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diff --git a/6332-h/6332-h.htm b/6332-h/6332-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..24a2be6 --- /dev/null +++ b/6332-h/6332-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7753 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Playful Poems, by Various</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Playful Poems, by Various, Edited by Henry Morley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Playful Poems + + +Author: Various + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: March 29, 2015 [eBook #6332] +[This file was first posted on November 27, 2002] + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PLAYFUL POEMS*** +</pre> +<p>This etext was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Companion Poets</p> +<h1>PLAYFUL POEMS</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">EDITED<br /> +<i>AND WITH AN INTRODUCTION</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">BY</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">HENRY MORLEY.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">EMERITUS PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE +AND</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LITERATURE AT UNIVERSITY COLLEGE</span><br +/> +<span class="GutSmall">LONDON</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tp.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" + src="images/tp.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, <span +class="smcap">Limited</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Broadway</span>, <span class="smcap">Ludgate +Hill</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW +YORK</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1891</span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGES</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page7">7</a></span>–15</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Chaucer’s Manciple’s Tale +of Phœbus and the Crow</span></p> +<p><i>Modernised by</i> <span class="smcap">Leigh +Hunt</span>.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span>–27</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Chaucer’s Rime of Sir +Thopas</span></p> +<p><i>Modernised by</i> Z. A. Z.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span>–37</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Chaucer’s Friar’s Tale; +or, The Sumner and the Devil</span></p> +<p><i>Modernised by</i> <span class="smcap">Leigh +Hunt</span>.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span>–48</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Chaucer’s Reve’s +Tale</span></p> +<p><i>Modernised by</i> R. H. <span +class="smcap">Horne</span>.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span>–62</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Chaucer’s Poem of the Cuckoo and +the Nightingale</span></p> +<p><i>Modernised by</i> <span class="smcap">William +Wordsworth</span>.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page63">63</a></span>–73</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Gower’s Treasure +Trove</span></p> +<p><i>Modernised from the fifth book of the</i> <span +class="smcap">Confessio Amantis</span>.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span>–80</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lydgate’s London +Lickpenny</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span>–84</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lydgate’s Bicorn and +Chichevache</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span>–89</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Dunbar’s Best to be +Blyth</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span>, 92</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Drayton’s Dowsabell</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span>–96</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Drayton’s Nymphidia</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span>–116</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Pope’s Rape of the +Lock</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span>–137</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Cowper’s John Gilpin</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span>–146</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Burns’s Tam +O’Shanter</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span>–153</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Hood’s Demon Ship</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page155">155</a></span>–158</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Hood’s Tale of a +Trumpet</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page159">159</a></span>–180</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Note.—The Game of +Ombre</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span>–187</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Glossary</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page188">188</a></span>–192</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span><span +class="smcap">Introduction</span>.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> last volume of these +“Companion Poets” contained some of Chaucer’s +Tales as they were modernised by Dryden. This volume +contains more of his Tales as they were modernised by later +poets. In 1841 there was a volume published entitled, +“The Poems of Geoffrey Chaucer Modernized.” Of +this volume, when it was first projected, Wordsworth wrote to +Moxon, his publisher, on the 24th of February 1840: “Mr. +Powell, my friend, has some thought of preparing for publication +some portion of Chaucer modernised, as far and no farther than is +done in my treatment of ‘The Prioress’ +Tale.’ That would, in fact, be his model. He +will have coadjutors, among whom, I believe, will be Mr. Leigh +Hunt, a man as capable of doing the work well as any living +writer. I have placed at my friend Mr. Powell’s +disposal three other pieces which I did long ago, but revised the +other day. They are ‘The Manciple’s +Tale,’ ‘The Cuckoo and the Nightingale,’ and +twenty-four stanzas of ‘Troilus and Cressida.’ +This I have done mainly out of my love and reverence for Chaucer, +in hopes that, whatever may be the merits of Mr. Powell’s +attempt, the attention of other writers may be drawn to the +subject; and a work hereafter produced, by different persons, +which will place the treasures of one of the greatest of poets +within the reach of the multitude, which now they are not. +I mention all this to you because, though I have not given Mr. +Powell the least encouragement to do so, he may sound you as to +your disposition to undertake the publication. I have +myself nothing further to do with it than I have stated. +Had the thing been suggested to me by any number of competent +persons twenty years ago, I would have undertaken the editorship +and done much more myself, and endeavoured to improve the several +contributions where they seemed to require it. But that is +now out of the question.”</p> +<p>Wordsworth had made his versions of Chaucer in the year +1801. “The Prioress’s Tale” had been +published in 1820, so that only the three pieces he had revised +for his friend’s use were available, and of these the +Manciple’s Tale was withdrawn, the version by Leigh Hunt +(which is among the pieces here reprinted) being used. The +volume was published in 1841, not by Moxon but by Whitaker. +Wordsworth’s versions of “The Cuckoo and the +Nightingale” (here reprinted), and of a passage taken from +“Troilus and Cressida,” were included in it. +Leigh Hunt contributed versions of the Manciple’s Tale and +the Friar’s Tale (both here reprinted), and of the +Squire’s Tale. Elizabeth A. Barrett, afterwards Mrs. +Browning, contributed a version of “Queen Annelida and +False Arcite.” Richard Hengist Horne entered heartily +into the venture, modernised the Prologue to the Canterbury +Tales, the Reve’s Tale, and the Franklin’s, and wrote +an Introduction of more than a hundred pages, to which Professor +Leonhard Schmitz added thirty-two pages of a Life of +Chaucer. Robert Bell, to whom we were afterwards indebted +for an “Annotated Edition of the English Poets,” +modernised the Complaint of Mars and Venus. Thomas Powell, +the editor, contributed his version of the Legends of Ariadne, +Philomene, and Phillis, and of “The Flower and the +Leaf,” and a friend, who signed only as Z. A. Z, dealt with +“The Rime of Sir Thopas.”</p> +<p>After the volume had appeared, Wordsworth thus wrote of it to +Professor Henry Reed of Philadelphia: “There has recently +been published in London a volume of some of Chaucer’s +tales and poems modernised; this little specimen originated in +what I attempted with ‘The Prioress’ Tale,’ and +if the book should find its way to America you will see in it two +further specimens from myself. I had no further connection +with the publication than by making a present of these to one of +the contributors. Let me, however, recommend to your notice +the Prologue and the Franklin’s Tale. They are both +by Mr. Horne, a gentleman unknown to me, but are—the latter +in particular—very well done. Mr. Leigh Hunt has not +failed in the Manciple’s Tale, which I myself modernised +many years ago; but though I much admire the genius of Chaucer as +displayed in this performance, I could not place my version at +the disposal of the editor, as I deemed the subject somewhat too +indelicate for pure taste to be offered to the world at this time +of day. Mr. Horne has much hurt this publication by not +abstaining from the Reve’s Tale. This, after making +all allowance for the rude manners of Chaucer’s age, is +intolerable; and by indispensably softening down the incidents, +he has killed the spirit of that humour, gross and farcical, that +pervades the original. When the work was first mentioned to +me, I protested as strongly as possible against admitting any +coarseness and indelicacy, so that my conscience is clear of +countenancing aught of that kind. So great is my admiration +of Chaucer’s genius, and so profound my reverence for him. +. . for spreading the light of Literature through his native +land, that, notwithstanding the defects and faults in this +publication, I am glad of it, as a means for making many +acquainted with the original, who would otherwise be ignorant of +everything about him but his name.”</p> +<p>Wordsworth’s objection to the Manciple’s Tale from +Ovid’s Metamorphoses was an afterthought. He had +begun by offering his version of it for publication in this +volume. His objection to Horne’s treatment of the +Reve’s Tale was reasonable enough. The original tale +was the sixth novel in the ninth day of the Decameron, and +probably was taken by Chaucer from a Fabliau by Jean de Boves, +“De Gombert et des Deux Clercs.” The same story +has been imitated in the “Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles,” +and in the “Berceau” of La Fontaine. +Horne’s removal from the tale of everything that would +offend a modern reader was designed to enable thousands to find +pleasure in an old farcical piece that would otherwise be left +unread.</p> +<p>Chaucer’s “Rime of Sir Thopas” was a playful +jest on the long-winded story-telling of the old romances, and +had specially in mind Thomas Chestre’s version of Launfal +from Marie of France, and the same rhymer’s romance of +“Ly Beaus Disconus,” who was Gingelein, a son of +Gawain, called by his mother, for his beauty, only Beaufis +(handsome son); but when he offered himself in that name to be +knighted by King Arthur, he was knighted and named by him Li +Beaus Disconus (the fair unknown). This is the method of +the tediousness, in which it showed itself akin to many a rhyming +tale.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And for love of his fair vis<br /> +His mother clepéd him Beaufis,<br /> + And none other name;<br /> +And himselvé was full nis,<br /> +He ne axéd nought y-wis<br /> + What he hight at his dame.</p> +<p class="poetry">“As it befel upon a day,<br /> +To wood he went on his play<br /> + Of deer to have his game;<br /> +He found a knight, where he lay<br /> +In armés that were stout and gay,<br /> + Y-slain and made full tame.</p> +<p class="poetry">“That child did off the knightés +wede,<br /> +And anon he gan him schrede<br /> + In that rich armoúr.<br /> +When he haddé do that dede,<br /> +To Glasténburý he gede,<br /> + There lay the King Arthoúr.</p> +<p class="poetry">“He knelde in the hall<br /> +Before the knightés all,<br /> + And grette hem with honoúr,<br /> +And said: ‘Arthoúr, my lord,<br /> +Grant me to speak a word,<br /> + I pray thee, par amour.</p> +<p class="poetry">“‘I am a child uncouth,<br /> +And come out of the south,<br /> + And would be made a knight,<br /> +Lord, I pray thee nouthe,<br /> +With thy merry mouthe,<br /> + Grant me anon right.’</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then said Arthoúr the king,<br /> +‘Anon, without dwelling,<br /> + Tell me thy name aplight!<br /> +For sethen I was ybore,<br /> +Ne found I me before<br /> + None so fair of sight.’</p> +<p class="poetry">“That child said, ‘By Saint +Jame,<br /> +I not what is my name;<br /> + I am the moré nis;<br /> +But while I was at hame<br /> +My mother, in her game,<br /> + Clepéd me Beaufis.’</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then said Arthoúr the king,<br /> +‘This is a wonder thing<br /> + By God and Saint Denis!<br /> +When he that would be knight<br /> +Ne wot not what he hight,<br /> + And is so fair of vis.</p> +<p class="poetry">“‘Now will I give him a name<br /> +Before you all in same,<br /> + For he is so fair and free,<br /> +By God and by Saint Jame,<br /> +So clepéd him ne’er his dame,<br /> + What woman so it be.</p> +<p class="poetry">“‘Now clepéth him all of +us,<br /> +Li Beaus Disconus,<br /> + For the love of me!<br /> +Then may ye wite a rowe,<br /> +‘The Faire Unknowe,’<br /> + Certes, so hatté he.”</p> +<p>John Gower’s “Confessio Amantis” was a story +book, like the Canterbury Tales, with a contrivance of its own +for stringing the tales together, and Gower was at work on it +nearly about the time when his friend Chaucer was busy with his +Pilgrims. The story here extracted was an old +favourite. It appeared in Greek about the year 800, in the +romance of Barlaam and Josaphat. It was told by Vincent of +Beauvais in the year 1290 in his “Speculum +Historiale;” and it was used by Boccaccio for the first +tale of the tenth day of his “Decameron.”</p> +<p>Chaucer, Gower, Lydgate were the old poetical triumvirate, +though Lydgate, who was about thirty years old when Chaucer died, +has slipped much out of mind. His verses on the adventures +of the Kentish rustic who came to London to get justice in the +law courts, and his words set to the action of an old piece of +rustic mumming, “Bicorn and Chichevache,” here +represent his vein of playfulness. He was a monk who taught +literature at Bury St. Edmunds, and was justly looked upon as the +chief poet of the generation who lived after Chaucer’s +death.</p> +<p>Next follows in this volume a scrap of wise counsel to take +life cheerfully, from the Scottish poet, William Dunbar. He +lived at the Scottish Court of James the Fourth when Henry the +Seventh reigned in England, and who was our greatest poet of the +north country before Burns.</p> +<p>Next we come to the poets “who so did please Eliza and +our James,” and represent their playfulness by +Drayton’s “Dowsabell,” and that most exquisite +of fairy pieces, his “Nymphidia,” where Oberon +figures as the mad Orlando writ small, and Drayton earned his +claim to be the Fairies’ Laureate, though Herrick, in the +same vein, followed close upon him. Michael Drayton, nearly +of an age with Shakespeare, was, like Shakespeare, a Warwickshire +man. Empty tradition says that Shakespeare died of a too +festive supper shared with his friend Drayton, who came to visit +him.</p> +<p>Then follows in this volume the playful treatment of a quarrel +between friends, in Pope’s “Rape of the +Lock.” Lord Petre, aged twenty, audaciously cut from +the head of Miss Arabella Fermor, daughter of Mr. Fermor of +Tusmore, a lock of her hair while she was playing cards in the +Queen’s rooms at Hampton Court. Pope’s friend, +Mr. Caryll, suggested to him that a mock heroic treatment of the +resulting quarrel might restore peace, and Pope wrote a poem in +two cantos, which was published in a Miscellany in 1712, +Pope’s age then being twenty-four. But as epic poems +required supernatural machinery, Pope added afterwards to his +mock epic the machinery of sylphs and gnomes, suggested to him by +the reading of a French story, “Le Comte de Gabalis,” +by the Abbé Villars. Here there were sylphs of the +air and gnomes of the earth, little spirits who would be in right +proportion to the substance of his poem, which was refashioned +into five cantos, and republished as we have it now in February +1714.</p> +<p>“John Gilpin” was written by William Cowper in the +year 1782, when Lady Austin was lodging in the Vicarage at Olney, +and spent every evening with Cowper and Mrs. Unwin, cheering +Cowper greatly by her liveliness. One evening she told the +story of John Gilpin’s ride in a way that tickled the +poet’s fancy, set him laughing when he woke up in the +night, and obliged him to turn it next day into ballad +rhyme. Mrs. Unwin’s son sent it to the <i>Public +Advertiser</i>, for the poet’s corner. It was printed +in that newspaper, and thought no more of until about three years +later. Then it was suggested to a popular actor named +Henderson, who gave entertainments of his own, that this piece +would tell well among his recitations. He introduced it +into his entertainments, and soon all the town was running after +John Gilpin as madly as the six gentlemen and the post-boy.</p> +<p>John Gilpin’s flight is followed in this volume by the +flight of Tam o’ Shanter. Burns wrote “Tam +o’ Shanter” at Elliesland, and himself considered it +the best of all his poems. He told the story to Captain +Grose, as it was current among the people in his part of the +country, its scene laid almost on the spot where he was +born. Captain Grose, the antiquary, who was collecting +materials for his “Antiquities of Scotland,” +published in 1789–91, got Burns to versify it and give it +to him. The poem made its first appearance, therefore, in +Captain Grose’s book. Mrs. Burns told of it that it +was the work of a day. Burns was most of the day on his +favourite walk by the river, where his wife and some of the +children joined him in the afternoon. Mrs. Burns saw that +her husband was busily engaged “crooning to himsell,” +and she loitered behind with the little ones among the +broom. Presently she was attracted by the poet’s +strange and wild gesticulations; he seemed agonised with an +ungovernable joy. He was reciting very loud. Every +circumstance suggested to heighten the impression of fear in the +lines following,</p> +<p class="poetry">“By this time he was ’cross the +ford<br /> +Where in the snaw the chapman smoored,” etc.,</p> +<p>was taken from local tradition. Shanter was the real +name of a farm near Kirkoswald, then occupied by a Douglas +Grahame, who was much of Tam’s character, and was well +content to be called by his country neighbours Tam o’ +Shanter for the rest of his life, after Burns had made the name +of the farm immortal.</p> +<p>Our selection ends with two pieces by Thomas Hood, whose +“Tale of a Trumpet” is luxuriant with play of wit +that has its earnest side. Hood died in 1845.</p> +<p>A Note upon the Game of Ombre is added, which is founded upon +the description of the game in a little book—“The +Court Gamester”—which instructed card-players in the +reigns of the first Georges. In the “Rape of the +Lock” there is a game of ombre played through to the last +trick. That note will enable any reader to follow +Belinda’s play. It will also enable any one who may +care to do so to restore to a place among our home amusements a +game which carried all before it in Queen Anne’s day, and +which is really, when cleared of its gambling details, as good a +domestic game for three players as cribbage or piquet is for +two. My “Court Gamester,” which was in its +fifth edition in 1728, after devoting its best energies to ombre, +contented its readers in fewer pages with the addition only of +piquet and chess.</p> +<p>Obsolete words and words of Scottish dialect, with a few more +as to the meaning of which some readers might be uncertain, will +be found explained in the Glossary that ends this volume.