The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 54

I should then be a widow, dejected and sad And where would I find such another sweet lad!

And Doctor Sangrado a letter has wrote, And how, in three weeks he will want a new coat."-- Snip's heart, at her answer, seem'd ready to break: "Snipinda," said he, "I would live for your sake!

If I should be drownded, indeed, it is true, It would be a bad journey for Sam and for you!"-- For fear they should hear him, Sam whisper'd, "In troth I would give my new hat that the devil had both."

"If Snip should be drown'd," said the valiant O'Keef, "Poor woman! already I guess at her grief-- However, for aught that a stranger can see, There are dozens as brisk at the needle as he, And, tho' it were hard that the sea-fish should tear him, I'm fully convinc'd that his brethren can spare him: "But were I to mention the very best way, And the quickest to boot (for they go in a day) I would sleep over night at the sign of the Queen,[I]

(Where the wine is so good, and the beds are so clean) Then starting by day-break, and riding in state, Arriving in Bristol--we breakfast at eight, Then push on our way, with a rapid career, With nothing to hinder, and nothing to fear, Till Trenton, and Princeton, and Brunswick are pa.s.s'd, And safe on the Hudson they drop us at last."

When the captain had finish'd, the Frenchman arose, And smoothing his whiskers, and squaring his toes, With a bend of his back, and a swing of his head Thus expressing his wish, with a flourish, he said: "Wherever pomatums are most in demand That route has my vote, be it water or land: Wherever I travel, through sun-shine or glooms, May fortune direct me to powders and plumes!-- So, gentlemen, choose, I beseech you, that road Where ladies prefer to be dress'd in the mode."

"Hold, varlet, be still"--said the Yankee attorney, "Are you to decide on the route of our journey?

These run-about fellows, I cannot but hate 'em, With their rings, and their ruffles, and rolls of pomatum: But, gentlemen, (if I may venture to speak In the stile I was wont when I dabbled in Greek, When I blew on my trumpet, and call'd up my pack, Who thought I was holy because I was black; Or, if you allow me a moral to draw From some words that were frequent with Doctor Magraw);-- "We all have in view to arrive at one town, "Yet each one would find out a way of his own; "What a pity it is that we cannot agree "To march all together to Zion"--said he-- But, since I'm convinc'd that it cannot be so, (For his journey resembles our journey below) Like the sects in religion, I heartily pray That each, as he pleases, may have his own way, Let Snip, and the captain, adventure by land, The sailor by sea--he can reef, steer, and hand; Let the Frenchman set out in a gaudy balloon, (He'll either be there, or be dead, very soon,) For my own part, I'm fond of the Burlington boat, But still, if you're willing, I'll put it to vote: The hint was sufficient--he put it to vote, And fate bade us go with the Burlington boat.

[H] Commanders of Philadelphia and New-York packets.--_Ib._

[I] Indian Queen.--_Freneau's note, 1788 edition._

IX. _The Pa.s.sage to_ BURLINGTON

The morning was fair, and the wind was at west, The flood coming in, and the ladies were drest; At the sign of the Billet we all were to meet, And Snip was the first that appear'd in the street; He strutted along with a mighty brisk air, While Sam and Snipinda walked slow in the rear.

Dress'd, booted, and b.u.t.ton'd, and "cutting a shine"

The captain came next, with his loaded carbine; Then handed on board the milliner's maid: The barber and ballad-man longer delay'd For one had his ballads to sing and to play, And the other some beards to take off by the way: At last they arriv'd, and the sailor along, (But he was besotted--his dram had been strong--) The lawyer, Ezekiel, was last to appear, With a cane in his hand and a quill at his ear.

But, just as we all were prepar'd to embark, The wind came a-head, and the weather look'd dark: So, whilst they were busy in hoisting the sails And tr.i.m.m.i.n.g close aft' to encounter the gales, Our seaman advis'd them to take in a reef As the vessel was light--but the skipper was deaf: "His boat was his own"--and he knew to a hair The "worth of her freight," and the "sail she could bear."

Then a storm coming on, we stow'd away snug, Some link'd with a lady, and some with a jug: Snipinda and Sam were inclining to sleep, And the lawyer harangu'd on the risques of the deep.

O'Bl.u.s.ter was busy in looking for squalls, And Cynthia discours'd upon dances and b.a.l.l.s, And while the poor ballad-man gave us a song The Frenchman complain'd that his stomach felt wrong.

