The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 11

I pray, sir knight, be not so warm With a young silly maid-a: I vow and swear I thought no harm, 'Twas a gentle jest I playd-a.

A gentle jest, in soothe he cry'd, To tumble me in and leave me!

What if I had in the river dy'd?-- That fetch will not deceive me.

Once more I'll pardon thee this day, Tho' injur'd out of measure; But thou prepare without delay To yield thee to my pleasure.

Well then, if I must grant your suit, Yet think of your boots and spurs, sir Let me pull off both spur and boot, Or else you cannot stir, sir.

He set him down upon the gra.s.s, And begg'd her kind a.s.sistance: Now, smiling, thought this lovely la.s.s, I'll make you keep your distance.

Then pulling off his boots half-way; Sir knight, now I'm your betters: You shall not make of me your prey; Sit there like a knave in fetters.

The knight, when she had served him soe, He fretted, fum'd, and grumbled: For he could neither stand nor goe, But like a cripple tumbled.

Farewell, sir knight, the clock strikes ten, Yet do not move nor stir, sir: I'll send you my father's serving men, To pull off your boots and spurs, sir.

This merry jest you must excuse, You are but a stingless nettle: You'd never have stood for boots or shoes, Had you been a man of mettle.

All night in grievous rage he lay, Roiling upon the plain-a; Next morning a shepherd past that way, Who set him right again-a.

Then mounting upon his steed so tall, By hill and dale he swore-a: I'll ride at once to her father's hall; She shall escape no more-a.

I'll take her father by the beard, I'll challenge all her kindred; Each dastard soul shall stand affeard; My wrath shall no more be hindred.

He rode unto her father's house, Which every side was moated: The lady heard his furious vows, And all his vengeance noted.

Thought shee, sir knight, to quench your rage, Once more I will endeavour: This water shall your fury 'swage, Or else it shall burn for ever.

Then faining penitence and feare, She did invite a parley: Sir knight, if you'll forgive me heare, Henceforth I'll love you dearly.

My father he is now from home, And I am all alone, sir: Therefore across the water come, And I am all your own, sir.

False maid, thou canst no more deceive; I scorn the treacherous bait-a; If thou would'st have me thee believe, Now open me the gate-a.

The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr'd, My father he has the keys, sir; But I have for my love prepar'd A shorter way, and easier.

Over the moate I've laid a plank Full seventeen feet in measure, Then step across to the other bank, And there we'll take our pleasure.

These words she had no sooner spoke, But straight he came tripping over: The plank was saw'd, it snapping broke, And sous'd the unhappy lover.

TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD.

A TALE.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

Once on a time, in sunshine weather, Falsehood and Truth walk'd out together, The neighboring woods and lawns to view, As opposites will sometimes do.

Through many a blooming mead they pa.s.sed, And at a brook arriv'd at last.

The purling stream, the margin green, With flowers bedeck'd, a vernal scene, Invited each itinerant maid, To rest a while beneath the shade.

Under a spreading beach they sat, And pa.s.s'd the time with female chat; Whilst each her character maintain'd; One spoke her thoughts, the other feign'd.

At length, quoth Falsehood, sister Truth (For so she call'd her from her youth), What if, to shun yon sultry beam, We bathe in this delightful stream; The bottom smooth, the water clear, And there's no prying shepherd near?

With all my heart, the nymph replied, And threw her snowy robes aside, Stript herself naked to the skin, And with a spring leapt headlong in.

Falsehood more leisurely undrest, And, laying by her tawdry vest, Trick'd herself out in Truth's array, And 'cross the meadows tript away.

From this curst hour, the fraudful dame Of sacred Truth usurps the name, And, with a vile, perfidious mind, Roams far and near, to cheat mankind; False sighs suborns, and artful tears, And starts with vain pretended fears; In visits, still appears most wise, And rolls at church her saint-like eyes; Talks very much, plays idle tricks, While rising stock [Footnote: South Sea, 1720.] her conscience p.r.i.c.ks; When being, poor thing, extremely gravel'd, The secrets op'd, and all unravel'd.

But on she will, and secrets tell Of John and Joan, and Ned and Nell, Reviling every one she knows, As fancy leads, beneath the rose.

Her tongue, so voluble and kind, It always runs before her mind; As times do serve, she slyly pleads, And copious tears still show her needs.