</p> +<h2><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>CHAUCER’S<br /> +Manciple’s Tale of Phœbus and the Crow</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">MODERNISED +BY LEIGH HUNT.</span></p> +<h3>NOTE.</h3> +<p><i>The reader is to understand</i>, <i>that all the persons +previously described in the</i> “<i>Prologue to the +Canterbury Tales</i>” <i>are now riding on their way to +that city</i>, <i>and each of them telling his tale +respectively</i>, <i>which is preceded by some little bit of +incident or conversation on the road</i>. <i>The +agreement</i>, <i>suggested by the Host of the Tabard</i>, +<i>was</i>, <i>first</i>, <i>that each pilgrim should tell a +couple of tales while going to Canterbury</i>, <i>and another +couple during the return to London</i>; <i>secondly</i>, <i>that +the narrator of the best one of all should sup at the expense of +the whole party</i>; <i>and thirdly</i>, <i>that the Host himself +should be gratuitous guide on the journey</i>, <i>and arbiter of +all differences by the way</i>, <i>with power to inflict the +payment of travelling expenses upon any one who should gainsay +his judgment</i>. <i>During the intervals of the stories he +is accordingly the most prominent person</i>.—<span +class="smcap">Leigh Hunt</span>.</p> +<h3><i>PROLOGUE TO THE MANCIPLE’S TALE</i>.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Wottest</span> <a +name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17" +class="citation">[17]</a> thou, reader, of a little town,<br /> +Which thereabouts they call Bob-up-and-down,<br /> +Under the Blee, in Canterbury way?<br /> +Well, there our host began to jest and play,<br /> +And said, “Hush, hush now: Dun is in the mire.<br /> +What, sirs? will nobody, for prayer or hire,<br /> +Wake our good gossip, sleeping here behind?<br /> +Here were a bundle for a thief to find.<br /> +See, how he noddeth! by St. Peter, see!<br /> +He’ll tumble off his saddle presently.<br /> +Is that a cook of London, red flames take him!<br /> +He knoweth the agreement—wake him, wake him:<br /> +We’ll have his tale, to keep him from his nap,<br /> +Although the drink turn out not worth the tap.<br /> +Awake, thou cook,” quoth he; “God say thee nay;<br /> +What aileth thee to sleep thus in the day?<br /> +Hast thou had fleas all night? or art thou drunk?<br /> +Or didst thou sup with my good lord the monk,<br /> +And hast a jolly surfeit in thine head?”</p> +<p class="poetry"> This cook that was full pale, +and nothing red,<br /> +Stared up, and said unto the host, “God bless<br /> +My soul, I feel such wondrous heaviness,<br /> +I know not why, that I would rather sleep<br /> +Than drink of the best gallon-wine in Cheap.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Well,” quoth the +Manciple, “if it might ease<br /> +Thine head, Sir Cook, and also none displease<br /> +Of all here riding in this company,<br /> +And mine host grant it, I would pass thee by,<br /> +Till thou art better, and so tell <i>my</i> tale;<br /> +For in good faith thy visage is full pale;<br /> +Thine eyes grow dull, methinks; and sure I am,<br /> +Thy breath resembleth not sweet marjoram,<br /> +Which showeth thou canst utter no good matter:<br /> +Nay, thou mayst frown forsooth, but I’ll not flatter.<br /> +See, how he gapeth, lo! this drunken wight;<br /> +He’ll swallow us all up before he’ll bite;<br /> +Hold close thy mouth, man, by thy father’s kin;<br /> +The fiend himself now set his foot therein,<br /> +And stop it up, for ’twill infect us all;<br /> +Fie, hog; fie, pigsty; foul thy grunt befall.<br /> +Ah—see, he bolteth! there, sirs, was a swing;<br /> +Take heed—he’s bent on tilting at the ring:<br /> +He’s the shape, isn’t he? to tilt and ride!<br /> +Eh, you mad fool! go to your straw, and hide.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now with this speech the cook +for rage grew black,<br /> +And would have stormed, but could not speak, alack!<br /> +So mumbling something, from his horse fell he,<br /> +And where he fell, there lay he patiently,<br /> +Till pity on his shame his fellows took.<br /> +Here was a pretty horseman of a cook!<br /> +Alas! that he had held not by his ladle!<br /> +And ere again they got him on his saddle,<br /> +There was a mighty shoving to and fro<br /> +To lift him up, and muckle care and woe,<br /> +So heavy was this carcase of a ghost.<br /> +Then to the Manciple thus spake our host:—<br /> +“Since drink upon this man hath domination,<br /> +By nails! and as I reckon my salvation,<br /> +I trow he would have told a sorry tale;<br /> +For whether it be wine, or it be ale,<br /> +That he hath drank, he speaketh through the nose,<br /> +And sneezeth much, and he hath got the <i>pose</i>, <a +name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19" +class="citation">[19]</a><br /> +And also hath given us business enow<br /> +To keep him on his horse, out of the slough;<br /> +He’ll fall again, if he be driven to speak,<br /> +And then, where are we, for a second week?<br /> +Why, lifting up his heavy drunken corse!<br /> +Tell on thy tale, and look we to his horse.<br /> +Yet, Manciple, in faith thou art too nice<br /> +Thus openly to chafe him for his vice.<br /> +Perchance some day he’ll do as much for thee,<br /> +And bring thy baker’s bills in jeopardy,<br /> +Thy black jacks also, and thy butcher’s matters,<br /> +And whether they square nicely with thy platters.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Mine,” quoth the +Manciple, “were then the mire!<br /> +Much rather would I pay his horse’s hire,<br /> +And that will be no trifle, mud and all,<br /> +Than risk the peril of so sharp a fall.<br /> +I did but jest. Score not, ye’ll be not scored.<br /> +And guess ye what? I have here, in my gourd,<br /> +A draught of wine, better was never tasted,<br /> +And with this cook’s ladle will I be basted,<br /> +If he don’t drink of it, right lustily.<br /> +Upon my life he’ll not say nay. Now see.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> And true it was, the cook +drank fast enough;<br /> +Down went the drink out of the gourd, <i>fluff</i>, +<i>fluff</i>:<br /> +Alas! the man had had enough before:<br /> +And then, betwixt a trumpet and a snore,<br /> +His nose said something,—grace for what he had;<br /> +And of that drink the cook was wondrous glad.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Our host nigh burst with +laughter at the sight,<br /> +And sighed and wiped his eyes for pure delight,<br /> +And said, “Well, I perceive it’s necessary,<br /> +Where’er we go, good wine with us to carry.<br /> +What needeth in this world more strifes befall?<br /> +Good wine’s the doctor to appease them all.<br /> +O, Bacchus, Bacchus! blessed be thy name,<br /> +That thus canst turn our earnest into game.<br /> +Worship and thanks be to thy deity.<br /> +So on this head ye get no more from me.<br /> +Tell on thy tale, Manciple, I thee pray.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Well, sire,” quoth he, “now +hark to what I say.”</p> +<h2><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>The +Manciple’s Tale of Phœbus and the Crow.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> Phœbus +dwelt with men, in days of yore,<br /> +He was the very lustiest bachelor<br /> +Of all the world; and shot in the best bow.<br /> +’Twas he, as the old books of stories show,<br /> +That shot the serpent Python, as he lay<br /> +Sleeping against the sun, upon a day:<br /> +And many another noble worthy deed<br /> +He did with that same bow, as men may read.</p> +<p class="poetry"> He played all kinds of music: +and so clear<br /> +His singing was, and such a heaven to hear,<br /> +Men might not speak during his madrigal.<br /> +Amphion, king of Thebes, that put a wall<br /> +About the city with his melody,<br /> +Certainly sang not half so well as he.<br /> +And add to this, he was the seemliest man<br /> +That is, or has been, since the world began.<br /> +What needs describe his beauty? since there’s none<br /> +With which to make the least comparison.<br /> +In brief, he was the flower of <i>gentilesse</i>, <a +name="citation21"></a><a href="#footnote21" +class="citation">[21]</a><br /> +Of honour, and of perfect worthiness:<br /> +And yet, take note, for all this mastery,<br /> +This Phœbus was of cheer so frank and free,<br /> +That for his sport, and to commend the glory<br /> +He gat him o’er the snake (so runs the story),<br /> +He used to carry in his hand a bow.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now this same god had in his +house a crow,<br /> +Which in a cage he fostered many a day,<br /> +And taught to speak, as folks will teach a jay.<br /> +White was the crow; as is a snow-white swan,<br /> +And could repeat a tale told by a man,<br /> +And sing. No nightingale, down in a dell,<br /> +Could sing one-hundred-thousandth part so well.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now had this Phœbus in +his house a wife<br /> +Which that he loved beyond his very life:<br /> +And night and day did all his diligence<br /> +To please her well, and do her reverence;<br /> +Save only, to speak truly, <i>inter nos</i>,<br /> +Jealous he was, and would have kept her close:<br /> +He wished not to be treated monstrously:<br /> +Neither does any man, no more than he;<br /> +Only to hinder wives, it serveth nought;—<br /> +A good wife, that is clean of work and thought,<br /> +No man would dream of hindering such a way.<br /> +And just as bootless is it, night or day,<br /> +Hindering a shrew; for it will never be.<br /> +I hold it for a very foppery,<br /> +Labour in vain, this toil to hinder wives,<br /> +Old writers always say so, in their Lives.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But to my story, as it first +began.<br /> +This worthy Phœbus doeth all he can<br /> +To please his wife, in hope, so pleasing her,<br /> +That she, for her part, would herself bestir<br /> +Discreetly, so as not to lose his grace;<br /> +But, Lord he knows, there’s no man shall embrace<br /> +A thing so close, as to restrain what Nature<br /> +Hath naturally set in any creature.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Take any bird, and put it in +a cage,<br /> +And do thy best and utmost to engage<br /> +The bird to love it; give it meat and drink,<br /> +And every dainty housewives can bethink,<br /> +And keep the cage as cleanly as you may,<br /> +And let it be with gilt never so gay,<br /> +Yet had this bird, by twenty-thousand-fold,<br /> +Rather be in a forest wild and cold,<br /> +And feed on worms and suchlike wretchedness;<br /> +Yea, ever will he tax his whole address<br /> +To get out of the cage when that he may:—<br /> +His liberty the bird desireth aye.</p> +<p class="poetry"> So, take a cat, and foster +her with milk<br /> +And tender meat, and make her bed of silk,<br /> +Yet let her see a mouse go by the wall,<br /> +The devil may take, for her, silk, milk, and all,<br /> +And every dainty that is in the house;<br /> +Such appetite hath she to eat the mouse.<br /> +Lo, here hath Nature plainly domination,<br /> +And appetite renounceth education.</p> +<p class="poetry"> A she-wolf likewise hath a +villain’s kind:<br /> +The worst and roughest wolf that she can find,<br /> +Or least of reputation, will she wed,<br /> +When the time comes to make her marriage-bed.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But misinterpret not my +speech, I pray;<br /> +All this of men, not women, do I say;<br /> +For men it is, that come and spoil the lives<br /> +Of such, as but for them, would make good wives.<br /> +They leave their own wives, be they never so fair,<br /> +Never so true, never so debonair,<br /> +And take the lowest they may find, for change.<br /> +Flesh, the fiend take it, is so given to range,<br /> +It never will continue, long together,<br /> +Contented with good, steady, virtuous weather.</p> +<p class="poetry"> This Phœbus, while on +nothing ill thought he,<br /> +Jilted he was, for all his jollity;<br /> +For under him, his wife, at her heart’s-root,<br /> +Another had, a man of small repute,<br /> +Not worth a blink of Phœbus; more’s the pity;<br /> +Too oft it falleth so, in court and city.<br /> +This wife, when Phœbus was from home one day,<br /> +Sent for her lemman then, without delay.<br /> +Her lemman!—a plain word, I needs must own;<br /> +Forgive it me; for Plato hath laid down,<br /> +The word must suit according with the deed;<br /> +Word is work’s cousin-german, ye may read:<br /> +I’m a plain man, and what I say is this:<br /> +Wife high, wife low, if bad, both do amiss:<br /> +But because one man’s wench sitteth above,<br /> +She shall be called his Lady and his Love;<br /> +And because t’other’s sitteth low and poor,<br /> +She shall be called,—Well, well, I say no more;<br /> +Only God knoweth, man, mine own dear brother,<br /> +One wife is laid as low, just, as the other.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Right so betwixt a lawless, +mighty chief<br /> +And a rude outlaw, or an arrant thief,<br /> +Knight arrant or thief arrant, all is one;<br /> +Difference, as Alexander learnt, there’s none;<br /> +But for the chief is of the greater might,<br /> +By force of numbers, to slay all outright,<br /> +And burn, and waste, and make as flat as floor,<br /> +Lo, therefore is he clept a conqueror;<br /> +And for the other hath his numbers less,<br /> +And cannot work such mischief and distress,<br /> +Nor be by half so wicked as the chief,<br /> +Men clepen him an outlaw and a thief.</p> +<p class="poetry"> However, I am no +text-spinning man;<br /> +So to my tale I go, as I began.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now with her lemman is this +Phœbus’ wife;<br /> +The crow he sayeth nothing, for his life;<br /> +Caged hangeth he, and sayeth not a word;<br /> +But when that home was come Phœbus the lord,<br /> +He singeth out, and saith,—“Cuckoo! cuckoo!”<br +/> +“Hey!” crieth Phœbus, “here be something +new;<br /> +Thy song was wont to cheer me. What is this?”<br /> +“By Jove!” quoth Corvus, “I sing not amiss.<br +/> +Phœbus,” quoth he; “for all thy worthiness,<br +/> +For all thy beauty and all thy gentilesse,<br /> +For all thy song and all thy minstrelsy,<br /> +And all thy watching, blearéd is thine eye;<br /> +Yea, and by one no worthier than a gnat,<br /> +Compared with him should boast to wear thine hat.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> What would you more? the crow +hath told him all;<br /> +This woful god hath turned him to the wall<br /> +To hide his tears: he thought ’twould burst his heart;<br +/> +He bent his bow, and set therein a dart,<br /> +And in his ire he hath his wife yslain;<br /> +He hath; he felt such anger and such pain;<br /> +For sorrow of which he brake his minstrelsy,<br /> +Both harp and lute, gittern and psaltery,<br /> +And then he brake his arrows and his bow,<br /> +And after that, thus spake he to the crow:—</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Traitor,” quoth +he, “behold what thou hast done;<br /> +Made me the saddest wretch beneath the sun:<br /> +Alas! why was I born! O dearest wife,<br /> +Jewel of love and joy, my only life,<br /> +That wert to me so steadfast and so true,<br /> +There liest thou dead; why am not I so too?<br /> +Full innocent thou wert, that durst I swear;<br /> +O hasty hand, to bring me to despair!<br /> +O troubled wit, O anger without thought,<br /> +That unadviséd smitest, and for nought:<br /> +O heart of little faith, full of suspicion,<br /> +Where was thy handsomeness and thy discretion?<br /> +O every man, hold hastiness in loathing;<br /> +Believe, without strong testimony, nothing;<br /> +Smite not too soon, before ye well know why;<br /> +And be adviséd well and soberly<br /> +Before ye trust yourselves to the commission<br /> +Of any ireful deed upon suspicion.<br /> +Alas! a thousand folk hath hasty ire<br /> +Foully foredone, and brought into the mire.<br /> +Alas! I’ll kill myself for misery.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> And to the crow, “O +thou false thief!” said he,<br /> +“I’ll quit thee, all thy life, for thy false tale;<br +/> +Thou shalt no more sing like the nightingale,<br /> +Nor shalt thou in those fair white feathers go,<br /> +Thou silly thief, thou false, black-hearted crow;<br /> +Nor shalt thou ever speak like man again;<br /> +Thou shalt not have the power to give such pain;<br /> +Nor shall thy race wear any coat but black,<br /> +And ever shall their voices crone and crack<br /> +And be a warning against wind and rain,<br /> +In token that by thee my wife was slain.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> So to the crow he started, +like one mad,<br /> +And tore out every feather that he had,<br /> +And made him black, and reft him of his stores<br /> +Of song and speech, and flung him out of doors<br /> +Unto the devil; whence never come he back,<br /> +Say I. Amen. And hence all crows are black.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Lordings, by this example I +you pray<br /> +Take heed, and be discreet in what you say;<br /> +And above all, tell no man, for your life,<br /> +How that another man hath kissed his wife.<br /> +He’ll hate you mortally; be sure of that;<br /> +Dan Solomon, in teacher’s chair that sat,<br /> +Bade us keep all our tongues close as we can;<br /> +But, as I said, I’m no text-spinning man,<br /> +Only, I must say, thus taught me my dame; <a +name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26" +class="citation">[26]</a><br /> +My son, think on the crow in God his name;<br /> +My son, keep well thy tongue, and keep thy friend;<br /> +A wicked tongue is worse than any fiend;<br /> +My son, a fiend’s a thing for to keep down;<br /> +My son, God in his great discretion<br /> +Walléd a tongue with teeth, and eke with lips,<br /> +That man may think, before his speech out slips.<br /> +A little speech spoken advisedly<br /> +Brings none in trouble, speaking generally.<br /> +My son, thy tongue thou always shouldst restrain,<br /> +Save only at such times thou dost thy pain<br /> +To speak of God in honour and in prayer;<br /> +The chiefest virtue, son, is to beware<br /> +How thou lett’st loose that endless thing, thy tongue;<br +/> +This every soul is taught, when he is young:<br /> +My son, of muckle speaking ill-advised,<br /> +And where a little speaking had sufficed,<br /> +Com’th muckle harm. This was me told and +taught,—<br /> +In muckle speaking, sinning wanteth nought.<br /> +Know’st thou for what a tongue that’s hasty +serveth?<br /> +Right as a sword forecutteth and forecarveth<br /> +An arm in two, my dear son, even so<br /> +A tongue clean-cutteth friendship at a blow.<br /> +A jangler is to God abominable:<br /> +Read Solomon, so wise and honourable;<br /> +Read David in his Psalms, read Seneca;<br /> +My son, a nod is better than a say;<br /> +Be deaf, when folk speak matter perilous;<br /> +Small prate, sound pate,—guardeth the Fleming’s +house.<br /> +My son, if thou no wicked word hast spoken,<br /> +Thou never needest fear a pate ybroken;<br /> +But he that hath missaid, I dare well say,<br /> +His fingers shall find blood thereon, some day.<br /> +Thing that is said, is said; it may not back<br /> +Be called, for all your “Las!” and your +“Alack!”<br /> +And he is that man’s thrall to whom ’twas said;<br /> +Cometh the bond some day, and will be paid.<br /> +My son, beware, and be no author new<br /> +Of tidings, whether they be false or true:<br /> +Go wheresoe’er thou wilt, ’mongst high or low,<br /> +Keep well thy tongue, and think upon the crow.</p> +<h2><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>CHAUCER’S<br /> +Rime of Sir Thopas</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">MODERNISED +BY Z. A. Z.</span></p> +<h3><i>PROLOGUE TO SIR THOPAS</i>.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">1.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> when the +Prioress had done, each man<br /> +So serious looked, ’twas wonderful to see!<br /> +Till our good host to banter us began,<br /> +And then at last he cast his eyes on me,<br /> +And jeering said, “What man art thou?” quoth he,<br +/> +“That lookest down as thou wouldst find a hare,<br /> +For ever upon the ground I see thee stare.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">2.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Approach me near, and look up +merrily!