Arriving, at length at the end of this stage, We quitted our cabbin (or rather our cage) To the sign of the Anchor we then were directed, Where captain O'Keef a fine turkey dissected; And Bryan O'Bl.u.s.ter made love to egg-nog, And pester'd the ladies to taste of his grog: Without it (said Bryan) I never can dine, 'Tis better, by far, than your balderdash wine, It braces the nerves and it strengthens the brain, A world--and no grog--is a prison of pain, And Man, the most wretched of all that are found To creep in the dust, or to move on the ground!

It is, of all physic, the best I have seen To keep out the cold, and to cut up the spleen-- Here, madam--miss Cynthia--'tis good--you'll confess-- Now taste--and you'll wish you had been in my mess-- With grog I'm as great as a king on his throne; The worst of all countries is--where there is none, New Holland, New Zealand--those islands accurs'd-- Here's health to the man that invented it first.

X. VEXATIONS _and_ DISASTERS

Coop'd up in a waggon, the curtains let down, At three in the morning we drove out of town: A morning more dark I ne'er saw in my life, And the fog you might almost have cut with a knife, It was a fit season for murders and rapes, For drunken adventures and narrow escapes:-- So, with something to think of, but little to say, The driver drove on, looking out for the way, 'Till we came to the brow of a horrible hill, Six miles on our road, when the cattle stood still-- "Are you sure you have took the right road?"--queried Snip; "I am"--said the driver--and crack'd with his whip.

Then away ran the horses, but took the wrong road, And away went the waggon, with all its full load; Down, deep in a valley, roll'd over and over, Fell the flying-machine, with its curtains and cover, Where shatter'd and shiver'd--no glimpse yet of day, A ma.s.s of destruction, together we lay!

Then howlings were heard, that would frighten a stone, And screeching, and screaming, and many a groan, The bruising of heads, and the breaking of shins, Contrition of heart, and confession of sins.

First rose from his ruins tall captain O'Keef, And call'd to Ezekiel, and begg'd for his brief:[J]

A writ he demanded, as soon as 'twas day, And ask'd his advice, if a suit would not lay?

Then felt for his sword, but chanc'd on a cane, And rush'd at the stageman, to cleave him in twain.

As fortune would have it, the stageman had fled, And Snip the whole vengeance receiv'd on his head; The staff had been whirl'd with so deadly a sweep Poor Will in a moment was all in a heap: There was room to surmise that his senses were hurt, For, in spite of our bruises, he made us some sport: His head, he conceited, was made of new cheese; And ask'd, if the s.e.xton would give up his fees?-- Then, rolling away on the side of the hill, With his head in a horse-pond, he lay very still: At last he bawl'd out--"I'm sick at my heart!

Come hither, companions, and see me depart!

Snipinda, Snipinda!--alas, I must leave her-- And all, for the sake of this villainous weaver, Who never would give me a moment of rest 'Till I left my dear shop-board, and thus am distrest!

But a time will arrive (if I deem not amiss) When Slender, the weaver, will suffer for this-- May his breeches, be always too big for his wear, Or so narrow and scant as to torture his rear; May his waistcoat be ever too long or too short, And the skirts of his tunic not both of a sort;-- And, when from this sorrowful jaunt you return, Tell Doctor Sangrado 'tis needless to mourn: Ah! tell him I firmly believ'd I was going Where people no longer are wed-ding and wooing, Where white linen stockings will ever be clean, And sky-men are clad in the best of nankeen; Where with old Continental our debts we can pay, And a suit of best broad-cloth will last but a day; Where with pretty bra.s.s thimbles the streets are all pav'd, And a remnant--if not a whole piece--shall be sav'd, Where cloth may be cabbag'd--and that without fear-- And journeymen work--thirteen months to the year!"

Snipinda was mov'd at so dismal a yell, And groping about to find where he fell, Exclaim'd, "I have got a sad bruise on one hip, But matters, I fear, are much worse with poor Snip."

"Yes, yes"--answer'd Snip--"I'm preparing to go-- Be speedy, Snipinda, my pulse is so low!"

Then she went where he lay, and took hold of his head, And whisper'd the captain, "how much he has bled!"

(For she thought, as he lay with his nose in the puddle, That the water was blood, that had flow'd from his noddle.) "Ah! where is the doctor, to give him a pill; And where is the Lawyer, to write his last-will?

Ezekiel! Ezekiel! attend to his words; If I am his widow, I must have my thirds!