With promises as thick as weeds-- Speaks pro and con., is wondrous civil, To-day a saint, to-morrow devil.

Poor Truth she stript, as has been said, And naked left the lovely maid, Who, scorning from her cause to wince, Has gone stark-naked ever since; And ever naked will appear, Belov'd by all who Truth revere.

FLATTERY.

A FABLE.

SIR CHARLES HANBURY WILLIAMS.

f.a.n.n.y, beware of flattery, Your s.e.x's much-lov'd enemy; For other foes we are prepar'd, And Nature puts us on our guard: In that alone such charms are found, We court the dart, we nurse the hand; And this, my child, an Aesop's Fable Will prove much better than I'm able.

A young vain female Crow, Had perch'd upon a pine tree's bough, And sitting there at ease, Was going to indulge her taste, In a most delicious feast, Consisting of a slice of cheese.

A sharp-set Fox (a wily creature) Pa.s.s'd by that way In search of prey; When to his nose the smell of cheese, Came in a gentle western breeze; No Welchman knew, or lov'd it better: He bless'd th' auspicious wind, And strait look'd round to find, What might his hungry stomach fill, And quickly spied the Crow, Upon a lofty bough, Holding the tempting prize within her bill.

But she was perch'd too high, And Reynard could not fly: She chose the tallest tree in all the wood, What then could bring her down?

Or make the prize his own?

Nothing but flatt'ry could.

He soon the silence broke, And thus ingenious hunger spoke: "Oh, lovely bird, Whose glossy plumage oft has stirr'd The envy of the grove; Thy form was Nature's pleasing care, So bright a bloom, so soft an air, All that behold must love.

But, if to suit a form like thine, Thy voice be as divine; If both in these together meet, The feather'd race must own Of all their tribe there's none, Of form so fair, of voice so sweet.

Who'll then regard the linnet's note, Or heed the lark's melodious throat?

What pensive lovers then shall dwell With raptures on their Philomel?

The goldfinch shall his plumage hide, The swan abate her stately pride, And Juno's bird no more display His various glories to the sunny day: Then grant thy Suppliant's prayer, And bless my longing ear With notes that I would die to hear!"

Flattery prevail'd, the Crow believ'd The tale, and was with joy deceiv'd; In haste to show her want of skill, She open'd wide her bill: She scream'd as if the de'el was in her Her vanity became so strong That, wrapt in her own frightful song, She quite forgot, and dropt her dinner, The morsel fell quick by the place Where Reynard lay, Who seized the prey And eat it without saying grace.

He sneezimg cried "The day's my own, My ends obtain'd The prize is gain'd, And now I'll change my note.

Vain, foolish, cheated Glow, Lend your attention now, A truth or two I'll tell you!

For, since I've fill'd my belly, Of course my flattry's done: Think you I took such pains, And spoke so well only to hear you croak?

No, 'twas the luscious bait, And a keen appet.i.te to eat, That first inspir'd, and carried on the cheat 'Twas hunger furnish'd hands and matter, Flatterers must live by those they flatter; But weep not, Crow, a tongue like mine Might turn an abler head than thine; And though reflection may displease, If wisely you apply your thought, To learn the lesson I have taught, Experience, sure, is cheaply bought, And richly worth a slice of cheese."

THE PIG AND MAGPIE.

PETER PINDAR.

c.o.c.king his tail, a saucy prig, A Magpie hopped upon a Pig, To pull some hair, forsooth, to line his nest; And with such ease began the hair attack, As thinking the fee simple of the back Was by himself, and not the Pig, possessed.

The Boar looked up as thunder black to Mag, Who, squinting down on him like an arch wag, Informed Mynheer some bristles must be torn.

Then briskly went to work, not nicely culling: Got a good handsome beakful by good pulling, And flew, without a "Thank ye" to his thorn.

The Pig set up a dismal yelling: Followed the robber to his dwelling, Who like a fool had built it 'midst a bramble.

In manfully he sallied, full of might, Determined to obtain his right, And 'midst the bushes now began to scramble.

He drove the Magpie, tore his nest to rags, And, happy on the downfall, poured his brags: But ere he from the brambles came, alack!

His ears and eyes were miserably torn, His bleeding hide in such a plight forlorn, He could not count ten hairs upon his back.