<br /> +Now make way, sirs! and let this man have place.<br /> +He in the waist is shaped as well as I:<br /> +This were a poppet in an arm’s embrace,<br /> +For any woman, small and fair of face.<br /> +He seemeth elf-like by his countenance,<br /> +For with no wight holdeth he dalliance.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">3.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Say somewhat now, since other folks have +said;<br /> +Tell us a tale o’ mirth, and that anon.”<br /> +“Host,” quoth I then, “be not so far misled,<br +/> +For other tales except this know I none;<br /> +A little rime I learned in years agone.”<br /> +“Ah! that is well,” quoth he; “now we shall +hear<br /> +Some dainty thing, methinketh, by thy cheer.”</p> +<h3>The Rime of Sir Thopas.</h3> +<h4><span class="smcap">Fytte the First</span>. <a +name="citation30"></a><a href="#footnote30" +class="citation">[30]</a></h4> +<p style="text-align: center">1.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Listen</span>, lordlings, +in good intent,<br /> +And I will tell you <i>verament</i><br /> + Of mirth and chivalry,<br /> +About a knight on glory bent,<br /> +In battle and in tournament;<br /> + Sir Thopas named was he.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">2.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he was born in a far countréy,<br /> +In Flanders, all beyond the sea,<br /> + At Popering in the place;<br /> +His father was a man full free,<br /> +And of that country lord was he,<br /> + Enjoyed by holy grace.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">3.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir Thopas was a doughty swain,<br /> +Fair was his face as <i>pain de Maine</i>,<br /> + His lips were red as rose;<br /> +His ruddy cheeks like scarlet grain;<br /> +And I tell you in good certaine,<br /> + He had a seemly nose.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">4.</p> +<p class="poetry">His hair and beard like saffron shone,<br /> +And to his girdle fell adown;<br /> + His shoes of leather bright;<br /> +Of Bruges were his hose so brown,<br /> +His robe it was of ciclatoun—<br /> + He was a costly wight:</p> +<p style="text-align: center">5.</p> +<p class="poetry">Well could he hunt the strong wild deer,<br /> +And ride a hawking for his cheer<br /> + With grey goshawk on hand;<br /> +His archery filled the woods with fear,<br /> +In wrestling eke he had no peer,—<br /> + No man ’gainst him could stand.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">6.</p> +<p class="poetry">Full many a maiden bright in bower<br /> +Was sighing for him <i>par amour</i><br /> + Between her prayers and sleep,<br /> +But he was chaste, beyond their power,<br /> +And sweet as is the bramble flower<br /> + That beareth the red hip.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">7.</p> +<p class="poetry">And so it fell upon a day,<br /> +Forsooth, as I now sing and say,<br /> + Sir Thopas went to ride;<br /> +He rode upon his courser grey,<br /> +And in his hand a lance so gay,<br /> + A long sword by his side.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">8.</p> +<p class="poetry">He rode along a forest fair,<br /> +Many a wild beast dwelling there;<br /> + (Mercy in heaven defend!)<br /> +And there was also buck and hare;<br /> +And as he went, he very near<br /> + Met with a sorry end.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">9.</p> +<p class="poetry">And herbs sprang up, or creeping ran;<br /> +The liquorice, and valerian,<br /> + Clove-gillyflowers, sun-dressed;<br /> +And nutmeg, good to put in ale,<br /> +Whether it be moist or stale,—<br /> + Or to lay sweet in chest,</p> +<p style="text-align: center">10.</p> +<p class="poetry">The birds all sang, as tho’ ’twere +May;<br /> +The spearhawk, <a name="citation32"></a><a href="#footnote32" +class="citation">[32]</a> and the popinjay,<br /> + It was a joy to hear;<br /> +The throstle cock made eke his lay,<br /> +The wood-dove sung upon the spray,<br /> + With note full loud and clear.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">11.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir Thopas fell in love-longing<br /> +All when he heard the throstle sing,<br /> + And spurred his horse like mad,<br /> +So that all o’er the blood did spring,<br /> +And eke the white foam you might wring:<br /> + The steed in foam seemed clad.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">12.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir Thopas eke so weary was<br /> +Of riding on the fine soft grass,<br /> + While love burnt in his breast,<br /> +That down he laid him in that place<br /> +To give his courser some soláce,<br /> + Some forage and some rest.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">13.</p> +<p class="poetry">Saint Mary! benedicite!<br /> +What meaneth all this love in me,<br /> + That haunts me in the wood?<br /> +This night, in dreaming, did I see<br /> +An elf queen shall my true love be,<br /> + And sleep beneath my hood.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">14.</p> +<p class="poetry">An elf queen will I love, I wis,<br /> +For in this world no woman is<br /> + Worthy to be my bride;<br /> +All other damsels I forsake,<br /> +And to an elf queen will I take,<br /> + By grove and streamlet’s side.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">15.</p> +<p class="poetry">Into his saddle be clomb anon,<br /> +And pricketh over stile and stone,<br /> + An elf queen to espy;<br /> +Till he so long had ridden and gone,<br /> +That he at last upon a morn<br /> + The fairy land came nigh.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">16.</p> +<p class="poetry">Therein he sought both far and near,<br /> +And oft he spied in daylight clear<br /> + Through many a forest wild;<br /> +But in that wondrous land I ween,<br /> +No living wight by him was seen,<br /> + Nor woman, man, nor child.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">17.</p> +<p class="poetry">At last there came a giant gaunt,<br /> +And he was named Sir Oliphaunt,<br /> + A perilous man of deed:<br /> +And he said, “Childe, by Termagaunt,<br /> +If thou ride not from this my haunt,<br /> + Soon will I slay thy steed<br /> + With this victorious mace;<br /> +For here’s the lovely Queen of Faery,<br /> +With harp and pipe and symphony,<br /> + A-dwelling in this place.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">18.</p> +<p class="poetry">Childe Thopas said right haughtily,<br /> +“To-morrow will I combat thee<br /> + In armour bright as flower;<br /> +And then I promise ‘<i>par ma fay</i>’<br /> +That thou shalt feel this javelin gay,<br /> + And dread its wondrous power.<br /> + To-morrow we shall meet again,<br /> +And I will pierce thee, if I may,<br /> +Upon the golden prime of day;—<br /> + And here you shall be slain.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">19.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir Thopas drew aback full fast;<br /> +The giant at him huge stones cast,<br /> + Which from a staff-sling fly;<br /> +But well escaped the Childe Thopás,<br /> +And it was all through God’s good grace,<br /> + And through his bearing high.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">20.</p> +<p class="poetry">Still listen, gentles, to my tale,<br /> +Merrier than the nightingale;—<br /> + For now I must relate,<br /> +How that Sir Thopas rideth o’er<br /> +Hill and dale and bright sea-shore,<br /> + E’en to his own estate.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">21.</p> +<p class="poetry">His merry men commandeth he<br /> +To make for him the game and glee;<br /> + For needs he must soon fight<br /> +With a giant fierce, with strong heads three,<br /> +For paramour and jollity,<br /> + And chivalry so bright.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">22.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come forth,” said he, “my +minstrels fair,<br /> +And tell me tales right debonair,<br /> + While I am clad and armed;<br /> +Romances, full of real tales,<br /> +Of dames, and popes, and cardinals,<br /> + And maids by wizards charmed.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">23.</p> +<p class="poetry">They bore to him the sweetest wine<br /> +In silver cup; the muscadine,<br /> + With spices rare of Ind;<br /> +Fine gingerbread, in many a slice,<br /> +With cummin seed, and liquorice,<br /> + And sugar thrice refined.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">24.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then next to his white skin he ware<br /> +A cloth of fleecy wool, as fair,<br /> + Woven into a shirt;<br /> +Next that he put a cassock on,<br /> +And over that an habergeon, <a name="citation35"></a><a +href="#footnote35" class="citation">[35]</a><br /> + To guard right well his heart.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">25.</p> +<p class="poetry">And over that a hauberk went<br /> +Of Jews’ work, and most excellent;<br /> + Full strong was every plate;<br /> +And over that his coat armoúre,<br /> +As white as is the lily flower,<br /> + In which he would debate.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">26.</p> +<p class="poetry">His shield was all of gold so red,<br /> +And thereon was a wild boar’s head,<br /> + A carbuncle beside;<br /> +And then he swore on ale and bread,<br /> +How that the giant should be dead,<br /> + Whatever should betide!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">27.</p> +<p class="poetry">His boots were glazed right curiously,<br /> +His sword-sheath was of ivory,<br /> + His helm all brassy bright;<br /> +His saddle was of jet-black bone,<br /> +His bridle like the bright sun shone,<br /> + Or like the clear moons light,</p> +<p style="text-align: center">28.</p> +<p class="poetry">His spear was of the cypress tree,<br /> +That bodeth battle right and free;<br /> + The point full sharp was ground;<br /> +His steed it was a dapple grey,<br /> +That goeth an amble on the way,<br /> + Full softly and full round.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">29.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lo! lordlings mine, here ends one fytte<br /> + Of this my tale, a gallant strain;<br /> +And if ye will hear more of it,<br /> + I’ll soon begin again.</p> +<h4>FYTTE THE SECOND.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">1.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now hold your speech for charity,<br /> +Both gallant knight and lady free,<br /> + And hearken to my song<br /> +Of battle and of chivalry,<br /> +Of ladies’ love and minstrelsy,<br /> + All ambling thus along.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">2.</p> +<p class="poetry">Men speak much of old tales, I know;<br /> +Of Hornchild, Ipotis, alsó<br /> + Of Bevis and Sir Guy;<br /> +Of Sire Libeaux, and Pleindamour;<br /> +But Sire Thopas, he is the flower<br /> + Of real chivalry.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">3.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now was his gallant steed bestrode,<br /> +And forth upon his way he rode,<br /> + As spark flies from a brand;<br /> +Upon his crest he bare a tower,<br /> +And therein stuck a lily flower:<br /> + Save him from giant hand.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">4.</p> +<p class="poetry">He was a knight in battle bred,<br /> +And in no house would seek his bed,<br /> + But laid him in the wood;<br /> +His pillow was his helmet bright,—<br /> +His horse grazed by him all the night<br /> + On herbs both fine and good.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">5.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he drank water from the well,<br /> +As did the knight Sir Percival,<br /> + So worthy under weed;<br /> +Till on a day—</p> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Here Chaucer is interrupted in +his Rime</i>.]</p> +<h3><i>EPILOGUE TO RIME</i>.</h3> +<p class="poetry">“No more of this, for Heaven’s high +dignity!”<br /> +Quoth then our Host, “for, lo! thou makest me<br /> +So weary of thy very simpleness,<br /> +That all so wisely may the Lord me bless,<br /> +My very ears, with thy dull rubbish, ache.<br /> +Now such a rime at once let Satan take.<br /> +This may be well called ‘doggrel rime,’” quoth +he.<br /> +“Why so?” quoth I; “why wilt thou not let me<br +/> +Tell all my tale, like any other man,<br /> +Since that it is the best rime that I can?”<br /> +“Mass!” quoth our Host, “if that I hear +aright,<br /> +Thy scraps of rhyming are not worth a mite;<br /> +Thou dost nought else but waste away our time:—<br /> +Sir, at one word, thou shalt no longer rhyme.”</p> +<h2><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span>CHAUCER’S<br /> +Friar’s Tale; Or, The Sumner And The Devil.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">MODERNISED +BY LEIGH HUNT.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> lived, sirs, +in my country, formerly,<br /> +A wondrous great archdeacon,—who but he?<br /> +Who boldly did the work of his high station<br /> +In punishing improper conversation,<br /> +And all the slidings thereunto belonging;<br /> +Witchcraft, and scandal also, and the wronging<br /> +Of holy Church, by blinking of her dues<br /> +In sacraments and contracts, wills and pews;<br /> +Usury furthermore, and simony;<br /> +But people of ill lives most loathéd he:<br /> +Lord! how he made them sing if they were caught.<br /> +And tithe-defaulters, ye may guess, were taught<br /> +Never to venture on the like again;<br /> +To the last farthing would he rack and strain.<br /> +For stinted tithes, or stinted offering,<br /> +He made the people piteously to sing.<br /> +He left no leg for the good bishop’s crook;<br /> +Down went the black sheep in his own black book;<br /> +For when the name gat there, such dereliction<br /> +Came, you must know, sirs, in his jurisdiction.</p> +<p class="poetry"> He had a Sumner ready to his +hand;<br /> +A slyer bully filched not in the land;<br /> +For in all parts the villain had his spies<br /> +To let him know where profit might arise.<br /> +Well could he spare ill livers, three or four,<br /> +To help his net to four-and-twenty more.<br /> +’Tis truth. Your Sumner may stare hard for me;<br /> +I shall not screen, not I, his villainy;<br /> +For heaven be thanked, <i>laudetur Dominus</i>,<br /> +They have no hold, these cursed thieves, on us;<br /> +Nor never shall have, let ’em thieve till doom.</p> +<p class="poetry"> [“No,” cried the +Sumner, starting from his gloom,<br /> +“Nor have we any hold, Sir Shaven-crown,<br /> +On your fine flock, the ladies of the town.”<br /> + “Peace, with a vengeance,” quoth our +Host, “and let<br /> +The tale be told. Say on, thou marmoset,<br /> +Thou lady’s friar, and let the Sumner sniff.”]</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Well,” quoth the +Friar; “this Sumner, this false thief,<br /> +Had scouts in plenty ready to his hand,<br /> +Like any hawks, the sharpest in the land,<br /> +Watching their birds to pluck, each in his mew,<br /> +Who told him all the secrets that they knew,<br /> +And lured him game, and gat him wondrous profit;<br /> +Exceeding little knew his master of it.<br /> +Sirs, he would go, without a writ, and take<br /> +Poor wretches up, feigning it for Christ’s sake,<br /> +And threatening the poor people with his curse,<br /> +And all the while would let them fill his purse,<br /> +And to the alehouse bring him by degrees,<br /> +And then he’d drink with them, and slap his knees<br /> +For very mirth, and say ’twas some mistake.<br /> +Judas carried the bag, sirs, for Christ’s sake,<br /> +And was a thief; and such a thief was he;<br /> +His master got but sorry share, <i>pardie</i>.<br /> +To give due laud unto this Satan’s imp,<br /> +He was a thief, a Sumner, and a pimp.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Wenches themselves were in +his retinue;<br /> +So whether ’twas Sir Robert, or Sir Hugh,<br /> +Or Jack, or Ralph, that held the damsel dear,<br /> +Come would she then, and tell it in his ear:<br /> +Thus were the wench and he of one accord;<br /> +And he would feign a mandate from his lord,<br /> +And summon them before the court, those two,<br /> +And pluck the man, and let the mawkin go.<br /> +Then would he say, “Friend, for thine honest look,<br /> +I save thy name, this once, from the black book;<br /> +Thou hear’st no further of this case.”—But, +Lord!<br /> +I might not in two years his bribes record.<br /> +There’s not a dog alive, so speed my soul,<br /> +Knoweth a hurt deer better from a whole<br /> +Than this false Sumner knew a tainted sheep,<br /> +Or where this wretch would skulk, or that would sleep,<br /> +Or to fleece both was more devoutly bent;<br /> +And reason good; his faith was in his rent.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And so befell, that once upon +a day,<br /> +This Sumner, prowling ever for his prey,<br /> +Rode forth to cheat a poor old widowed soul,<br /> +Feigning a cause for lack of protocol,<br /> +And as he went, he saw before him ride<br /> +A yeoman gay under the forest side.<br /> +A bow he bare, and arrows bright and keen;<br /> +And he was clad in a short cloak of green,<br /> +And wore a hat that had a fringe of black.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Sir,” quoth this +Sumner, shouting at his back,<br /> +“Hail, and well met.”—“Well met,” +like shouteth he;<br /> +“Where ridest thou under the greenwood tree?<br /> +Goest thou far, thou jolly boy, to-day?”<br /> + This bully Sumner answered, and said, “Nay,<br +/> +Only hard-by, to strain a rent.”—“Hoh! hoh!<br +/> +Art thou a bailiff then?”—“Yea, even +so.”<br /> +For he durst not, for very filth and shame,<br /> +Say that he was a Sumner, for the name.<br /> + “Well met, in God’s name,” quoth +black fringe; “why, brother,<br /> +Thou art a bailiff then, and I’m another;<br /> +But I’m a stranger in these parts; so, prythee,<br /> +Lend me thine aid, and let me journey with thee.<br /> +I’ve gold and silver, plenty, where I dwell;<br /> +And if thou hap’st to come into our dell,<br /> +Lord! how we’ll do our best to give thee +greeting!”<br /> + “Thanks,” quoth the Sumner; “merry +be our meeting.”<br /> +So in each other’s hand their troths they lay,<br /> +And swear accord: and forth they ride and play.</p> +<p class="poetry"> This Sumner then, which was +as full of stir,<br /> +And prate, and prying, as a woodpecker,<br /> +And ever inquiring upon everything,<br /> +Said, “Brother, where is thine inhabiting,<br /> +In case I come to find thee out some day?”</p> +<p class="poetry"> This yeoman dropped his +speech in a soft way,<br /> +And said, “Far in the north. But ere we part, <a +name="citation42"></a><a href="#footnote42" +class="citation">[42]</a><br /> +I trow thou shalt have learnt it so by heart,<br /> +Thou mayst not miss it, be it dark as pitch.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Good,” quoth the +Sumner. “Now, as thou art rich,<br /> +Show me, dear brother, riding thus with me,<br /> +Since we are bailiffs both, some subtlety,<br /> +How I may play my game best, and may win:<br /> +And spare not, pray, for conscience or for sin,<br /> +But, as my brother, tell me how do ye.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Why, ’faith, to +tell thee a plain tale,” quoth he,<br /> +“As to my wages, they be poor enough;<br /> +My lord’s a dangerous master, hard and chuff;<br /> +And since my labour bringeth but abortion,<br /> +I live, so please ye, brother, by extortion,<br /> +I take what I can get; that is my course;<br /> +By cunning, if I may; if not, by force;<br /> +So cometh, year by year, my salary.”<br /> + “Now certes,” quote the Sumner, +“so fare I.<br /> +I lay my hands on everything, God wot,<br /> +Unless it be too heavy or too hot.<br /> +What I may get in counsel, privily,<br /> +I feel no sort of qualm thereon, not I.<br /> +Extortion or starvation;—that’s my creed.<br /> +Repent who list. The best of saints must feed.<br /> +That’s all the stomach that my conscience knoweth.<br /> +Curse on the ass that to confession goeth.<br /> +Well be we met, ’Od’s heart! and by my dame!<br /> +But tell me, brother dear, what is thy name?”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now ye must know, that right +in this meanwhile,<br /> +This yeoman ’gan a little for to smile.