But can you"--and here she reclin'd on his breast-- "And can you resolve to forsake me distrest, Is it thus you would quit me, my joy and my love, And leave me alone for the shop-boards above: Is it thus you consign me to trouble and woe?-- When you are departed, ah! where shall I go?

I shall then be a widow--forsaken and sad-- And where shall I find such another sweet lad?

Who then will afford me a mint-water dram, Gallant me to meeting--and who will flog Sam?"

By this time the story was currently spread, And most were convinc'd that the taylor was dead,-- "The taylor is dead beyond all relief!

The taylor is dead," cry'd captain O'Keef: "To fetch up a fashion, or trump up a whim, Not a knight of the thimble was equal to him!"

"The taylor is dead"--(the lawyer exclaim'd) G.o.d speed him!--'tis better to die than be maim'd: If life is a race, as the learned pretend, G.o.d help him! his racing is soon at an end: His anchor is cast, and his canvas is furl'd; A creature he was, so attach'd to the world, So eager for money--(I say it with grief) He never consider'd the 'fall of the leaf.'

He is come (we may say) to the end of his tether Where the maid and her master shall lay down together.-- For the place where he's gone may we also prepare, Where the Mind, when admitted, shall rest from her care, And fiddles--the finest that ever were seen, Shall play, for his comfort, a brisk Bonny Jean.

"The taylor is dead" (said the company round) "The taylor is dead"--the dark forests resound.-- "He is dead!"--blubber'd Sam, with a counterfeit sigh-- When the sailor bawl'd out--"By my soul it's a lie!

The fellow has only a mind for some fun, His blood is not cold, and his race is not run.

His head, it is true, may have had a small shock: I'll bind it--'twill only be strapping a block: Here, hand me a neck-cloth, a napkin, a clout!

Now--heave up his noddle, and strap it about!

Success to the skull that can bear a good jirk-- They only have damag'd his ginger-bread work."

The matters turn'd out as he said and he swore, And the taylor threw open his peepers once more.

[J] A Lawyer's compend, in which he notes down the heads of arguments in Law-suits.--_Freneau's note, 1795 edition._

XI. CONCLUSION _of the Journey_

When the morning appear'd, it is horrid to tell What mischiefs the most of our crew had befel: A bundle lay here, and a budget lay there; The Frenchman was fretting and pulling his hair, The horses were feeding about on the hill, And Snip, with his head on a ha.s.sock lay still, The driver beseech'd us the fault to excuse, The night had been dark--and "he lost both his shoes"-- Then he rais'd up his waggon, rejoicing to find That, by leaving the top and the curtains behind, We still might proceed--for the body was sound, And the wheels, upon searching, uninjur'd all 'round.

But dull and dishearten'd we travell'd along, Our waggon dismantled, our harness all wrong: The lawyer was vext that we went a snail's pace, And Cynthia was sure she had lost half her lace; While Bryan O'Bl.u.s.ter, who Snip had restor'd, a.s.serted, that Snip was the Jonas on board, And often declar'd, in his moments of glee, "He would give him a souse, if he had him at sea."

At length, we arriv'd, with the marks of our fall, And halted to dine at the town of Road-Hall: Honest David has always a dish of the best, But Snipinda declar'd there was nothing well drest-- "And Snip (she exclaim'd) I would ask him to eat, But I know that he never could relish roast-meat: I think it were better to get him some Tea, He always was fond of slop dinners, like me, But then he could never endure your Bohea-- La! madam, is this the best tea that you keep?

By the taste and the smell, you have purchas'd it cheap!

No Hyson or Congo to give a sick stranger!

Poor man! I've no doubt but his life is in danger!

"No doctor like Neptune for people like him, (Quoth O'Bl.u.s.ter)--his illness is merely a whim: If I had him at sea, with the rest of our crew, He should dance to the tune of a bowl of Burgoo!"

"From all that appears (said captain O'Keef) I judge he might venture to taste the roast beef, Nay--I think I can guess, from the cast of his eye, He longs to have hold of the gooseberry pye!"

"Why captain (she cry'd) would you kill the poor sinner?

If he cannot have tea, he shall go without dinner!"

