The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 34

Showing his pages round, poor trembling things, How dangerous to resist the will of kings.

THE TENDER HUSBAND.

PETER PINDAR

Lo, to the cruel hand of fate, My poor dear Grizzle, meek-souled mate, Resigns her tuneful breath-- Though dropped her jaw, her lip though pale, And blue each harmless finger-nail, She's beautiful in death.

As o'er her lovely limbs I weep, I scarce can think her but asleep-- How wonderfully tame!

And yet her voice is really gone, And dim those eyes that lately shone With all the lightning's flame.

Death was, indeed, a daring wight, To take it in his head to smite-- To lift his dart to hit her; For as she was so great a woman, And cared a single fig for no man, I thought he feared to meet her.

Still is that voice of late so strong, That many a sweet capriccio sung, And beat in sounds the spheres; No longer must those fingers play "Britons strike home," that many a day Hath soothed my ravished ears,

Ah me! indeed I 'm much inclined To think how I may speak my mind, Nor hurt her dear repose; Nor think I now with rage she'd roar, Were I to put my fingers o'er, And touch her precious nose.

Here let me philosophic pause- How wonderful are nature's laws, When ladies' breath retires, Its fate the flaming pa.s.sions share, Supported by a little air, Like culinary fires,

Whene'er I hear the bagpipe's note, Shall fancy fix on Grizzle's throat, And loud instructive lungs; O Death, in her, though only one, Are lost a thousand charms unknown, At least a thousand tongues.

Soon as I heard her last sweet sigh, And saw her gently-closing eye, How great was my surprise!

Yet have I not, with impious breath, Accused the hard decrees of death, Nor blamed the righteous skies.

Why do I groan in deep despair, Since she'll be soon an angel fair?

Ah! why my bosom smite?

Could grief my Grizzle's life restore!-- But let me give such ravings o'er-- Whatever is, is right.

O doctor! you are come too late; No more of physic's virtues prate, That could not save my lamb: Not one more bolus shall be given-- You shall not ope her mouth by heaven, And Grizzle's gullet cram.

Enough of boluses, poor heart, And pills, she took, to load a cart, Before she closed her eyes: But now my word is here a law, Zounds! with a bolus in her jaw, She shall not seek the skies.

Good sir, good doctor, go away; To hear my sighs you must not stay, For this my poor lost treasure: I thank you for your pains and skill; When next you come, pray bring your bill I'll pay it; sir, with pleasure.

Ye friends who come to mourn her doom.

For G.o.d's sake gently tread the room, Nor call her from the blessed-- In softest silence drop the tear, In whispers breathe the fervent prayer, To bid her spirit rest.

Repress the sad, the wounding scream; I can not bear a grief extreme-- Enough one little sigh-- Besides, the loud alarm of grief, In many a mind may start belief, Our noise is all a lie.

Good nurses, shroud my lamb with care; Her limbs, with gentlest fingers, spare, Her mouth, ah! slowly close; Her mouth a magic tongue that held-- Whose softest tone, at times, compelled To peace my loudest woes.

And, carpenter, for my sad sake, Of stoutest oak her coffin make-- I'd not be stingy, sure-- Procure of steel the strongest screws, For who could paltry pence refuse To lodge his wife secure?

Ye people who the corpse convey, With caution tread the doleful way, Nor shake her precious head; Since Fame reports a coffin tossed, With careless swing against a post, Did once, disturb the dead.

Farewell, my love, forever lost!

Ne'er troubled be thy gentle ghost, That I again will woo-- By all our past delights, my dear, No more the marriage chain I'll wear, Deil take me if I do!

THE SOLDIER AND THE VIRGIN MARY.

PETER PINDAR.

A Soldier at Loretto's wondrous chapel, To parry from his soul the wrath Divine, That followed mother Eve's unlucky apple, Did visit oft the Virgin Mary's shrine; Who every day is gorgeously decked out, In silks or velvets, jewels, great and small, Just like a fine young lady for a rout, A concert, opera, wedding, or a ball.

At first the Soldier at a distance kept, Begging her vote and interest in heaven-- With seeming bitterness the sinner wept, Wrung his two hands, and hoped to be forgiven: Dinned her two ears with Ave-Mary flummery!

Declared what miracles the dame could do, Even with her garter, stocking, or her shoe, And such like wonder-working mummery.

What answer Mary gave the wheedling sinner, Who nearly and more nearly moved to win her, The mouth of history doth not mention, And therefore I can't tell but by invention,

One day, as he was making love and praying, And pious Aves, thick as herring, saying, And sins so manifold confessing; He drew, as if to whisper, very near, And twitched a pretty diamond from her ear, Instead of taking the good lady's blessing.

Then off he set, with nimble shanks, Nor once turned back to give her thanks: A hue and cry the thief pursued, Who, to his cost, soon understood That he was not beyond the claw Of that same long-armed giant, christened Law.

With horror did his judges quake-- As for the tender-conscienced jury, They doomed him quickly to the stake, Such was their devilish pious fury.

However, after calling him hard names, They asked if aught he had in vindication, To save his wretched body from the flames, And sinful soul from terrible d.a.m.nation.

The Soldier answered them with much sang froid, Which showed, of sin, a conscience void, That if they meant to kill him they might kill: As for the diamond which they found about him, He hoped they would by no means doubt him, That madam gave it him from pure good-will.

The answer turned both judge and jury pale; The punishment was for a time deferred, Until his Holiness should hear the tale, And his infallibility be heard.

The Pope, to all his counselors, made known This strange affair--to cardinals and friars, Good pious gentlemen, who ne'er were known To act like hypocrites, and thieves, and liars.

The question now was banded to and fro, If Mary had the power to GIVE, or NO.

That Mary COULD NOT give it, was to say The wonder-working lady wanted power-- This was the stumbling-block that stopped the way-- This made Pope, cardinals, and friars lower.

To save the Virgin's credit, And keep secure the diamonds that were left; They said, she MIGHT, indeed, the gem bestow, And consequently it might be no theft: But then they pa.s.sed immediately an act, That every one discovered in the fact Of taking presents from the Virgin's hand, Or from the saints of any land, Should know no mercy, but be led to slaughter, Flayed here, and fried eternally hereafter.

Ladies, I deem the moral much too clear To need poetical a.s.sistance; Which bids you not let men approach too near, But keep the saucy fellows at a distance; Since men you find, so bold, are apt to seize Jewels from ladies, even upon their knees!

A KING OF FRANCE AND THE FAIR LADY PETER PINDAR

A king of France upon a day, With a fair lady of his court, Was pleased at battledore to play A very fashionable sport,

Into the bosom of this fair court dame, Whose whiteness did the snow's pure whiteness shame, King Louis by odd mischance did knock The shuttlec.o.c.k, Thrice happy rogue, upon the town of doves, To nestle with the pretty little loves!

"Now, sire, pray take it out"--quoth she, With an arch smile,--But what did he?

What? what to charming modesty belongs!

Obedient to her soft command, He raised it--but not with his hand!

No, marveling reader, but the chimney tongs,

What a chaste thought in this good king!

How clever!

When shall we hear agen of such a thing?

Lord! never, Nor were our princes to be prayed To such an act by some fair maid, I'll bet my life not one would mind it: But handy, without more ado, The youths would search the bosom through, Although it took a day to find it!

THE EGGS.