<br /> +“Brother,” quoth he, “my name, if I must +tell—<br /> +I am a fiend: my dwelling is in hell:<br /> +And here I ride about my fortuning,<br /> +To wot if folk will give me anything.<br /> +To that sole end ride I, and ridest thou;<br /> +And, without pulling rein, will I ride now<br /> +To the world’s end, ere I will lose a prey.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “God bless me,” +quoth the Sumner, “what d’ye say?<br /> +I thought ye were a yeoman verily.<br /> +Ye have a man’s shape, sir, as well as I.<br /> +Have ye a shape then, pray, determinate<br /> +In hell, good sir, where ye have your estate?”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Nay, certainly,” +quoth he, “there have we none;<br /> +But whoso liketh it, he taketh one;<br /> +And so we make folk think us what we please.<br /> +Sometimes we go like apes, sometimes like bees,<br /> +Like man, or angel, black dog, or black crow:—<br /> +Nor is it wondrous that it should be so.<br /> +A sorry juggler can bewilder thee;<br /> +And ’faith, I think I know more craft than he.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “But why,” +inquired the Sumner, “must ye don<br /> +So many shapes, when ye might stick to one?”<br /> + “We suit the bait unto the fish,” quoth +he.<br /> +“And why,” quoth t’other, “all this +slavery?”<br /> + “For many a cause, Sir Sumner,” quoth +the fiend;<br /> +“But time is brief—the day will have an end;<br /> +And here jog I, with nothing for my ride;<br /> +Catch we our fox, and let this theme abide:<br /> +For, brother mine, thy wit it is too small<br /> +To understand me, though I told thee all;<br /> +And yet, as toucheth that same slavery,<br /> +A devil must do God’s work, ’twixt you and me;<br /> +For without Him, albeit to our loathing,<br /> +Strong as we go, we devils can do nothing;<br /> +Though to our prayers, sometimes, He giveth leave<br /> +Only the body, not the soul, to grieve.<br /> +Witness good Job, whom nothing could make wrath;<br /> +And sometimes have we power to harass both;<br /> +And, then again, soul only is possest,<br /> +And body free; and all is for the best.<br /> +Full many a sinner would have no salvation,<br /> +Gat it he not by standing our temptation:<br /> +Though God He knows, ’twas far from our intent<br /> +To save the man:—his howl was what we meant.<br /> +Nay, sometimes we be servants to our foes:<br /> +Witness the saint that pulled my master’s nose;<br /> +And to the apostle servant eke was I.”<br /> + “Yet tell me,” quoth this Sumner, +“faithfully,<br /> +Are the new shapes ye take for your intents<br /> +Fresh every time, and wrought of elements?”<br /> + “Nay,” quoth the fiend, “sometimes +they be disguises;<br /> +And sometimes in a corpse a devil rises,<br /> +And speaks as sensibly, and fair, and well,<br /> +As did the Pythoness to Samuel:<br /> +And yet will some men say, it was not he!<br /> +Lord help, say I, this world’s divinity.<br /> +Of one thing make thee sure; that thou shalt know,<br /> +Before we part, the shapes we wear below.<br /> +Thou shalt—I jest thee not—the Lord forbid!<br /> +Thou shalt know more than ever Virgil did,<br /> +Or Dante’s self. So let us on, sweet brother,<br /> +And stick, like right warm souls, to one another:<br /> +I’ll never quit thee, till thou quittest me.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Nay,” quoth the +Sumner, “that can never be;<br /> +I am a man well known, respectable;<br /> +And though thou wert the very lord of hell,<br /> +Hold thee I should as mine own plighted brother:<br /> +Doubt not we’ll stick right fast, each to the other:<br /> +And, as we think alike, so will we thrive:<br /> +We twain will be the merriest devils alive.<br /> +Take thou what’s given; for that’s thy mode, God +wot;<br /> +And I will take, whether ’tis given or not.<br /> +And if that either winneth more than t’other,<br /> +Let him be true, and share it with his brother.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Done,” quoth the +fiend, whose eyes in secret glowed;<br /> +And with that word they pricked along the road:<br /> +And soon it fell, that entering the town’s end,<br /> +To which this Sumner shaped him for to wend,<br /> +They saw a cart that loaded was with hay,<br /> +The which a carter drove forth on his way.<br /> +Deep was the mire, and sudden the cart stuck:<br /> +The carter, like a madman, smote and struck,<br /> +And cried, “Heit, Scot; heit, Brock! What! is’t +the stones?<br /> +The devil clean fetch ye both, body and bones:<br /> +Must I do nought but bawl and swinge all day?<br /> +Devil take the whole—horse, harness, cart, and +hay.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> The Sumner whispered to the +fiend, “I’ faith,<br /> +We have it here. Hear’st thou not what he saith?<br +/> +Take it anon, for he hath given it thee,<br /> +Live stock and dead, hay, cart, and horses three!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Nay,” quoth the +fiend, “not so;—the deuce a bit.<br /> +He sayeth; but, alas! not meaneth it:<br /> +Ask him thyself, if thou believ’st not me;<br /> +Or else be still awhile, and thou shalt see.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thwacketh the man his horses +on the croup,<br /> +And they begin to draw now, and to stoop.<br /> +“<i>Heit</i> there,” quoth he; “<i>heit</i>, +<i>heit</i>; ah, <i>matthywo</i>.<br /> +Lord love their hearts! how prettily they go!<br /> +That was well twitched, methinks, mine own grey boy:<br /> +I pray God save thy body, and Saint Eloy.<br /> +Now is my cart out of the slough, <i>pardie</i>.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “There,” quoth +the fiend unto the Sumner; “see,<br /> +I told thee how ’twould fall. Thou seest, dear +brother,<br /> +The churl spoke one thing, but he thought another.<br /> +Let us prick on, for we take nothing here.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> And when from out the town +they had got clear,<br /> +The Sumner said, “Here dwelleth an old witch,<br /> +That had as lief be tumbled in a ditch<br /> +And break her neck, as part with an old penny.<br /> +Nathless her twelve pence is as good as any,<br /> +And I will have it, though she lose her wits;<br /> +Or else I’ll cite her with a score of writs:<br /> +And yet, God wot, I know of her no vice.<br /> +So learn of me, Sir Fiend: thou art too nice.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> The Sumner clappeth at the +widow’s gate.<br /> +“Come out,” he saith, “thou hag, thou +quiver-pate:<br /> +I trow thou hast some friar or priest with thee.”<br /> + “Who clappeth?” said this wife; +“ah, what say ye?<br /> +God save ye, masters: what is your sweet will?”<br /> + “I have,” said he, “of summons +here a bill:<br /> +Take care, on pain of cursing, that thou be<br /> +To-morrow morn, before the Archdeacon’s knee,<br /> +To answer to the court of certain things.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Now, Lord,” +quoth she, “sweet Jesu, King of kings,<br /> +So help me, as I cannot, sirs, nor may:<br /> +I have been sick, and that full many a day.<br /> +I may not walk such distance, nay, nor ride,<br /> +But I be dead, so pricketh it my side.<br /> +La! how I cough and quiver when I stir!—<br /> +May I not ask some worthy officer<br /> +To speak for me, to what the bill may say?”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Yea, certainly,” +this Sumner said, “ye may,<br /> +On paying—let me see—twelve pence anon.<br /> +Small profit cometh to myself thereon:<br /> +My master hath the profit, and not I.<br /> +Come—twelve pence, mother—count it speedily,<br /> +And let me ride: I may no longer tarry.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Twelve pence!” +quoth she; “now may the sweet Saint Mary<br /> +So wisely help me out of care and sin,<br /> +As in this wide world, though I sold my skin,<br /> +I could not scrape up twelve pence, for my life.<br /> +Ye know too well I am a poor old wife:<br /> +Give alms, for the Lord’s sake, to me, poor +wretch.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Nay, if I quit thee +then,” quoth he, “devil fetch<br /> +Myself, although thou starve for it, and rot.”<br /> + “Alas!” quoth she, “the pence I +have ’em not.”<br /> +“Pay me,” quoth he, “or by the sweet Saint +Anne,<br /> +I’ll bear away thy staff and thy new pan<br /> +For the old debt thou ow’st me for that fee,<br /> +Which out of pocket I discharged for thee,<br /> +When thou didst make thy husband an old stag.”<br /> + “Thou liest,” quoth she; “so leave +me never a rag,<br /> +As I was never yet, widow nor wife,<br /> +Summonsed before your court in all my life,<br /> +Nor never of my body was untrue.<br /> +Unto the devil, rough and black of hue,<br /> +Give I thy body, and the pan to boot.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> And when this devil heard her +give the brute<br /> +Thus in his charge, he stooped into her ear,<br /> +And said, “Now, Mabily, my mother dear,<br /> +Is this your will in earnest that ye say?”<br /> + “The devil,” quoth she, “so fetch +him cleanaway,<br /> +Soul, pan, and all, unless that he repent.”<br /> + “Repent!” the Sumner cried; “pay +up your rent,<br /> +Old fool; and don’t stand preaching here to me.<br /> +I would I had thy whole inventory,<br /> +The smock from off thy back, and every cloth.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Now, brother,” +quoth the devil, “be not wroth;<br /> +Thy body and this pan be mine by right,<br /> +And thou shalt straight to hell with me to-night,<br /> +Where thou shalt know what sort of folk we be,<br /> +Better than Oxford university.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> And with that word the fiend +him swept below,<br /> +Body and soul. He went where Sumners go.</p> +<h2><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>CHAUCER’S<br /> +Reve’s Tale.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">MODERNISED +BY R. H. HORNE.</span></p> +<h3><i>THE REVE’S PROLOGUE</i>.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> all had laughed +at this right foolish case<br /> +Of Absalom and credulous Nicholas, <a name="citation49"></a><a +href="#footnote49" class="citation">[49]</a><br /> +Diverse folk diversely their comments made.<br /> +But, for the most part, they all laughed and played,<br /> +Nor at this tale did any man much grieve,<br /> +Unless indeed ’twas Oswald, our good Reve.<br /> +Because that he was of the carpenter craft,<br /> +In his heart still a little ire is left.<br /> +He gan to grudge it somewhat, as scarce right;<br /> +“So aid me!” quoth he; “I could such requite<br +/> +By throwing dust in a proud millers eye,<br /> +If that I chose to speak of ribaldry.<br /> +But I am old; I cannot play for age;<br /> +Grass-time is done—my fodder is now forage;<br /> +This white top sadly writeth mine old years;<br /> +Mine heart is also mouldy’d as mine hairs:<br /> +And since I fare as doth the medlar tree,<br /> +That fruit which time grows ever the worse to be<br /> +Till it be rotten in rubbish and in straw.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “We old men, as I fear, +the same lot draw;<br /> +Till we be rotten can we not be ripe.<br /> +We ever hop while that the world will pipe;<br /> +For in our will there sticketh ever a nail,<br /> +To have a hoary head and a green tail,<br /> +As hath a leek; for though our strength be lame,<br /> +Our will desireth folly ever the same;<br /> +For when our climbing’s done, our words aspire;<br /> +Still in our ashes old is reeking fire. <a +name="citation50"></a><a href="#footnote50" +class="citation">[50]</a></p> +<p class="poetry"> “Four hot coals have +we, which I will express:<br /> +Boasting, lying, anger, and covetousness.<br /> +These burning coals are common unto age,<br /> +Our old limbs well may stumble o’er the stage,<br /> +But will shall never fail us, that is sooth.<br /> +Still in my head was always a colt’s tooth,<br /> +As many a year as now is passed and done,<br /> +Since that my tap of life began to run.<br /> +For certainly when I was born, I trow,<br /> +Death drew the tap of life, and let it flow;<br /> +And ever since the tap so fast hath run,<br /> +That well-nigh empty now is all the tun.<br /> +The stream of life but drips from time to time;<br /> +The silly tongue may well ring out and chime<br /> +Of wretchedness, that passéd is of yore:<br /> +With aged folk, save dotage, there’s nought +more.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> When that our Host had heard +this sermoning,<br /> +He gan to speak as lordly as a king;<br /> +And said, “Why, what amounteth all this wit?<br /> +What! shall we speak all day of Holy Writ?<br /> +The devil can make a steward fit to preach,<br /> +Or of a cobbler a sailor, or a leech.<br /> +Say forth thy tale; and tarry not the time.<br /> +Lo Deptford! and the hour is half-way prime:<br /> +Lo Greenwich! there where many a shrew loves sin—<br /> +It were high time thy story to begin.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Now, fair sirs,” +quoth this Oswald, the old Reve,<br /> +“I pray you all that you yourselves ne’er grieve,<br +/> +Though my reply should somewhat fret his nose;<br /> +For lawful ’tis with force, force to oppose.<br /> +This drunken Miller hath informed us here<br /> +How that some folks beguiled a carpenter—<br /> +Perhaps in scorn that I of yore was one.<br /> +So, by your leave, him I’ll requite anon.<br /> +In his own churlish language will I speak,<br /> +And pray to Heaven besides his neck may break.<br /> +A small stalk in mine eye he sees, I deem,<br /> +But in his own he cannot see a beam.”</p> +<h3><i>THE REVE’S TALE</i>.</h3> +<p class="poetry">At Trumpington, near Cambridge, if you look,<br +/> +There goeth a bridge, and under that a brook,<br /> +Upon which brook there stood a flour-mill;<br /> +And this is a known fact that now I tell.<br /> +A Miller there had dwelt for many a day;<br /> +As any peacock he was proud and gay.<br /> +He could pipe well, and fish, mend nets, to boot,<br /> +Turn cups with a lathe, and wrestle well, and shoot.<br /> +A Norman dirk, as brown as is a spade,<br /> +Hung by his belt, and eke a trenchant blade.<br /> +A jolly dagger bare he in his pouch:<br /> +There was no man, for peril, durst him touch.<br /> +A Sheffield clasp-knife lay within his hose.<br /> +Round was his face, and broad and flat his nose.<br /> +High and retreating was his bald ape’s skull:<br /> +He swaggered when the market-place was full.<br /> +There durst no wight a hand lift to resent it,<br /> +But soon, this Miller swore, he should repent it.</p> +<p class="poetry"> A thief he was, forsooth, of +corn and meal,<br /> +A sly one, too, and used long since to steal.<br /> +Disdainful Simkin was he called by name.<br /> +A wife he had; of noble kin she came:<br /> +The rector of the town her father was.<br /> +With her he gave full many a pan of brass,<br /> +That Simkin with his blood should thus ally.<br /> +She had been brought up in a nunnery;<br /> +For Simkin ne’er would take a wife, he said,<br /> +Unless she were well tutored and a maid,<br /> +To carry on his line of yeomanry:<br /> +And she was proud and pert as is a pie.<br /> +It was a pleasant thing to see these two:<br /> +On holidays before her he would go,<br /> +With his large tippet bound about his head;<br /> +While she came after in a gown of red,<br /> +And Simkin wore his long hose of the same.<br /> +There durst no wight address her but as dame:<br /> +None was so bold that passed along the way<br /> +Who with her durst once toy or jesting play,<br /> +Unless he wished the sudden loss of life<br /> +Before Disdainful Simkin’s sword or knife.<br /> +(For jealous folk most fierce and perilous grow;<br /> +And this they always wish their wives to know.)<br /> +But since that to broad jokes she’d no dislike<br /> +She was as pure as water in a dyke,<br /> +And with abuse all filled and froward air.<br /> +She thought that ladies should her temper bear,<br /> +Both for her kindred and the lessons high<br /> +That had been taught her in the nunnery.</p> +<p class="poetry"> These two a fair and buxom +daughter had,<br /> +Of twenty years; no more since they were wed,<br /> +Saving a child, that was but six months old;<br /> +A little boy in cradle rocked and rolled.<br /> +This daughter was a stout and well-grown lass,<br /> +With broad flat nose, and eyes as grey as glass.<br /> +Broad were her hips; her bosom round and high;<br /> +But right fair was she here—I will not lie.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The rector of the town, as +she was fair,<br /> +A purpose had to make her his sole heir,<br /> +Both of his cattle and his tenement;<br /> +But only if she married as he meant.<br /> +It was his purpose to bestow her high,<br /> +Into some worthy blood of ancestry:<br /> +For holy Church’s good must be expended<br /> +On holy Church’s blood that is descended;<br /> +Therefore he would his holy Church honour,<br /> +Although that holy Church he should devour.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Great toll and fee had +Simkin, out of doubt,<br /> +With wheat and malt, of all the land about,<br /> +And in especial was the Soler Hall—<br /> +A college great at Cambridge thus they call—<br /> +Which at this mill both wheat and malt had ground.<br /> +And on a day it suddenly was found,<br /> +Sick lay the Manciple of a malady;<br /> +And men for certain thought that he must die.<br /> +Whereon this Miller both of corn and meal<br /> +An hundred times more than before did steal;<br /> +For, ere this chance, he stole but courteously,<br /> +But now he was a thief outrageously.<br /> +The Warden scolded with an angry air;<br /> +But this the Miller rated not a tare:<br /> +He sang high bass, and swore it was not so!</p> +<p class="poetry"> There were two scholars +young, and poor, I trow,<br /> +That dwelt within the Hall of which I say.<br /> +Headstrong they were and lusty for to play;<br /> +And merely for their mirth and revelry,<br /> +Out to the Warden eagerly they cry,<br /> +That be should let them, for a merry round,<br /> +Go to the mill and see their own corn ground,<br /> +And each would fair and boldly lay his neck<br /> +The Miller should not steal them half a peck<br /> +Of corn by sleight, nor by main force bereave.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And at the last the Warden +gave them leave:<br /> +One was called John, and Allen named the other;<br /> +From the same town they came, which was called Strauther,<br /> +Far in the North—I cannot tell you where.</p> +<p class="poetry"> This Allen maketh ready all +his gear,<br /> +And on a horse the sack he cast anon:<br /> +Forth go these merry clerks, Allen and John,<br /> +With good sword and with buckler by their side.<br /> +John knew the way, and needed not a guide;<br /> +And at the mill the sack adown he layeth.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Allen spake +first:—“Simon, all hail! in faith,<br /> +How fares thy daughter, and thy worthy wife?”<br /> + “Allen,” quoth Simkin, “welcome, +by my life;<br /> +And also John:—how now! what do ye here?”<br /> + “Simon,” quoth John, “compulsion +has no peer.<br /> +They who’ve nae lackeys must themselves bestir,<br /> +Or else they are but fools, as clerks aver.<br /> +Our Manciple, I think, will soon be dead,<br /> +Sae slowly work the grinders in his head;<br /> +And therefore am I come with Allen thus,<br /> +To grind our corn, and carry it hame with us:<br /> +I pray you speed us, that we may be gone.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Quoth Simkin, “By my +faith it shall be done;<br /> +What will ye do while that it is in hand?”<br /> + “Gude’s life! right by the hopper will I +stand,”<br /> +(Quoth John), “and see how that the corn goes in.<br /> +I never yet saw, by my father’s kin,<br /> +How that the hopper waggles to and fro.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Allen +continued,—“John, and wilt thou so?<br /> +Then will I be beneath it, by my crown,<br /> +And see how that the meal comes running down<br /> +Into the trough—and that shall be my sport.<br /> +For, John, like you, I’m of the curious sort;<br /> +And quite as bad a miller—so let’s see!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> This Miller smiled at their +’cute nicety,<br /> +And thought,—all this is done but for a wile;<br /> +They fancy that no man can them beguile:<br /> +But, by my thrift, I’ll dust their searching eye,<br /> +For all the sleights in their philosophy.