At length to the Ferry we safely arrive, Each thanking his genius he still was alive: Poor Cynthia complain'd of abundance of harms, The black on her face and the blue on her arms: Snipinda exclaim'd that she wanted a patch, For Snip, in his ravings, had give her a scratch: The corpse of the captain was merely a wreck, And the sailor complain'd of a kink in his neck, He had a contusion, beside, on his thigh; And the ballad-man talk'd of a bruise on his eye, Just adding, "how much he was vext at the heart That no one regarded the song-singing art: Yet the town was in love with his music (he said) But never consider'd he liv'd by the trade; That affronts and neglect were forever his lot, And the lovers of music respected him--not; He had sung for the nymphs, and had sung for the swains, But they were unwilling to purchase his strains, When he put up his ballads and call'd for his pay, The shepherds slunk off, and the nymphs ran away."

So, we said what we could to encourage poor Bob, And pitied his fortune,--to live by the mob: Advis'd him to cobble, cut throats, or dig ditches If he wish'd to advance to perferment and riches; That the time had arriv'd, when a sycophant race Of poets are only promoted to place-- He should scorn them alike, if attach'd to a crown, Singing lies to a court, or disguis'd in the gown; That a poet of genius (all history shews) Ne'er wanted a puppy, to bark at his muse: And, though their productions were never once read, Yet Bavius and Mevius must also be fed.

Then the skipper came in, with a terrible noise, Exclaiming, "The wherry is ready, my boys: The sails are unfurl'd, and the clock has struck eight; Away to the wharf, for no longer I wait!"

Now all were embark'd, and the boat under sail, With a dark cloudy sky and a stiff blowing gale: In plying to windward we delug'd our decks-- O'Bl.u.s.ter discours'd of disasters and wrecks-- Snip offer'd the skipper five dollars, and more, And a pair of new trowsers, to run us on sh.o.r.e; "And, if I was there (said the faint-hearted swain) No money should tempt me to travel again!

I had rather, by far, I had broken both legs, Been rotting in prison, or pelted with eggs!

Now comrades and captains, I bid you good night, And you, Mr. Slender, our journey will write; A journey like this will attention attract, Related in metre, and known to be fact."-- Snipinda was sorry she ever left home-- Ezekiel confess'd it was madness to roam;-- Toupee was alarm'd at the break of the seas, And you, Robert Slender, were not at your ease; Yet couldn't help laughing at captain O'Keef, Who shunn'd little Cynthia, and cast up his beef: "And, Bruin (she said) I am sick at my heart, Come hither, I pray you--and see me depart: What wretches e'er travell'd so rugged a route; Alas! I am sorry that e'er we set out!"

And Sam, while he own'd what a thief he had been, O'Bl.u.s.ter made love to a bottle of gin-- Bob's ballads and poems lay scatter'd and torn Himself in the dumps and his visage forlorn;-- Snip lay with his head by the side of a pot, In doubt if his soul was departing or not, Complaining, and spewing, and cursing his luck-- Then look'd at Snipinda--and call'd her his duck.

At last to relieve us, when thought of the least, The wind came about to the south of southeast, The barque that was buried in billows before Now flew like a gull by the Long-Island sh.o.r.e, And gaining the port where we wish'd to arrive, Was safe in the bason--precisely at five.

[360] First published in pamphlet form by Bailey, April, 1787, under the t.i.tle, "A Journey from Philadelphia to New-York by way of Burlington and South-Amboy. By Robert Slender, Stocking Weaver." The advertis.e.m.e.nt in the _Freeman's Journal_ of April 25 declares that "Some truth in the occasion and a good deal of fancy in the colouring mark the character of the above performance. The style is smooth and easy and the pleasurable air that is diffused over the whole piece will certainly render the whole poem acceptable to such as choose to read it." The poem was republished in the editions of 1788 and 1795, the text of the latter of which I have used. It was again republished in a twenty-four page pamphlet by Thomas Neversink, Philadelphia, Dec. 20, 1809, under the t.i.tle "A Laughable Poem; or Robert Slender's Journey from Philadelphia to New York." The earlier versions, of which the 1788 text was a reprint, had the poem divided into four cantos. In the 1795 edition the subdivision into sections was made. Freneau thoroughly revised the poem for the 1795 edition, making very many changes, all for the better. He cut out nearly all of the indelicate allusions and expressions of the earlier edition, including the coa.r.s.e but highly picturesque dialogue between the skipper and the captain, and it has seemed best to me not to resurrect them. The 1809 edition was reprinted with little change from the 1795 version.

[361] The 1788 version here adds this couplet:

"The _Babes in the wood_ was his favourite song, Or _Barbara Allan_, or _Johnny Armstrong_."

THE HERMIT OF SABA[362]

Hermit, First Mariner, Second Mariner, Third Mariner