goggle'd on his master ; — He saw his Master goggling upon him ; — Fresh from concluding, on a Friar's nob, What Coroners would call an awkward job, He glare'd, all horror-struck and grim, — Paler than Paris-plaister ! His hair stuck up, like bristles on a pig ; — So Garrick looked, when he perform'd Macbeth ; Who, ere he enter'd, after Duncan's death, Rumple'd his wig. 78 The Knight cried, " Follow me !" with strange grimaces ; The Man arose, And began u sacrificing to the Graces,"* By putting on his clothes ; But he reversed, in making himself smart, A Scotchman's toilet, altogether : And merely clapp'd a cover on that part The Highlanders expose to wind and weather. * Vide Lord Chesterfield's Letters.— This noble Author, by the by, has set his dignified face against risibility. It would be well for us poor devils, who call ourselves Comick Writers, if our efforts were always as successful in raising a Laugh as his Lordship** censure upon it. 79 ,They reacted the bower where the Friar lay ; When, to his Man, The Knight began, In doleful accents, thus to say : P Here a fat Friar lies, killed with a mauling, r For coming, in the dark, a-caterwauling ; " Whom I (O cursed spite !) did lay so !" Thus, solemnly, Sir Thomas spake, and sigh'd ; — To whom the Duke of Limbs replied — u Odrabbit it ! Sir Thomas ! you don't say so !" Then, taking the huge Friar per the hocks, He whirl'd the ton of blubber three times round, And swung it on his shoulders, from the ground, 80 With strength that yields, in any age, to no man's,- Tho* Milo's ghost should rise, bearing the Ox He carried at the games of the old Romans. Nay, I opine — let Fame say what it can — Of ancient vigour, (Fame is, oft, a Liar) That Milo was a pigmy to this Man, And his fat Ox quite skinny to the Friar. Besides, — I hold it in much doubt If Roman graziers (should the truth come out) Were, like the English, knowing in the matter ; — — I wouldn't breed my beast more Romano ; — for, I suspect, in fatt'ning they were dull, And when they made an ox out of a bull, They fed him ill, — and, then, he got no fatter Than a fat opera Soprano.* iOver the moat, (the draw-bridge being down) Gallantly stalk'd the brawny Duke of Limbs, Bearing Johannes, of the shaven crown, Fame'd, when alive, for spoiling maids, and hymns ; For mangling Pater-Nosters, and goose-pies, And telling sundry beads, — and sundry lies. * I am aware that much hag been said, of old, relative to the • cura u bourn," and the " optuma torv