<br /> +The more quaint knacks and guarded plans they make,<br /> +The more corn will I steal when once I take:<br /> +Instead of flour, I’ll leave them nought but bran:<br /> +The greatest clerks are not the wisest men.<br /> +As whilom to the wolf thus spake the mare:<br /> +Of all their art I do not count a tare.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Out at the door he goeth full +privily,<br /> +When that he saw his time, and noiselessly:<br /> +He looketh up and down, till he hath found<br /> +The clerks’ bay horse, where he was standing bound<br /> +Under an ivy wall, behind the mill:<br /> +And to the horse he goeth him fair and well,<br /> +And strippeth off the bridle in a trice.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And when the horse was loose +he ’gan to race<br /> +Unto the wild mares wandering in the fen,<br /> +With <i>wehee</i>! <i>whinny</i>! right through thick and +thin!<br /> +This Miller then returned; no word he said,<br /> +But doth his work, and with these clerks he played,<br /> +Till that their corn was well and fairly ground.<br /> +And when the meal is sacked and safely bound<br /> +John goeth out, and found his horse was gone,<br /> +And cried aloud with many a stamp and groan,<br /> +“Our horse is lost! Allen, ’od’s banes! I +say,<br /> +Up on thy feet!—come off, man—up, away!<br /> +Alas! our Warden’s palfrey, it is gone!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Allen at once forgot both +meal and corn—<br /> +Out of his mind went all his husbandry—<br /> +“What! whilk way is he gone?” he ’gan to +cry.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The Miller’s wife came +laughing inwardly,<br /> +“Alas!” said she, “your horse i’ the fens +doth fly<br /> +After wild mares as fast as he can go!<br /> +Ill-luck betide the man that bound him so,<br /> +And his that better should have knit the rein.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Alas!” quoth +John, “good Allen, haste amain;<br /> +Lay down thy sword, as I will mine also;<br /> +Heaven knoweth I am as nimble as a roe;<br /> +He shall not ’scape us baith, or my saul’s dead!<br +/> +Why didst not put the horse within the shed?<br /> +By the mass, Allen, thou’rt a fool, I say!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Those silly clerks have +scampered fast away<br /> +Unto the fen; Allen and nimble John:<br /> +And when the Miller saw that they were gone,<br /> +He half a bushel of their flour doth take,<br /> +And bade his wife go knead it in a cake.<br /> +He said, “I trow these clerks feared what they’ve +found;<br /> +Yet can a miller turn a scholar round<br /> +For all his art. Yea, let them go their way!<br /> +See where they run! yea, let the children play:<br /> +They get him not so lightly, by my crown.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> The simple clerks go running +up and down,<br /> +With “Soft, soft!—stand, +stand!—hither!—back! take care!<br /> +Now whistle thou, and I shall keep him here!”<br /> +But, to be brief, until the very night<br /> +They could not, though they tried with all their might,<br /> +The palfrey catch; he always ran so fast:<br /> +Till in a ditch they caught him at the last.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Weary and wet as beasts amid +the rain,<br /> +Allen and John come slowly back again.<br /> +“Alas,” quoth John, “that ever I was born!<br +/> +Now are we turned into contempt and scorn.<br /> +Our corn is stolen; fools they will us call;<br /> +The Warden, and our college fellows all,<br /> +And ’specially the Miller—’las the +day!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thus plaineth John while +going by the way<br /> +Toward the mill, the bay nag in his hand.<br /> +The Miller sitting by the fire they found,<br /> +For it was night: no further could they move;<br /> +But they besought him, for Heaven’s holy love,<br /> +Lodgment and food to give them for their penny.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And Simkin answered, +“If that there be any,<br /> +Such as it is, yet shall ye have your part.<br /> +My house is small, but ye have learnéd art;<br /> +Ye can, by arguments, well make a place<br /> +A mile broad, out of twenty foot of space!<br /> +Let’s see now if this place, as ’tis, suffice;<br /> +Or make more room with speech, as is your guise.”<br /> + “Now, Simon, by Saint Cuthbert,” said +this John,<br /> +“Thou’rt ever merry, and that’s answered +soon.<br /> +I’ve heard that man must needs choose o’ twa +things;<br /> +Such as he finds, or else such as he brings.<br /> +But specially I pray thee, mine host dear,<br /> +Let us have meat and drink, and make us cheer,<br /> +And we shall pay you to the full, be sure:<br /> +With empty hand men may na’ hawks allure.<br /> +Lo! here’s our siller ready to be spent!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> The Miller to the town his +daughter sent<br /> +For ale and bread, and roasted them a goose;<br /> +And bound their horse; he should no more get loose;<br /> +And in his own room made for them a bed,<br /> +With blankets, sheets, and coverlet well spread:<br /> +Not twelve feet from his own bed did it stand.<br /> +His daughter, by herself, as it was planned,<br /> +In a small passage closet, slept close by:<br /> +It might no better be, for reasons why,—<br /> +There was no wider chamber in the place.<br /> +They sup, and jest, and show a merry face,<br /> +And drink of ale, the strongest and the best.<br /> +It was just midnight when they went to rest.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Well hath this Simkin +varnished his hot head;<br /> +Full pale he was with drinking, and nought red.<br /> +He hiccougheth, and speaketh through the nose,<br /> +As with the worst of colds, or quinsy’s throes.<br /> +To bed he goeth, and with him trips his wife;<br /> +Light as a jay, and jolly seemed her life,<br /> +So was her jolly whistle well ywet.<br /> +The cradle at her bed’s foot close she set<br /> +To rock, or nurse the infant in the night.<br /> +And when the jug of ale was emptied quite,<br /> +To bed, likewise, the daughter went anon:<br /> +To bed goes Allen; with him also John.<br /> +All’s said: they need no drugs from poppies pale,<br /> +This Miller hath so wisely bibbed of ale;<br /> +But as an horse he snorteth in his sleep,<br /> +And blurteth secrets which awake he’d keep.<br /> +His wife a burden bare him, and full strong:<br /> +Men might their routing hear a good furlóng.<br /> +The daughter routeth else, <i>par compagnie</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Allen, the clerk, that heard +this melody,<br /> +Now poketh John, and said, “Why sleepest thou?<br /> +Heardest thou ever sic a song ere now?<br /> +Lo, what a serenade’s among them all!<br /> +A wild-fire red upon their bodies fall!<br /> +Wha ever listened to sae strange a thing?<br /> +The flower of evil shall their ending bring.<br /> +This whole night there to me betides no rest.<br /> +But, courage yet, all shall be for the best;<br /> +For, John,” said he, “as I may ever thrive,<br /> +To pipe a merrier serenade I’ll strive<br /> +In the dark passage somewhere near to us;<br /> +For, John, there is a law which sayeth thus,—<br /> +That if a man in one point be aggrieved,<br /> +Right in another he shall be relieved:<br /> +Our corn is stolen—sad yet sooth to say—<br /> +And we have had an evil bout to-day;<br /> +But since the Miller no amends will make,<br /> +Against our loss we should some payment take.<br /> +His sonsie daughter will I seek to win,<br /> +And get our meal back—de’il reward his sin!<br /> +By hallow-mass it shall no otherwise be!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> But John replied, +“Allen, well counsel thee:<br /> +The Miller is a perilous man,” he said,<br /> +“And if he wake and start up from his bed,<br /> +He may do both of us a villainy.”<br /> + “Nay,” Allen said, “I count him +not a flie!”<br /> +And up he rose, and crept along the floor<br /> +Into the passage humming with their snore:<br /> +As narrow was it as a drum or tub.<br /> +And like a beetle doth he grope and grub,<br /> +Feeling his way with darkness in his hands,<br /> +Till at the passage-end he stooping stands.</p> +<p class="poetry"> John lieth still, and not far +off, I trow,<br /> +And to himself he maketh ruth and woe.<br /> +“Alas,” quoth he, “this is a wicked jape!<br /> +Now may I say that I am but an ape.<br /> +Allen may somewhat quit him for his wrong:<br /> +Already can I hear his plaint and song;<br /> +So shall his ’venture happily be sped,<br /> +While like a rubbish-sack I lie in bed;<br /> +And when this jape is told another day,<br /> +I shall be called a fool, or a cokenáy!<br /> +I will adventure somewhat, too, in faith:<br /> +‘Weak heart, worse fortune,’ as the proverb +saith.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> And up he rose at once, and +softly went<br /> +Unto the cradle, as ’twas his intent,<br /> +And to his bed’s foot bare it, with the brat.<br /> +The wife her routing ceased soon after that,<br /> +And woke, and left her bed; for she was pained<br /> +With nightmare dreams of skies that madly rained.<br /> +Eastern astrologers and clerks, I wis,<br /> +In time of Apis tell of storms like this.<br /> +Awhile she stayed, and waxeth calm in mind;<br /> +Returning then, no cradle doth she find,<br /> +And gropeth here and there—but she found none.<br /> +“Alas,” quoth she, “I had almost misgone!<br /> +I well-nigh stumbled on the clerks a-bed:<br /> +<i>Eh benedicite</i>! but I am safely sped.”<br /> +And on she went, till she the cradle found,<br /> +While through the dark still groping with her hand.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Meantime was heard the +beating of a wing,<br /> +And then the third cock of the morn ’gan sing.<br /> +Allen stole back, and thought, “Ere that it dawn<br /> +I will creep in by John that lieth forlorn.”<br /> +He found the cradle in his hand, anon.<br /> +“Gude Lord!” thought Allen, “all wrong have I +gone!<br /> +My head is dizzy with the ale last night,<br /> +And eke my piping, that I go not right.<br /> +Wrong am I, by the cradle well I know:<br /> +Here lieth Simkin, and his wife alsó.”<br /> +And, scrambling forthright on, he made his way<br /> +Unto the bed where Simkin snoring lay!<br /> +He thought to nestle by his fellow John,<br /> +And by the Miller in he crept, anon,<br /> +And caught him by the neck, and ’gan to shake,<br /> +And said, “Thou John! thou swine’s head dull, +awake!<br /> +Wake, by the mass! and hear a noble game,<br /> +For, by St. Andrew! to thy ruth and shame,<br /> +I have been trolling roundelays this night,<br /> +And won the Miller’s daughter’s heart outright,<br /> +Who hath me told where hidden is our meal:<br /> +All this—and more—and how they always steal;<br /> +While thou hast as a coward lain aghast!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Thou slanderous +ribald!” quoth the Miller, “hast?<br /> +A traitor false, false lying clerk!” quoth he,<br /> +“Thou shalt be slain by heaven’s dignity,<br /> +Who rudely dar’st disparage with foul lie<br /> +My daughter that is come of lineage high!”<br /> +And by the throat he Allen grasped amain;<br /> +And caught him, yet more furiously, again,<br /> +And on his nose he smote him with his fist!<br /> +Down ran the bloody stream upon his breast,<br /> +And on the floor they tumble, heel and crown,<br /> +And shake the house—it seemed all coming down.<br /> +And up they rise, and down again they roll;<br /> +Till that the Miller, stumbling o’er a coal,<br /> +Went plunging headlong like a bull at bait,<br /> +And met his wife, and both fell flat as slate.<br /> +“Help, holy cross of Bromeholm!” loud she cried,<br +/> +“And all ye martyrs, fight upon my side!<br /> +<i>In manus tuas</i>—help!—on thee I call!<br /> +Simon, awake! the fiend on me doth fall:<br /> +He crusheth me—help!—I am well-nigh dead:<br /> +He lieth along my heart, and heels, and head.<br /> +Help, Simkin! for the false clerks rage and fight!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now sprang up John as fast as +ever he might,<br /> +And graspeth by the dark walls to and fro<br /> +To find a staff: the wife starts up alsó.<br /> +She knew the place far better than this John,<br /> +And by the wall she caught a staff anon.<br /> +She saw a little shimmering of a light,<br /> +For at an hole in shone the moon all bright,<br /> +And by that gleam she saw the struggling two,<br /> +But knew not, as for certain, who was who,<br /> +Save that she saw a white thing in her eye.<br /> +And when that she this white thing ’gan espy,<br /> +She thought that Allen did a nightcap wear,<br /> +And with the staff she drew near, and more near,<br /> +And, thinking ’twas the clerk, she smote at full<br /> +Disdainful Simkin on his bald ape’s skull.<br /> +Down goes the Miller, crying, “Harow, I die!”<br /> +These clerks they beat him well, and let him lie.<br /> +They make them ready, and take their horse anon,<br /> +And eke their meal, and on their way are gone;<br /> +And from behind the mill-door took their cake,<br /> +Of half a bushel of flour—a right good bake.</p> +<h3><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>CHAUCER’S POEM OF<br /> +The Cuckoo And The Nightingale.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">MODERNISED +BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">1.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> God of +Love—<i>ah</i>, <i>benedicite</i>!<br /> +How mighty and how great a Lord is he!<br /> +For he of low hearts can make high, of high<br /> +He can make low, and unto death bring nigh;<br /> +And hard hearts he can make them kind and free.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">2.</p> +<p class="poetry">Within a little time, as hath been found,<br /> +He can make sick folk whole and fresh and sound;<br /> +Them who are whole in body and in mind<br /> +He can make sick,—bind can he and unbind<br /> +All that he will have bound, or have unbound.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">3.</p> +<p class="poetry">To tell his might my wit may not suffice;<br /> +Foolish men he can make them out of wise;—<br /> +For he may do all that he will devise;<br /> +Loose livers he can make abate their vice,<br /> +And proud hearts can make tremble in a trice.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">4.</p> +<p class="poetry">In brief, the whole of what he will, he may;<br +/> +Against him dare not any wight say nay;<br /> +To humble or afflict whome’er he will,<br /> +To gladden or to grieve, he hath like skill;<br /> +But most his might he sheds on the eve of May.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">5.</p> +<p class="poetry">For every true heart, gentle heart and free,<br +/> +That with him is, or thinketh so to be,<br /> +Now against May shall have some stirring—whether<br /> +To joy, or be it to some mourning; never<br /> +At other time, methinks, in like degree.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">6.</p> +<p class="poetry">For now when they may hear the small +birds’ song,<br /> +And see the budding leaves the branches throng.<br /> +This unto their remembrance doth bring<br /> +All kinds of pleasure mixed with sorrowing,<br /> +And longing of sweet thoughts that ever long.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">7.</p> +<p class="poetry">And of that longing heaviness doth come,<br /> +Whence oft great sickness grows of heart and home;<br /> +Sick are they all for lack of their desire;<br /> +And thus in May their hearts are set on fire,<br /> +So that they burn forth in great martyrdom.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">8.</p> +<p class="poetry">In sooth, I speak from feeling, what though +now<br /> +Old am I, and to genial pleasure slow;<br /> +Yet have I felt of sickness through the May,<br /> +Both hot and cold, and heart-aches every day,—<br /> +How hard, alas! to bear, I only know.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">9.</p> +<p class="poetry">Such shaking doth the fever in me keep,<br /> +Through all this May that I have little sleep;<br /> +And also ’tis not likely unto me,<br /> +That any living heart should sleepy be<br /> +In which love’s dart its fiery point doth steep.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">10.</p> +<p class="poetry">But tossing lately on a sleepless bed,<br /> +I of a token thought which lovers heed;<br /> +How among them it was a common tale,<br /> +That it was good to hear the nightingale,<br /> +Ere the vile cuckoo’s note be utteréd.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">11.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then I thought anon as it was day,<br /> +I gladly would go somewhere to essay<br /> +If I perchance a nightingale might hear,<br /> +For yet had I heard none, of all that year,<br /> +And it was then the third night of the May.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">12.</p> +<p class="poetry">And soon as I a glimpse of day espied,<br /> +No longer would I in my bed abide,<br /> +But straightway to a wood, that was hard by,<br /> +Forth did I go, alone and fearlessly,<br /> +And held the pathway down by a brook-side;</p> +<p style="text-align: center">13.</p> +<p class="poetry">Till to a lawn I came all white and green,<br +/> +I in so fair a one had never been.<br /> +The ground was green, with daisy powdered over;<br /> +Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover,<br /> +All green and white; and nothing else was seen.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">14.</p> +<p class="poetry">There sate I down among the fresh fair +flowers,<br /> +And saw the birds come tripping from their bowers,<br /> +Where they had rested them all night; and they,<br /> +Who were so joyful at the light of day,<br /> +Began to honour May with all their powers.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">15.</p> +<p class="poetry">Well did they know that service all by rote,<br +/> +And there was many and many a lovely note;<br /> +Some singing loud, as if they had complained;<br /> +Some with their notes another manner feigned;<br /> +And some did sing all out with the full throat.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">16.</p> +<p class="poetry">They pruned themselves, and made themselves +right gay,<br /> +Dancing and leaping light upon the spray;<br /> +And ever two and two together were,<br /> +The same as they had chosen for the year,<br /> +Upon Saint Valentine’s returning day.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">17.</p> +<p class="poetry">Meanwhile the stream, whose bank I sate +upon,<br /> +Was making such a noise as it ran on<br /> +Accordant to the sweet birds’ harmony;<br /> +Methought that it was the best melody<br /> +Which ever to man’s ear a passage won.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">18.</p> +<p class="poetry">And for delight, but how I never wot,<br /> +I in a slumber and a swoon was caught,<br /> +Not all asleep, and yet not waking wholly;<br /> +And as I lay, the Cuckoo bird unholy<br /> +Broke silence, or I heard him in my thought.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">19.</p> +<p class="poetry">And that was right upon a tree fast by,<br /> +And who was then ill-satisfied but I?<br /> +“Now, God,” quoth I, “that died upon the +rood,<br /> +From thee and thy base throat, keep all that’s good,<br /> +Full little joy have I now of thy cry.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">20.</p> +<p class="poetry">And, as I with the Cuckoo thus ’gan +chide,<br /> +In the next bush that was me fast beside,<br /> +I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing,<br /> +That her clear voice made a loud rioting,<br /> +Echoing thorough all the green wood wide.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">21.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ah! good sweet Nightingale! for my +heart’s cheer,<br /> +Hence hast thou stayed a little while too long;<br /> +For we have heard the sorry Cuckoo here,<br /> +And she hath been before thee with her song;<br /> +Evil light on her! she hath done me wrong.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">22.</p> +<p class="poetry">But hear you now a wondrous thing, I pray;<br +/> +As long as in that swooning fit I lay,<br /> +Methought I wist right well what these birds meant,<br /> +And had good knowing both of their intent,<br /> +And of their speech, and all that they would say.