Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 135

2 A wight there was, who single and alone Had crept from vigorous youth to waning age, Nor e'er was worth, nor e'er was beauty known His heart to captive, or his thought engage: Some feeble joyaunce, though his conscious mind Might female worth or beauty give to wear, Yet to the n.o.bler s.e.x he held confined The genuine graces of the soul sincere, And well could show with saw or proverb quaint All semblance woman's soul, and all her beauty paint.

3 In plain attire this wight apparelled was, (For much he conned of frugal lore and knew,) Nor, till some day of larger note might cause, From iron-bound chest his better garb he drew: But when the Sabbath-day might challenge more, Or feast, or birthday, should it chance to be, A glossy suit devoid of stain he wore, And gold his b.u.t.tons glanced so fair to see, Gold clasped his shoon, by maiden brushed so sheen, And his rough beard he shaved, and donned his linen clean.

4 But in his common garb a coat he wore, A faithful coat that long its lord had known, That once was black, but now was black no more, Attinged by various colours not its own.

All from his nostrils was the front embrowned, And down the back ran many a greasy line, While, here and there, his social moments owned The generous signet of the purple wine.

Brown o'er the bent of eld his wig appeared, Like fox's trailing tail by hunters sore affeared.

5 One only maid he had, like turtle true, But not like turtle gentle, soft, and kind; For many a time her tongue bewrayed the shrew, And in meet words unpacked her peevish mind.

Ne formed was she to raise the soft desire That stirs the tingling blood in youthful vein, Ne formed was she to light the tender fire, By many a bard is sung in many a strain: Hooked was her nose, and countless wrinkles told What no man durst to her, I ween, that she was old.

6 When the clock told the wonted hour was come When from his nightly cups the wight withdrew, Eight patient would she watch his wending home, His feet she heard, and soon the bolt she drew.

If long his time was past, and leaden sleep O'er her tired eyelids 'gan his reign to stretch, Oft would she curse that men such hours should keep, And many a saw 'gainst drunkenness would preach; Haply if potent gin had armed her tongue, All on the reeling wight a thundering peal she rung.

7 For though, the blooming queen of Cyprus' isle O'er her cold bosom long had ceased to reign, On that cold bosom still could Bacchus smile, Such beverage to own if Bacchus deign: For wine she prized not much, for stronger drink Its medicine, oft a cholic-pain will call, And for the medicine's sake, might envy think, Oft would a cholic-pain her bowels enthral; Yet much the proffer did she loathe, and say No dram might maiden taste, and often answered nay.

8 So as in single animals he joyed, One cat, and eke one dog, his bounty fed; The first the cate-devouring mice destroyed, Thieves heard the last, and from his threshold fled: All in the sunbeams basked the lazy cat, Her mottled length in couchant posture laid; On one accustomed chair while Pompey sat, And loud he barked should Puss his right invade.

The human pair oft marked them as they lay, And haply sometimes thought like cat and dog were they.

9 A room he had that faced the southern ray, Where oft he walked to set his thoughts in tune, Pensive he paced its length an hour or tway, All to the music of his creeking shoon.

And at the end a darkling closet stood, Where books he kept of old research and new, In seemly order ranged on shelves of wood, And rusty nails and phials not a few: Thilk place a wooden box beseemeth well, And papers squared and trimmed for use unmeet to tell.

10 For still in form he placed his chief delight, Nor lightly broke his old accustomed rule, And much uncourteous would he hold the wight That e'er displaced a table, chair, or stool; And oft in meet array their ranks he placed, And oft with careful eye their ranks reviewed; For novel forms, though much those forms had graced, Himself and maiden-minister eschewed: One path he trod, nor ever would decline A hair's unmeasured breadth from off the even line.

11 A Club select there was, where various talk On various chapters pa.s.sed the lingering hour, And thither oft he bent his evening walk, And warmed to mirth by wine's enlivening power.

And oft on politics the preachments ran, If a pipe lent its thought-begetting fume: And oft important matters would they scan, And deep in council fix a nation's doom: And oft they chuckled loud at jest or jeer, Or bawdy tale the most, thilk much they loved to hear.

12 For men like him they were of like consort, Thilk much the honest muse must needs condemn, Who made of women's wiles their wanton sport, And blessed their stars that kept the curse from them!

No honest love they knew, no melting smile That shoots the transports to the throbbing heart!

Thilk knew they not but in a harlot's guile Lascivious smiling through the mask of art: And so of women deemed they as they knew, And from a Demon's traits an Angel's picture drew.

13 But most abhorred they hymeneal rites, And boasted oft the freedom of their fate: Nor 'vailed, as they opined, its best delights Those ills to balance that on wedlock wait; And often would they tell of henpecked fool Snubbed by the hard behest of sour-eyed dame.

And vowed no tongue-armed woman's freakish rule Their mirth should quail, or damp their generous flame: Then pledged their hands, and tossed their b.u.mpers o'er, And Io! Bacchus! sung, and owned no other power.