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">23.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Nightingale thus in my hearing spake:<br /> +“Good Cuckoo, seek some other bush or brake<br /> +And, prithee, let us that can sing dwell here;<br /> +For every wight eschews thy song to hear,<br /> +Such uncouth singing verily dost thou make.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">24.</p> +<p class="poetry">“What!” quoth she then, “what +is’t that ails thee now?<br /> +It seems to me I sing as well as thou;<br /> +For mine’s a song that is both true and plain,—<br /> +Although I cannot quaver so in vain<br /> +As thou dost in thy throat, I wot not how.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">25.</p> +<p class="poetry">“All men may understanding have of me,<br +/> +But, Nightingale, so may they not of thee;<br /> +For thou hast many a foolish and quaint cry:—<br /> +Thou say’st <span class="smcap">Osee</span>, <span +class="smcap">Osee</span>; then how may I<br /> +Have knowledge, I thee pray, what this may be?”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">26.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ah, fool!” quoth she, “wist +thou not what it is?<br /> +Oft as I say <span class="smcap">Osee</span>, <span +class="smcap">Osee</span>, I wis,<br /> +Then mean I, that I should be wondrous fain<br /> +That shamefully they one and all were slain,<br /> +Whoever against Love mean aught amiss.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">27.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And also would I that they all were +dead<br /> +Who do not think in love their life to lead;<br /> +For who is loth the God of Love to obey<br /> +Is only fit to die, I dare well say,<br /> +And for that cause <span class="smcap">Osee</span> I cry; take +heed!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">28.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ay,” quoth the Cuckoo, “that +is a quaint law,<br /> +That all must love or die; but I withdraw,<br /> +And take my leave of all such company,<br /> +For mine intent it neither is to die,<br /> +Nor ever while I live Love’s yoke to draw.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">29.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For lovers of all folk that be alive,<br +/> +The most disquiet have and least do thrive;<br /> +Most feeling have of sorrow’s woe and care,<br /> +And the least welfare cometh to their share;<br /> +What need is there against the truth to strive?”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">30.</p> +<p class="poetry">“What!” quoth she, “thou art +all out of thy mind,<br /> +That in thy churlishness a cause canst find<br /> +To speak of Love’s true Servants in this mood;<br /> +For in this world no service is so good<br /> +To every wight that gentle is of kind.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">31.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For thereof comes all goodness and all +worth;<br /> +All gentleness and honour thence come forth;<br /> +Thence worship comes, content and true heart’s pleasure,<br +/> +And full-assuréd trust, joy without measure,<br /> +And jollity, fresh cheerfulness, and mirth:</p> +<p style="text-align: center">32.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And bounty, lowliness, and courtesy,<br +/> +And seemliness, and faithful company,<br /> +And dread of shame that will not do amiss;<br /> +For he that faithfully Love’s servant is,<br /> +Rather than be disgraced, would choose to die.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">33.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And that the very truth it is which I<br +/> +Now say—in such belief I’ll live and die;<br /> +And Cuckoo, do thou so, by my advice.”<br /> + “Then,” quoth she, “let me never hope +for bliss,<br /> +If with that counsel I do e’er comply.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">34.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Good Nightingale! thou speakest wondrous +fair,<br /> +Yet, for all that, the truth is found elsewhere;<br /> +For Love in young folk is but rage, I wis;<br /> +And Love in old folk a great dotage is;<br /> +Whom most it useth, him ’twill most impair.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">35.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For thereof come all contraries to +gladness;<br /> +Thence sickness comes, and overwhelming sadness,<br /> +Mistrust and jealousy, despite, debate,<br /> +Dishonour, shame, envy importunate,<br /> +Pride, anger, mischief, poverty and madness.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">36.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Loving is aye an office of despair,<br +/> +And one thing is therein which is not fair;<br /> +For whoso gets of love a little bliss,<br /> +Unless it alway stay with him, I wis<br /> +He may full soon go with an old man’s hair.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">37.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And, therefore, Nightingale! do thou +keep nigh,<br /> +For trust me well, in spite of thy quaint cry,<br /> +If long time from thy mate thou be, or far,<br /> +Thou’lt be as others that forsaken are;<br /> +Then shalt thou raise a clamour as do I.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">38.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Fie,” quoth she, “on thy +name, Bird ill beseen!<br /> +The God of Love afflict thee with all teen,<br /> +For thou art worse than mad a thousandfold;<br /> +For many a one hath virtues manifold<br /> +Who had been nought, if Love had never been.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">39.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For evermore his servants Love +amendeth,<br /> +And he from every blemish them defendeth;<br /> +And maketh them to burn, as in a fire,<br /> +In loyalty and worshipful desire,<br /> +And when it likes him, joy enough them sendeth.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">40.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Thou Nightingale!” the Cuckoo +said, “be still;<br /> +For Love no reason hath but his own will;—<br /> +For to th’ untrue he oft gives ease and joy;<br /> +True lovers doth so bitterly annoy,<br /> +He lets them perish through that grievous ill.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">41.</p> +<p class="poetry">“With such a master would I never be,<br +/> +For he, in sooth, is blind, and may not see,<br /> +And knows not when he hurts and when he heals;<br /> +Within this court full seldom truth avails,<br /> +So diverse in his wilfulness is he.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">42.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then of the Nightingale did I take note,<br /> +How from her inmost heart a sigh she brought,<br /> +And said, “Alas! that ever I was born,<br /> +Not one word have I now, I am so forlorn,”—<br /> +And with that word, she into tears burst out.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">43.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Alas, alas! my very heart will +break,”<br /> +Quoth she, “to hear this churlish bird thus speak<br /> +Of Love, and of his holy services;<br /> +Now, God of Love! thou help me in some wise,<br /> +That vengeance on this Cuckoo I may wreak.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">44.</p> +<p class="poetry">And so methought I started up anon,<br /> +And to the brook I ran, and got a stone,<br /> +Which at the Cuckoo hardily I cast,<br /> +And he for dread did fly away full fast;<br /> +And glad, in sooth, was I when he was gone.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">45.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as he flew, the Cuckoo ever and aye<br /> +Kept crying, “Farewell!—farewell, popinjay!”<br +/> +As if in scornful mockery of me;<br /> +And on I hunted him from tree to tree,<br /> +Till he was far, all out of sight, away.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">46.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then straightway came the Nightingale to me,<br +/> +And said, “Forsooth, my friend, do I thank thee,<br /> +That thou wert near to rescue me; and now,<br /> +Unto the God of Love I make a vow,<br /> +That all this May I will thy songstress be.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">47.</p> +<p class="poetry">Well satisfied, I thanked her, and she said,<br +/> +“By this mishap no longer be dismayed,<br /> +Though thou the Cuckoo heard, ere thou heard’st me;<br /> +Yet if I live it shall amended be,<br /> +When next May comes, if I am not afraid.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">48.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And one thing will I counsel thee +alsó,<br /> +The Cuckoo trust not thou, nor his Love’s saw;<br /> +All that she said is an outrageous lie.”<br /> + “Nay, nothing shall me bring thereto,” +quoth I,<br /> +“For Love, and it hath done me mighty woe.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">49.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yea, hath it? Use,” quoth +she, “this medicine,<br /> +This May-time, every day before thou dine,<br /> +Go look on the fresh daisy; then say I,<br /> +Although for pain thou may’st be like to die,<br /> +Thou wilt be eased, and less wilt droop and pine.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">50.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And mind always that thou be good and +true,<br /> +And I will sing one song, of many new,<br /> +For love of thee, as loud as I may cry;”<br /> +And then did she begin this song full high,<br /> +“Beshrew all them that are in love untrue.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">51.</p> +<p class="poetry">And soon as she had sung it to the end,<br /> +“Now farewell,” quoth she, “for I hence must +wend;<br /> +And, God of Love, that can right well and may,<br /> +Send unto thee as mickle joy this day<br /> +As ever he to lover yet did send.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">52.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus takes the Nightingale her leave of me;<br +/> +I pray to God with her always to be,<br /> +And joy of love to send her evermore;<br /> +And shield us from the Cuckoo and her lore,<br /> +For there is not so false a bird as she.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">53.</p> +<p class="poetry">Forth then she flew, the gentle Nightingale,<br +/> +To all the birds that lodged within that dale,<br /> +And gathered each and all into one place;<br /> +And them besought to hear her doleful case,<br /> +And thus it was that she began her tale:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center">54.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The Cuckoo—’tis not well +that I should hide<br /> +How she and I did each the other chide,<br /> +And without ceasing, since it was daylight;<br /> +And now I pray you all to do me right<br /> +Of that false Bird whom Love can not abide.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">55.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then spake one Bird, and full assent all +gave:<br /> +“This matter asketh counsel good as grave,<br /> +For birds we are—all here together brought;<br /> +And, in good sooth, the Cuckoo here is not;<br /> +And therefore we a parliament will have.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">56.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And thereat shall the Eagle be our +Lord,<br /> +And other Peers whose names are on record;<br /> +A summons to the Cuckoo shall be sent,<br /> +And judgment there be given; or that intent<br /> +Failing, we finally shall make accord.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">57.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And all this shall be done, without a +nay,<br /> +The morrow after Saint Valentine’s day,<br /> +Under a maple that is well beseen,<br /> +Before the chamber-window of the Queen,<br /> +At Woodstock, on the meadow green and gay.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">58.</p> +<p class="poetry">She thankéd them; and then her leave she +took,<br /> +And flew into a hawthorn by that brook;<br /> +And there she sate and sung—upon that tree,—<br /> +“For term of life Love shall have hold of me!”<br /> +So loudly, that I with that song awoke.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p class="poetry">Unlearned Book and rude, as well I know,<br /> +For beauty thou hast none, nor eloquence,<br /> +Who did on thee the hardiness bestow<br /> +To appear before my Lady? but a sense<br /> +Thou surely hast of her benevolence,<br /> +Whereof her hourly bearing proof doth give;<br /> +For of all good, she is the best alive.</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas, poor Book! for thy unworthiness,<br /> +To show to her some pleasant meanings writ<br /> +In winning words, since through her gentleness,<br /> +Thee she accepts as for her service fit;<br /> +Oh! it repents me I have neither wit<br /> +Nor leisure unto thee more worth to give;<br /> +For of all good, she is the best alive.</p> +<p class="poetry">Beseech her meekly with all lowliness,<br /> +Though I be far from her I reverence,<br /> +To think upon my truth and steadfastness,<br /> +And to abridge my sorrow’s violence,<br /> +Caused by the wish, as knows your sapience,<br /> +She of her liking, proof to me would give;<br /> +For of all good, she is the best alive.</p> +<h3>L’ENVOY.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Pleasure’s</span> +Aurora, Day of gladsomeness!<br /> +Lucerne, by night, with heavenly influence<br /> +Illumined! root of beauty and goodness,<br /> +Write, and allay, by your beneficence,<br /> +My sighs breathed forth in silence,—comfort give!<br /> +Since of all good, you are the best alive.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">EXPLICIT.</p> +<h3><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>Treasure Trove.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">MODERNISED +FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF GOWER’S “CONFESSIO +AMANTIS.”</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> ancient Chronicle +I read:—<br /> +About a King, as it must need,<br /> +There was of Knights and of Squiërs<br /> +Great rout, and eke of Officers.<br /> +Some for a long time him had served,<br /> +And thought that they had well deserved<br /> +Advancement, but had gone without;<br /> +And some also were of the Rout<br /> +That only came the other day<br /> +And were advanced without delay.<br /> +Those Older Men upon this thing,<br /> +So as they durst, against the King<br /> +Among themselves would murmur oft.<br /> +But there is nothing said so soft<br /> +That it shall not come out at last,<br /> +The King soon knew what Words had passed.<br /> +A King he was of high Prudénce,<br /> +He shaped therefore an Evidence<br /> +Of them that plained them in that case,<br /> +To know of whose Default it was.<br /> +And all within his own intent,<br /> +That not a man knew what it meant,<br /> +He caused two Coffers to be made<br /> +Alike in Shape, and Size, and Shade,<br /> +So like that no man, by their Show,<br /> +The one may from the other know.<br /> +They were into his Chamber brought,<br /> +But no man knew why they were wrought;<br /> +Yet from the King Command hath come<br /> +That they be set in private Room,<br /> +For he was in his Wisdom keen.<br /> +When he thereto his time had seen,<br /> +Slily, away from all the rest,<br /> +With his own hands he filled one Chest,<br /> +Full of fine Gold and Jewelry<br /> +The which out of his Treasury<br /> +Was taken; after that he thrust<br /> +Into the other Straw and Dust,<br /> +And filled it up with Stones also;<br /> +Full Coffers are they, both the two.</p> +<p class="poetry">And early then upon a day<br /> +He bade within doors where he lay<br /> +That there should be before his Bed<br /> +A Board set up and fairly spread.<br /> +The Coffers then he let men get,<br /> +And on the Board he had them set.<br /> +Full well he knew the Names of those<br /> +Whose Murmurings against him rose,<br /> +Both of his Chamber and his Hall,<br /> +And speedily sent for them all,<br /> +And said unto them in this wise:</p> +<p class="poetry">“There shall no man his Hap despise;<br +/> +I know well that ye long have served,<br /> +And God knows what ye have deserved.<br /> +Whether it is along of me<br /> +That ye still unadvancéd be,<br /> +Or whether it belong of you,<br /> +The Sooth is to be provéd now,<br /> +Wherewith to stop your Evil Word.<br /> +Lo here two Coffers on the Board,<br /> +Of both the two choose which you will,<br /> +And know that ye may have your fill<br /> +Of Treasure heaped and packed in one,<br /> +That if ye happen thereupon<br /> +Ye shall be made Rich Men for ever.<br /> +Now choose and take which you is liever.<br /> +But be well ware, ere that ye take,—<br /> +For of the one I undertake<br /> +There is no manner good therein<br /> +Whereof ye might a Profit win.<br /> +Now go together of one assent<br /> +And take your own Advisément.<br /> +Whether I you this day advance<br /> +Stands only on your Choice and Chance.<br /> +No question here of Royal Grace,<br /> +It shall be showéd in this place<br /> +Upon you all, and well and fine,<br /> +If Fortune fails by Fault of mine.”</p> +<p class="poetry">They all kneel down, and with one voice<br /> +They thank the King for this free Choice;<br /> +And after this they up arise<br /> +And go aside and them advise,<br /> +And at the last they all accord;<br /> +Whereof their Finding to record<br /> +To what Issue their Voices fall,<br /> +A Knight shall answer for them all.</p> +<p class="poetry">He kneeleth down unto the King<br /> +And saith, that they upon this thing<br /> +Or for to win or for to lose<br /> +Are all decided how to choose.<br /> +Then took this Knight a Rod in hand<br /> +And goes to where the Coffers stand,<br /> +And with the Assent of every one<br /> +He layeth his Rod upon one,<br /> +And tells the King they only want<br /> +Him that for their Reward to grant,<br /> +And pray him that they might it have.<br /> +The King, who would his Honour save,<br /> +When he hath heard the common Voice,<br /> +Hath granted them their own free Choice,<br /> +And gave them thereupon the Key.<br /> +But as he would that men might see<br /> +What Good they got, as they suppose,<br /> +He bade anon the Coffer unclose,—<br /> +Which was filled full with Straw and Stone;<br /> +Thus are they served, the Luck’s their own.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Lo,” saith the King, “now +may ye see<br /> +That there is no Default in me;<br /> +Therefore myself I will acquit,<br /> +Bear ye the Blame now, as is fit,<br /> +For that which Fortune you refused.”<br /> +Thus was this wise old King excused,<br /> +And they left off their evil Speech,<br /> +And Mercy of their King beseech.</p> +<p class="poetry">Touching like matter to the quick,<br /> +I find a Tale how Frederick,<br /> +At that time Emperor of Rome,<br /> +Heard, as he went, a Clamour come<br /> +From two poor Beggars on the way.<br /> +The one of them began to say,<br /> +“Ha, Lord, the man is rich indeed<br /> +To whom a King’s Wealth brings his Speed!”<br /> +The other said, “It is not so,<br /> +But he is rich and well-to-do<br /> +To whom God pleases Wealth to send.”<br /> +And thus their Words went without end,<br /> +Whereto this Lord hath given ear<br /> +And caused both Beggars to appear<br /> +Straight at his Palace, there to eat;<br /> +And bade provide them for their Meat<br /> +Two Pasties which men were to make,<br /> +And in the one a Capon bake,<br /> +And in the other, Wealth to win,<br /> +Of Florins all that may within<br /> +He bade them put a great Richésse,<br /> +And just alike, as one may guess,<br /> +Outward they were, to Sight of Men.</p> +<p class="poetry">This Beggar was commanded then,<br /> +He that had held him to the King,<br /> +That he first choose upon this thing.<br /> +He saw them, but he felt them not,<br /> +So that upon his single Thought<br /> +He chose the Capon, and forsook<br /> +That other, which his Fellow took.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when he wist how that it fared,<br /> +He said aloud, that men it heard:<br /> +“Now have I certainly conceived<br /> +That he may lightly be deceived<br /> +Who puts his trust in Help of Man.<br /> +He’s rich whom God helps, for he can<br /> +Stand ever on the safer side<br /> +That else on Vain Hope had relied.<br /> +I see my Fellow well supplied,<br /> +And still a Poor Man I abide.”<br /> +Thus spake the Beggar his intent,<br /> +And poor he came, and poor he went;<br /> +Of all the Riches that he sought<br /> +His evil Fortune gave him nought.</p> +<p class="poetry">And right as it with those men stood,<br /> +Of evil Hap in worldly Good,<br /> +As thou hast heard me tell above,<br /> +Right so, full oft, it stands by Love;<br /> +Though thou desire it evermore<br /> +Thou shalt not have a whit the more,<br /> +But only what is meant for thee,<br /> +Of all the rest not worth a Pea.<br /> +And yet a long and endless Row<br /> +There be of Men who covet so<br /> +That whereas they a Woman see,<br /> +To ten or twelve though there may be,<br /> +The Love is now so little wise<br /> +That where the Beauty takes his Eyes<br /> +Anon the Man’s whole Heart is there<br /> +And whispers Tales into her Ear,<br /> +And says on her his Love is set,<br /> +And thus he sets him to covet.<br /> +A hundred though he saw a day,<br /> +So would he have more than he may;<br /> +In each of them he finds somewhat<br /> +That pleaseth him, or this or that.<br /> +Some one, for she is white of skin,<br /> +Some one, for she is noble of kin,<br /> +Some one, for she hath a ruddy cheek,<br /> +Some one, for that she seemeth meek,<br /> +Some one, for that her eyes are gray,<br /> +Some one, for she can laugh and play,<br /> +Some one, for she is long and small,<br /> +Some one, for she is lithe and tall,<br /> +Some one, for she is pale and bleach,<br /> +Some one, for she is soft of speech,<br /> +Some one, for that her nose turns down,<br /> +Some one, for that she hath a frown,<br /> +Some one, for she can dance and sing;<br /> +So that of what he likes something<br /> +He finds, and though no more he feel<br /> +But that she hath a little heel,<br /> +It is enough that he therefore<br /> +Her love; and thus an hundred score<br /> +While they be new he would he had,<br /> +Whom he forsakes, she shall be bad.<br /> +So the Blind Man no Colour sees,<br /> +All’s one to take as he may please;<br /> +And his Desire is darkly minded<br /> +Whom Covetise of Love hath blinded.</p> +<h2><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>London +Lickpenny.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By</span> JOHN +LYDGATE.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To</span> London once my +steps I bent,<br /> + Where truth in nowise should be faint;<br /> +To Westminster-ward I forthwith went,<br /> + To a man of law to make complaint,<br /> + I said, “For Mary’s love, that holy +saint,<br /> + Pity the poor that would proceed!”<br /> + But for lack of Money I could not speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as I thrust the press among,<br /> + By froward chance my hood was gone,<br /> +Yet for all that I stayed not long<br /> + Till to the King’s Bench I was come.<br /> + Before the judge I kneeled anon,<br /> + And prayed him for God’s sake to take heed.<br +/> + But for lack of Money I might not speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Beneath them sat clerks a great rout,<br /> + Which fast did write by one assent,<br /> +There stood up one and cried about,<br /> + “Richard, Robert, and John of Kent!”<br +/> + I wist not well what this man meant,<br /> + He cried so thickly there indeed.<br /> + But he that lacked Money might not speed</p> +<p class="poetry">Unto the Common Pleas I yode <a +name="citation81"></a><a href="#footnote81" +class="citation">[81]</a> tho,<br /> + Where sat one with a silken hood;<br /> +I did him reverence, for I ought to do so,<br /> + And told my case as well as I could,<br /> + How my goods were defrauded me by falsehood.<br /> + I got not a mum of his mouth for my meed,<br /> + And for lack of Money I might not speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Unto the Rolls I gat me from thence,<br /> + Before the clerks of the Chancerie,<br /> +Where many I found earning of pence,<br /> + But none at all once regarded me.<br /> + I gave them my plaint upon my knee;<br /> + They liked it well when they had it read,<br /> + But lacking Money I could not be sped.</p> +<p class="poetry">In Westminster Hall I found out one<br /> + Which went in a long gown of ray, <a +name="citation82a"></a><a href="#footnote82a" +class="citation">[82a]</a><br /> +I crouched and kneeled before him anon,<br /> + For Mary’s love of help I him pray.<br /> + “I wot not what thou mean’st,” gan +he say;<br /> + To get me thence he did me bede:<br /> + For lack of Money I could not speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Within this Hall, neither rich nor yet poor<br +/> + Would do for me aught although I should die.<br /> +Which seeing, I got me out of the door<br /> + Where Flemings began on me for to cry,<br /> + “Master, what will you copen <a +name="citation82b"></a><a href="#footnote82b" +class="citation">[82b]</a> or buy?<br /> + Fine felt hats, or spectacles to read?<br /> + Lay down your silver, and here you may +speed.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then to Westminster Gate I presently went,<br +/> + When the sun was at highé prime;<br /> +Cooks to me they took good intent,<br /> + And proffered me bread with ale and wine,<br /> + Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine;<br /> + A fair cloth they gan for to sprede,<br /> + But wanting Money I might not then speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then unto London I did me hie,<br /> + Of all the land it beareth the prize.<br /> +“Hot peascods!” one began to cry,<br /> + “Strawberry ripe!” and “Cherries +in the rise!” <a name="citation82c"></a><a +href="#footnote82c" class="citation">[82c]</a><br /> + One bade me come near and buy some spice,<br /> + Pepper and saffron they gan me bede,<br /> + But for lack of Money I might not speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then to the Cheap I began me drawn,<br /> + Where much people I saw for to stand;<br /> +One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn,<br /> + Another he taketh me by the hand,<br /> + “Here is Paris thread, the finest in the +land!”<br /> + I never was used to such things indeed,<br /> + And wanting Money I might not speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then went I forth by London Stone,<br /> + Throughout all Can’wick Street. <a +name="citation83"></a><a href="#footnote83" +class="citation">[83]</a><br /> +Drapers much cloth me offered anon;<br /> + Then comes me one cried, “Hot sheep’s +feet!”<br /> + One cried, “Mackerel!” “Rushes +green!” another gan greet;<br /> + One bade me buy a hood to cover my head,<br /> + But for want of Money I might not be sped,</p> +<p class="poetry">Then I hied me into East Cheap;<br /> + One cries “Ribs of beef,” and many a +pie;<br /> +Pewter pots they clattered on a heap,<br /> + There was harp, pipe, and minstrelsie.<br /> + “Yea, by cock!” “Nay, by +cock!” some began cry;<br /> + Some sung of Jenkin and Julian for their meed,<br /> + But for lack of Money I might not speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then into Cornhill anon I yode,<br /> + Where was much stolen gear among;<br /> +I saw where hung mine owné hood<br /> + That I had lost among the throng:<br /> + To buy my own hood I thought it wrong;<br /> + I knew it well as I did my Creed,<br /> + But for lack of Money I could not speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">The taverner took me by the sleeve,<br /> + “Sir,” saith he, “will you our +wine assay?”<br /> +I answered, “That cannot much me grieve,<br /> + A penny can do no more than it may.”<br /> + I drank a pint, and for it I did pay.<br /> + Yet soon ahungered from thence I yede,<br /> + And wanting Money I could not speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then hied I me to Billingsgate,<br /> + And one cried, “Hoo! Go we +hence!”<br /> +I prayed a barge man, for God’s sake,<br /> + That he would spare me my expence.<br /> + “Thou scrap’st not here,” quoth +he, “under two pence;<br /> + I list not yet bestow any alms deed.”<br /> + Thus lacking Money I could not speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then I conveyed me into Kent;<br /> + For of the law would I meddle no more,<br /> +Because no man to me took intent,<br /> + I dight me to do as I did before.<br /> + Now Jesus, that in Bethlehem was bore,<br /> + Save London, and send true lawyers their meed!<br /> + For whoso wants Money with them shall not speed.</p> +<h2><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>Bicorn +and Chichevache.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By</span> JOHN +LYDGATE.</p> +<p><i>First there shall stand an image in Poet-wise</i>, +<i>saying these verses</i>:—</p> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">Prudent</span> +folkés, taketh heed,<br /> + And remembreth in your lives<br /> +How this story doth proceed<br /> + Of the husbands and their wives,<br /> + Of their áccord and their strives,<br /> + With life or death which to darrain <a +name="citation85a"></a><a href="#footnote85a" +class="citation">[85a]</a><br /> + Is granted to these beastés twain.</p> +<p><i>Then shall be pourtrayed two beasts</i>, <i>one fat</i>; +<i>another lean</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">For this Bicorn of his natúre<br /> + Will none other manner food,<br /> +But patient husbands his pastúre,<br /> + And Chichevache eat’th the women good;<br /> + And both these beastés, by the Rood,<br /> + Be fat or lean, it may not fail,<br /> + Like lack or plenty of their vitail.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of Chichevache <a name="citation85b"></a><a +href="#footnote85b" class="citation">[85b]</a> and of Bicorn,<br +/> + Treateth wholly this matere,<br /> +Whose story hath taught us beforn<br /> + How these beastés both infere <a +name="citation85c"></a><a href="#footnote85c" +class="citation">[85c]</a><br /> + Have their pastúre, as you shall hear,<br /> + Of men and women in senténce<br /> + Through suffrance or through impatiénce.</p> +<p><i>Then shall be pourtrayed a fat beast called Bicorn</i>, +<i>of the country of Bicornis</i>, <i>and say these three verses +following</i>:—</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of Bicornis I am Bicorn,<br /> + Full fat and round here as I stand,<br /> +And in marriage bound and sworn<br /> + To Chichevache as her husbánd,<br /> + Which will not eat on sea nor land<br /> + But patient wivés debonair,<br /> + Which to their husbands be n’t contraire</p> +<p class="poetry">“Full scarce, God wot, is her vitail,<br +/> + Humble wives she finds so few,<br /> +For always at the contre tail<br /> + Their tongúe clappeth and doth hew.<br /> + Such meeké wivés I beshrew,<br /> + That neither can at bed ne board<br /> + Their husbands not forbear one word.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But my food and my cherishing,<br /> + To tell plainly and not to vary,<br /> +Is of such folks which, their living,<br /> + Dare to their wives be not contrary,<br /> + Ne from their lustés dare not vary,<br /> + Nor with them hold no champarty, <a +name="citation86a"></a><a href="#footnote86a" +class="citation">[86a]</a><br /> + All such my stomach will defy.” <a +name="citation86b"></a><a href="#footnote86b" +class="citation">[86b]</a></p> +<p><i>Then shall be pourtrayed a company of men coming towards +this beast Bicornis</i>, <i>and say these four +ballads</i>:—</p> +<p class="poetry">“Fellows, take heed and ye may see<br /> + How Bicorn casteth him to devour<br /> +All humble men, both you and me,<br /> + There is no gain may us succóur;<br /> + Wo be therefore in hall and bower<br /> + To all those husbands which, their lives,<br /> + Make mistrésses of their wives.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Who that so doth, this is the law,<br /> + That this Bicorn will him oppress<br /> +And devouren in his maw<br /> + That of his wife makes his mistréss;<br /> + This will us bring in great distress,<br /> + For we, for our humility,<br /> + Of Bicorn shall devouréd be.</p> +<p class="poetry">“We standen plainly in such case,<br /> + For they to us mistrésses be;<br /> +We may well sing and say, ‘Alas,<br /> + That we gave them the sovereigntie!<br /> + For we ben thrall and they be free.<br /> + Wherefore Bicorn, this cruel beast,<br /> + Will us devouren at the least.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But who that can be sovereign,<br /> + And his wife teach and chastise,<br /> +That she dare not a word gainsain<br /> + Nor disobey in no manner wise,<br /> + Of such a man I can devise<br /> + He stands under protectión<br /> + From Bicornis jurisdictión.”</p> +<p><i>Then shall there be a woman devoured in the mouth of +Chichevache</i>, <i>crying to all wives</i>, <i>and say this +verse</i>:—</p> +<p class="poetry">“O noble wivés, be well ware,<br +/> + Take example now by me;<br /> +Or else affirmé well I dare<br /> + Ye shall be dead, ye shall not flee;<br /> + Be crabbéd, void humilitie,<br /> + Or Chichevache ne will not fail<br /> + You for to swallow in his entrail.”</p> +<p><i>Then shall there be pourtrayed a long-horned beast</i>, +<i>slender and lean</i>, <i>with sharp teeth</i>, <i>and on her +body nothing but skin and bone</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Chichevache, this is my name,<br /> + Hungry, meagre, slender, and lean,<br /> +To show my body I have great shame,<br /> + For hunger I feel so great teen; <a +name="citation88c"></a><a href="#footnote88c" +class="citation">[88c]</a><br /> + On me no fatness will be seen,<br /> + Because that pasture I find none,<br /> + Therefore I am but skin and bone.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For my feedíng in +existénce<br /> + Is of women that be meek,<br /> +And like Grisield in patiénce<br /> + Or more their bounty for to eke;<br /> + But I full long may go and seek<br /> + Ere I can find a good repast,<br /> + A morrow to break with my fast.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I trow there be a dear year<br /> + Of patient women now-a-days.<br /> +Who grieveth them with word or cheer<br /> + Let him beware of such assays;<br /> + For it is more than thirty Mays<br /> + That I have sought from lond to lond,<br /> + But yet one Grisield ne’er I fond.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I found but one in all my live,<br /> + And she was dead ago full yore;<br /> +For more pastúre I will not strive<br /> + Nor seeké for my food no more.<br /> + Ne for vitail me to restore;<br /> + Women ben woxen <a name="citation88a"></a><a +href="#footnote88a" class="citation">[88a]</a> so +prudént<br /> + They will no more be patient.”</p> +<p><i>Then shall be pourtrayed</i>, <i>after Chichevache</i>, +<i>an old man with a baton on his back</i>, <i>menacing the beast +for devouring of his wife</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“My wife, alas, devouréd is,<br /> + Most patiént and most pesíble!<br /> +She never said to me amiss,<br /> + Whom now hath slain this beast horrible!<br /> + And for it is an impossible<br /> + To find again e’er such a wife<br /> + I will live solé all my life.”</p> +<p class="poetry">For now of newé, for their prow, <a +name="citation88b"></a><a href="#footnote88b" +class="citation">[88b]</a><br /> + The wivés of full high prudénce<br /> +Have of assent made their avow<br /> + T’ exile for ever patiénce,<br /> + And cried wolfs-head obedience,<br /> + To maké Chichevaché fail<br /> + Of them to findé more vitail.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Chichevaché may fast long<br /> + And die for all her cruelty,<br /> +Women have made themselves so strong<br /> + For to outrage humility.<br /> + O silly husbands, wo ben ye!<br /> + Such as can have no patiénce<br /> + Against your wivés violence.</p> +<p class="poetry">If that ye suffer, ye be but dead,<br /> + Bicorn awaiteth you so sore;<br /> +Eke of your wives go stand in dread,<br /> + If ye gainsay them any more!<br /> + And thus ye stand, and have done yore,<br /> + Of life and death betwixt coveyne <a +name="citation89"></a><a href="#footnote89" +class="citation">[89]</a><br /> + Linkéd in a double chain.</p> +<h2><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>Best +to be Blyth.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By</span> +WILLIAM DUNBAR.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Full</span> oft I muse, and +hes in thocht<br /> +How this fals Warld is ay on flocht,<br /> + Quhair <a name="citation91a"></a><a +href="#footnote91a" class="citation">[91a]</a> no thing ferme is +nor degest; <a name="citation91d"></a><a href="#footnote91d" +class="citation">[91d]</a><br /> +And when I haif my mynd all socht,<br /> + For to be blyth me think it best.</p> +<p class="poetry">This warld ever dois flicht and wary, <a +name="citation91b"></a><a href="#footnote91b" +class="citation">[91b]</a><br /> +Fortoun sa fast hir quheill dois cary,<br /> + Na tyme but <a name="citation91e"></a><a +href="#footnote91e" class="citation">[91e]</a> turning can tak +rest;<br /> +For quhois fats change suld none be sary,<br /> + For to be blyth me think it best.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wald men considdir in mynd richt weill,<br /> +Or Fortoun on him turn hir quheill,<br /> + That erdly honour may nocht lest,<br /> +His fall less panefull he suld feill;<br /> + For to be blyth me think it best.</p> +<p class="poetry">Quha with this warld dois warsill <a +name="citation91c"></a><a href="#footnote91c" +class="citation">[91c]</a> and stryfe, <br /> +And dois his dayis in dolour dryfe,<br /> + Thocht he in lordschip be possest,<br /> +He levis bot ane wrechit lyfe:<br /> + For to be blyth me think it best.</p> +<p class="poetry">Off warldis gud and grit richess,<br /> +Quhat fruct hes man but merriness?<br /> + Thocht he this warld had eist and west,<br /> +All wer povertie but glaidness:<br /> + For to be blyth me think it best.</p> +<p class="poetry">Quho suld for tynsall <a +name="citation92a"></a><a href="#footnote92a" +class="citation">[92a]</a> drowp or de, <br /> +For thyng that is bot vanitie;<br /> + Sen to the lyfe that evir dois lest,<br /> +Heir is bot twynkling of an ee:<br /> + For to be blyth me think it best.</p> +<p class="poetry">Had I for warldis unkyndnéss<br /> +In hairt tane ony heviness,<br /> + Or fro my plesans bene opprest;<br /> +I had bene deid lang syne dowtless:<br /> + For to be blyth me think it best.</p> +<p class="poetry">How evir this warld do change and vary,<br /> +Lat us in hairt nevir moir be sary,<br /> + But evir be reddy and addrest<br /> +To pass out of this frawfull fary: <a name="citation92b"></a><a +href="#footnote92b" class="citation">[92b]</a><br /> + For to be blyth me think it best.</p> +<h2><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>Dowsabell.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By</span> +MICHAEL DRAYTON.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Far</span> in the country +of Arden<br /> +There woned <a name="citation93d"></a><a href="#footnote93d" +class="citation">[93d]</a> a knight, hight Cassamen,<br /> + As bold as Isenbras:<br /> +Fell was he and eager bent<br /> +In battle and in tournament<br /> + As was good Sir Topás.</p> +<p class="poetry">He had, as antique stories tell,<br /> +A daughter clepéd Dowsabell,<br /> + A maiden fair and free.<br /> +And for she was her fathers heir,<br /> +Full well she was yconned <a name="citation93a"></a><a +href="#footnote93a" class="citation">[93a]</a> the leir <a +name="citation93b"></a><a href="#footnote93b" +class="citation">[93b]</a><br /> + Of mickle courtesie.</p> +<p class="poetry">The silk well couth she twist and twine,<br /> +And make the finé marché pine, <a +name="citation93c"></a><a href="#footnote93c" +class="citation">[93c]</a><br /> + And with the needle work;<br /> +And she couth help the priest to say<br /> +His matins on a holiday,<br /> + And sing a psalm in kirk.</p> +<p class="poetry">She ware a frock of frolic green<br /> +Might well become a maiden queen,<br /> + Which seemly was to see;<br /> +A hood to that so neat and fine,<br /> +In colour like the columbine,<br /> + Inwrought full featously.