14 If e'er a doubt of softer kind arose Within some breast of less obdurate frame, Lo! where its hideous form a phantom shows Full in his view, and Cuckold is its name.

Him Scorn attended with a glance askew, And Scorpion Shame for delicts not his own, Her painted bubbles while Suspicion blew, And vexed the region round the Cupid's throne: 'Far be from us,' they cried, 'the treacherous bane, Far be the dimply guile, and far the flowery chain!'

CARELESS CONTENT.

1 I am content, I do not care, Wag as it will the world for me; When fuss and fret was all my fare, It got no ground as I could see: So when away my caring went, I counted cost, and was content.

2 With more of thanks and less of thought, I strive to make my matters meet; To seek what ancient sages sought, Physic and food in sour and sweet: To take what pa.s.ses in good part, And keep the hiccups from the heart.

3 With good and gentle-humoured hearts, I choose to chat where'er I come, Whate'er the subject be that starts; But if I get among the glum, I hold my tongue to tell the truth, And keep my breath to cool my broth.

4 For chance or change of peace or pain, For Fortune's favour or her frown, For lack or glut, for loss or gain, I never dodge, nor up nor down: But swing what way the ship shall swim, Or tack about with equal trim.

5 I suit not where I shall not speed, Nor trace the turn of every tide; If simple sense will not succeed, I make no bustling, but abide: For shining wealth, or scaring woe, I force no friend, I fear no foe.

6 Of ups and downs, of ins and outs, Of they're i' the wrong, and we're i' the right, I shun the rancours and the routs; And wishing well to every wight, Whatever turn the matter takes, I deem it all but ducks and drakes.

7 With whom I feast I do not fawn, Nor if the folks should flout me, faint; If wonted welcome be withdrawn, I cook no kind of a complaint: With none disposed to disagree, But like them best who best like me.

8 Not that I rate myself the rule How all my betters should behave But fame shall find me no man's fool, Nor to a set of men a slave: I love a friendship free and frank, And hate to hang upon a hank.

9 Fond of a true and trusty tie, I never loose where'er I link; Though if a business budges by, I talk thereon just as I think; My word, my work, my heart, my hand, Still on a side together stand.

10 If names or notions make a noise, Whatever hap the question hath, The point impartially I poise, And read or write, but without wrath; For should I burn, or break my brains, Pray, who will pay me for my pains?

11 I love my neighbour as myself, Myself like him too, by his leave; Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf, Came I to crouch, as I conceive: Dame Nature doubtless has designed A man the monarch of his mind.

12 Now taste and try this temper, sirs, Mood it and brood it in your breast; Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs, That man does right to mar his rest, Let me be deft, and debonair, I am content, I do not care.

A PASTORAL.

1 My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent, When Phoebe went with me wherever I went; Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my breast: Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest!

But now she is gone, and has left me behind, What a marvellous change on a sudden I find!

When things were as fine as could possibly be, I thought 'twas the Spring; but alas! it was she.

2 With such a companion to tend a few sheep, To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep: I was so good-humoured, so cheerful and gay, My heart was as light as a feather all day; But now I so cross and so peevish am grown, So strangely uneasy, as never was known.

My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drowned, And my heart--I am sure it weighs more than a pound.

3 The fountain that wont to run sweetly along, And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among; Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there, 'Twas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to hear: But now she is absent, I walk by its side, And still, as it murmurs, do nothing but chide; Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain?

Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain.

4 My lambkins around me would oftentimes play, And Phoebe and I were as joyful as they; How pleasant their sporting, how happy their time, When Spring, Love, and Beauty, were all in their prime!

But now, in their frolics when by me they pa.s.s, I fling at their fleeces a handful of gra.s.s: Be still, then, I cry, for it makes me quite mad, To see you so merry while I am so sad.

5 My dog I was ever well pleased to see Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me; And Phoebe was pleased too, and to my dog said, 'Come hither, poor fellow;' and patted his head.

But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look Cry 'Sirrah;' and give him a blow with my crook: And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe's away?

6 When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I seen, How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green!

What a lovely appearance the trees and the shade, The corn-fields and hedges, and everything made!

But now she has left me, though all are still there, They none of them now so delightful appear: 'Twas nought but the magic, I find, of her eyes, Made so many beautiful prospects arise.

7 Sweet music went with us both all the wood through, The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too; Winds over us whispered, flocks by us did bleat, And chirp went the gra.s.shopper under our feet.

But now she is absent, though still they sing on, The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone: Her voice in the concert, as now I have found, Gave everything else its agreeable sound.

8 Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?

And where is the violet's beautiful blue?

Does ought of its sweetness the blossom beguile?

That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?

Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you dressed, And made yourselves fine for--a place in her breast: You put on your colours to pleasure her eye, To be plucked by her hand, on her bosom to die.

9 How slowly Time creeps till my Phoebe return!

While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn: Methinks, if I knew whereabouts he would tread, I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down the lead.

Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear, And rest so much longer for't when she is here.