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her features all as fresh above<br /> +As is the grass that grows by Dove,<br /> + And lithe as lass of Kent.<br /> +Her skin as soft as Lemster <a name="citation94a"></a><a +href="#footnote94a" class="citation">[94a]</a> wool,<br /> +And white as snow on Peakish hull, <a name="citation94b"></a><a +href="#footnote94b" class="citation">[94b]</a><br /> + Or swan that swims in Trent.</p> +<p class="poetry">This maiden, in a morn betime,<br /> +Went forth, when May was in the prime,<br /> + To get sweet setiwall, <a name="citation94c"></a><a +href="#footnote94c" class="citation">[94c]</a><br /> +The honeysuckle, the harlock, <a name="citation94d"></a><a +href="#footnote94d" class="citation">[94d]</a><br /> +The lily and the lady-smock, <a name="citation94k"></a><a +href="#footnote94k" class="citation">[94k]</a><br /> + To deck her summer-hall. <a +name="citation94e"></a><a href="#footnote94e" +class="citation">[94e]</a></p> +<p class="poetry">Thus, as she wandered here and there,<br /> +And pickéd of the bloomy brere,<br /> + She chancéd to espy<br /> +A shepherd sitting on a bank,<br /> +Like chanticleer he crowéd crank, <a +name="citation94f"></a><a href="#footnote94f" +class="citation">[94f]</a><br /> + And piped full merrily.</p> +<p class="poetry">He learned his sheep <a +name="citation94g"></a><a href="#footnote94g" +class="citation">[94g]</a> as he him list,<br /> +When he would whistle in his fist,<br /> + To feed about him round,<br /> +Whilst he full many a carol sang,<br /> +Until the fields and meadows rang,<br /> + And that the woods did sound.</p> +<p class="poetry">In favour this same shepherd swain<br /> +Was like the bedlam Tamburlaine<br /> + Which held proud kings in awe.<br /> +But meek as any lamb mought be,<br /> +And innocent of ill as he<br /> + Whom his lewd brother slaw.</p> +<p class="poetry">This shepherd ware a sheep-gray cloke,<br /> +Which was of the finest loke<br /> + That could be cut with shear;<br /> +His mittens were of bauzon’s <a name="citation94h"></a><a +href="#footnote94h" class="citation">[94h]</a> skin,<br /> +His cockers <a name="citation94i"></a><a href="#footnote94i" +class="citation">[94i]</a> were of cordiwin, <a +name="citation94j"></a><a href="#footnote94j" +class="citation">[94j]</a><br /> + His hood of minivere.</p> +<p class="poetry">His awl and lingell <a +name="citation95a"></a><a href="#footnote95a" +class="citation">[95a]</a> in a thong;<br /> +His tarbox on his broadbelt hung,<br /> + His breech of Cointree blue.<br /> +Full crisp and curléd were his locks,<br /> +His brows as white as Albion rocks,<br /> + So like a lover true.</p> +<p class="poetry">And piping still he spent the day<br /> +So merry as the popinjay,<br /> + Which likéd Dowsabell,<br /> +That would she ought, or would she nought,<br /> +This lad would never from her thought,<br /> + She in love-longing fell.</p> +<p class="poetry">At length she tuckéd up her frock,<br /> +White as the lily was her smock;<br /> + She drew the shepherd nigh;<br /> +But then the shepherd piped a good,<br /> +That all the sheep forsook their food,<br /> + To hear his melodie.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Thy sheep,” quoth she, +“cannot be lean<br /> +That have a jolly shepherd swain<br /> + The which can pipe so well.”<br /> +“Yea, but,” saith he, “their shepherd may,<br +/> +If piping thus he pine away<br /> + In love of Dowsabell.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of love, fond boy, take then no +keep,” <a name="citation95b"></a><a href="#footnote95b" +class="citation">[95b]</a><br /> +Quoth she; “Look well unto thy sheep,<br /> + Lest they should hap to stray.”<br /> +Quoth he, “So had I done full well,<br /> +Had I not seen fair Dowsabell<br /> + Come forth to gather may.”</p> +<p class="poetry">With that she ’gan to vail her head,<br +/> +Her cheeks were like the roses red,<br /> + But not a word she said.<br /> +With that the shepherd ’gan to frown,<br /> +He threw his pretty pipes adown,<br /> + And on the ground him laid.</p> +<p class="poetry">Saith she, “I may not stay till night<br +/> +And leave my summer-hall undight,<br /> + And all for love of thee.”<br /> +“My cote,” saith he, “nor yet my fold<br /> +Shall neither sheep nor shepherd hold,<br /> + Except thou favour me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Saith she, “Yet liever were I dead<br /> +Than I should [yield me to be wed],<br /> + And all for love of men.”<br /> +Saith he, “Yet are you too unkind<br /> +If in your heart you cannot find<br /> + To love us now and then.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And I to thee will be as kind<br /> +As Colin was to Rosalind<br /> + Of courtesy the flower.”<br /> +“Then will I be as true,” quoth she,<br /> +“As ever maiden yet might be<br /> + Unto her paramour.”</p> +<p class="poetry">With that she bent her snow-white knee<br /> +Down by the shepherd kneeléd she,<br /> + And him she sweetly kist.<br /> +With that the shepherd whooped for joy.<br /> +Quoth he, “There’s never shepherd’s boy<br /> + That ever was so blist.”</p> +<h2><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>Nymphidia, the Court of Fairy.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By</span> +MICHAEL DRAYTON.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Old</span> Chaucer doth of +Topas tell,<br /> +Mad Rabelais of Pantágruél,<br /> +A later third of Dowsabel<br /> + With such poor trifles playing;<br /> +Others the like have laboured at,<br /> +Some of this thing and some of that,<br /> +And many of they knew not what,<br /> + But what they may be saying.</p> +<p class="poetry">Another sort there be, that will<br /> +Be talking of the Fairies still,<br /> +For never can they have their fill,<br /> + As they were wedded to them;<br /> +No tales of them their thirst can slake,<br /> +So much delight therein they take,<br /> +And some strange thing they fain would make,<br /> + Knew they the way to do them.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then since no Muse hath been so bold,<br /> +Or of the later, or the old,<br /> +Those elvish secrets to unfold,<br /> + Which lie from others’ reading;<br /> +My active Muse to light shall bring<br /> +The court of that proud Fairy King,<br /> +And tell there of the revelling.<br /> + Jove prosper my proceeding!</p> +<p class="poetry">And thou, Nymphidia, gentle Fay,<br /> +Which, meeting me upon the way,<br /> +These secrets didst to me bewray,<br /> + Which now I am in telling;<br /> +My pretty, light, fantastic maid,<br /> +I here invoke thee to my aid,<br /> +That I may speak what thou hast said,<br /> + In numbers smoothly swelling.</p> +<p class="poetry">This palace standeth in the air,<br /> +By necromancy placéd there,<br /> +That it no tempest needs to fear,<br /> + Which way soe’er it blow it.<br /> +And somewhat southward tow’rds the noon,<br /> +Whence lies a way up to the moon,<br /> +And thence the Fairy can as soon<br /> + Pass to the earth below it.</p> +<p class="poetry">The walls of spiders’ legs are made<br /> +Well mortiséd and finely laid;<br /> +It was the master of his trade<br /> + It curiously that builded;<br /> +The windows of the eyes of cats,<br /> +And for the roof, instead of slats,<br /> +Is covered with the skins of bats,<br /> + With moonshine that are gilded.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hence Oberon him sport to make,<br /> +Their rest when weary mortals take,<br /> +And none but only fairies wake,<br /> + Descendeth for his pleasure;<br /> +And Mab, his merry Queen, by night<br /> +Bestrides young folks that lie upright,<br /> +(In elder times the mare that hight),<br /> + Which plagues them out of measure.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hence shadows, seeming idle shapes,<br /> +Of little frisking elves and apes<br /> +To earth do make their wanton scapes,<br /> + As hope of pastime hastes them;<br /> +Which maids think on the hearth they see<br /> +When fires well-nigh consuméd be,<br /> +There dancing hays <a name="citation98"></a><a href="#footnote98" +class="citation">[98]</a> by two and three,<br /> + Just as their fancy casts them.</p> +<p class="poetry">These make our girls their sluttery rue,<br /> +By pinching them both black and blue,<br /> +And put a penny in their shoe<br /> + The house for cleanly sweeping;<br /> +And in their courses make that round<br /> +In meadows and in marshes found,<br /> +Of them so called the Fairy Ground,<br /> + Of which they have the keeping.</p> +<p class="poetry">These when a child haps to be got<br /> +Which after proves an idiot<br /> +When folk perceive it thriveth not,<br /> + The fault therein to smother,<br /> +Some silly, doting, brainless calf<br /> +That understands things by the half,<br /> +Say that the Fairy left this oaf<br /> + And took away the other.</p> +<p class="poetry">But listen, and I shall you tell<br /> +A chance in Faery that befell,<br /> +Which certainly may please some well,<br /> + In love and arms delighting,<br /> +Of Oberon that jealous grew<br /> +Of one of his own Fairy crew,<br /> +Too well, he feared, his Queen that knew,<br /> + His love but ill requiting.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pigwiggin was this Fairy Knight,<br /> +One wondrous gracious in the sight<br /> +Of fair Queen Mab, which day and night<br /> + He amorously observéd;<br /> +Which made King Oberon suspect<br /> +His service took too good effect,<br /> +His sauciness had often checkt,<br /> + And could have wished him stervéd.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pigwiggin gladly would commend<br /> +Some token to Queen Mab to send,<br /> +If sea or land him aught could lend<br /> + Were worthy of her wearing;<br /> +At length this lover doth devise<br /> +A bracelet made of emmets’ eyes,<br /> +A thing he thought that she would prize,<br /> + No whit her state impairing.</p> +<p class="poetry">And to the Queen a letter writes,<br /> +Which he most curiously indites,<br /> +Conjuring her by all the rites<br /> + Of love, she would be pleaséd<br /> +To meet him, her true servant, where<br /> +They might, without suspect or fear,<br /> +Themselves to one another clear<br /> + And have their poor hearts easéd.</p> +<p class="poetry">At midnight, the appointed hour;<br /> +“And for the Queen a fitting bower,”<br /> +Quoth he, “is that fair cowslip flower<br /> + On Hient Hill <a name="citation100"></a><a +href="#footnote100" class="citation">[100]</a> that bloweth;<br +/> +In all your train there’s not a fay<br /> +That ever went to gather may<br /> +But she hath made it, in her way,<br /> + The tallest there that groweth.”</p> +<p class="poetry">When by Tom Thumb, a Fairy Page,<br /> +He sent it, and doth him engage<br /> +By promise of a mighty wage<br /> + It secretly to carry;<br /> +Which done, the Queen her maids doth call,<br /> +And bids them to be ready all:<br /> +She would go see her summer hall,<br /> + She could no longer tarry.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her chariot ready straight is made,<br /> +Each thing therein is fitting laid,<br /> +That she by nothing might be stayed,<br /> + For nought must be her letting;<br /> +Four nimble gnats the horses were,<br /> +Their harnesses of gossamere,<br /> +Fly Cranion the charioteer<br /> + Upon the coach-box getting.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her chariot of a snail’s fine shell,<br +/> +Which for the colours did excel,<br /> +The fair Queen Mab becoming well,<br /> + So lively was the limning;<br /> +The seat the soft wool of the bee,<br /> +The cover, gallantly to see,<br /> +The wing of a pied butterfly;<br /> + I trow ’twas simple trimming.</p> +<p class="poetry">The wheels composed of cricket’s +bones,<br /> +And daintily made for the nonce,<br /> +For fear of rattling on the stones<br /> + With thistle-down they shod it;<br /> +For all her maidens much did fear<br /> +If Oberon had chanced to hear<br /> +That Mab his Queen should have been there,<br /> + He would not have abode it.</p> +<p class="poetry">She mounts her chariot with a trice,<br /> +Nor would she stay, for no advice,<br /> +Until her maids that were so nice<br /> + To wait on her were fitted;<br /> +But ran herself away alone,<br /> +Which when they heard, there was not one<br /> +But hasted after to be gone,<br /> + As he had been diswitted.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hop and Mop and Drop so clear,<br /> +Pip and Trip and Skip that were<br /> +To Mab, their sovereign, ever dear,<br /> + Her special maids of honour;<br /> +Fib and Tib and Pink and Pin,<br /> +Tick and Quick and Jill and Jin,<br /> +Tit and Nit and Wap and Win,<br /> + The train that wait upon her.</p> +<p class="poetry">Upon a grasshopper they got<br /> +And, what with amble, what with trot,<br /> +For hedge and ditch they sparéd not,<br /> + But after her they hie them;<br /> +A cobweb over them they throw,<br /> +To shield the wind if it should blow,<br /> +Themselves they wisely could bestow<br /> + Lest any should espy them.</p> +<p class="poetry">But let us leave Queen Mab awhile,<br /> +Through many a gate, o’er many a stile,<br /> +That now had gotten by this wile,<br /> + Her dear Pigwiggin kissing;<br /> +And tell how Oberon doth fare,<br /> +Who grew as mad as any hare<br /> +When he had sought each place with care,<br /> + And found his Queen was missing.</p> +<p class="poetry">By grisly Pluto he doth swear,<br /> +He rent his clothes and tore his hair,<br /> +And as he runneth here and there<br /> + An acorn cup he greeteth,<br /> +Which soon he taketh by the stalk,<br /> +About his head he lets it walk,<br /> +Nor doth he any creature balk,<br /> + But lays on all he meeteth.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Tuscan Poet doth advance,<br /> +The frantic Paladin of France,<br /> +And those more ancient do enhance<br /> + Alcides in his fury,<br /> +And others Aiax Telamon,<br /> +But to this time there hath been none<br /> +So Bedlam as our Oberon,<br /> + Of which I dare assure ye.</p> +<p class="poetry">And first encountering with a Wasp,<br /> +He in his arms the fly doth clasp<br /> +As though his breath he forth would grasp,<br /> + Him for Pigwiggin taking:<br /> +“Where is my wife, thou rogue?” quoth be;<br /> +“Pigwiggin, she is come to thee;<br /> +Restore her, or thou diest by me!”<br /> + Whereat the poor Wasp quaking</p> +<p class="poetry">Cries, “Oberon, great Fairy King,<br /> +Content thee, I am no such thing:<br /> +I am a Wasp, behold my sting!”<br /> + At which the Fairy started;<br /> +When soon away the Wasp doth go,<br /> +Poor wretch, was never frighted so;<br /> +He thought his wings were much too slow,<br /> + O’erjoyed they so were parted.</p> +<p class="poetry">He next upon a Glow-worm light,<br /> +You must suppose it now was night,<br /> +Which, for her hinder part was bright,<br /> + He took to be a devil,<br /> +And furiously doth her assail<br /> +For carrying fire in her tail;<br /> +He thrashed her rough coat with his flail;<br /> + The mad King feared no evil.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh!” quoth the Glow-worm, +“hold thy hand,<br /> +Thou puissant King of Fairy-land!<br /> +Thy mighty strokes who may withstand?<br /> + Hold, or of life despair I!”<br /> +Together then herself doth roll,<br /> +And tumbling down into a hole<br /> +She seemed as black as any coal;<br /> + Which vext away the Fairy.</p> +<p class="poetry">From thence he ran into a hive:<br /> +Amongst the bees he letteth drive,<br /> +And down their combs begins to rive,<br /> + All likely to have spoiléd,<br /> +Which with their wax his face besmeared,<br /> +And with their honey daubed his beard:<br /> +It would have made a man afeared<br /> + To see how he was moiléd.</p> +<p class="poetry">A new adventure him betides;<br /> +He met an Ant, which he bestrides,<br /> +And post thereon away he rides,<br /> + Which with his haste doth stumble;<br /> +And came full over on her snout,<br /> +Her heels so threw the dirt about,<br /> +For she by no means could get out,<br /> + But over him doth tumble.</p> +<p class="poetry">And being in this piteous case,<br /> +And all be-slurréd head and face,<br /> +On runs he in this wild-goose chase,<br /> + As here and there he rambles;<br /> +Half blind, against a mole-hill hit,<br /> +And for a mountain taking it,<br /> +For all he was out of his wit<br /> + Yet to the top he scrambles.</p> +<p class="poetry">And being gotten to the top,<br /> +Yet there himself he could not stop,<br /> +But down on th’ other side doth chop,<br /> + And to the foot came rumbling;<br /> +So that the grubs, therein that bred,<br /> +Hearing such turmoil over head,<br /> +Thought surely they had all been dead;<br /> + So fearful was the jumbling.</p> +<p class="poetry">And falling down into a lake,<br /> +Which him up to the neck doth take,<br /> +His fury somewhat it doth slake;<br /> + He calleth for a ferry;<br /> +Where you may some recovery note;<br /> +What was his club he made his boat,<br /> +And in his oaken cup doth float,<br /> + As safe as in a wherry.</p> +<p class="poetry">Men talk of the adventures strange<br /> +Of Don Quixoit, and of their change<br /> +Through which he arméd oft did range,<br /> + Of Sancho Pancha’s travel;<br /> +But should a man tell every thing<br /> +Done by this frantic Fairy King,<br /> +And them in lofty numbers sing,<br /> + It well his wits might gravel.</p> +<p class="poetry">Scarce set on shore, but therewithal<br /> +He meeteth Puck, which most men call<br /> +Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall,<br /> + With words from frenzy spoken:<br /> +“Oh, oh,” quoth Hob, “God save thy grace!<br /> +Who drest thee in this piteous case?<br /> +He thus that spoiled my sovereign’s face,<br /> + I would his neck were broken!”</p> +<p class="poetry">This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt,<br /> +Still walking like a ragged colt,<br /> +And oft out of a bush doth bolt,<br /> + Of purpose to deceive us;<br /> +And leading us makes us to stray,<br /> +Long winter’s nights, out of the way;<br /> +And when we stick in mire and clay,<br /> + Hob doth with laughter leave us.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Dear Puck,” quoth he, “my +wife is gone:<br /> +As e’er thou lov’st King Oberon,<br /> +Let everything but this alone,<br /> + With vengeance and pursue her;<br /> +Bring her to me alive or dead,<br /> +Or that vile thief, Pigwiggin’s head,<br /> +That villain hath [my Queen misled];<br /> + He to this folly drew her.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Quoth Puck, “My liege, I’ll never +lin,<br /> +But I will thorough thick and thin,<br /> +Until at length I bring her in;<br /> + My dearest lord, ne’er doubt it.”<br /> +Thorough brake, thorough briar,<br /> +Thorough muck, thorough mire,<br /> +Thorough water, thorough fire;<br /> + And thus goes Puck about it.</p> +<p class="poetry">This thing Nymphidia overheard,<br /> +That on this mad king had a guard,<br /> +Not doubting of a great reward,<br /> + For first this business broaching;<br /> +And through the air away doth go,<br /> +Swift as an arrow from the bow,<br /> +To let her sovereign Mab to know<br /> + What peril was approaching.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Queen, bound with Love’s powerful +charm,<br /> +Sate with Pigwiggin arm in arm;<br /> +Her merry maids, that thought no harm,<br /> + About the room were skipping;<br /> +A humble-bee, their minstrel, played<br /> +Upon his hautboy, every maid<br /> +Fit for this revel was arrayed,<br /> + The hornpipe neatly tripping.</p> +<p class="poetry">In comes Nymphidia, and doth cry,<br /> +“My sovereign, for your safety fly,<br /> +For there is danger but too nigh;<br /> + I posted to forewarn you:<br /> +The King hath sent Hobgoblin out,<br /> +To seek you all the fields about,<br /> +And of your safety you may doubt,<br /> + If he but once discern you.”</p> +<p class="poetry">When, like an uproar in a town,<br /> +Before them everything went down;<br /> +Some tore a ruff, and some a gown,<br /> + ’Gainst one another justling;<br /> +They flew about like chaff i’ th’ wind;<br /> +For haste some left their masks behind;<br /> +Some could not stay their gloves to find;<br /> + There never was such bustling.</p> +<p class="poetry">Forth ran they, by a secret way,<br /> +Into a brake that near them lay;<br /> +Yet much they doubted there to stay,<br /> + Lest Hob should hap to find them;<br /> +He had a sharp and piercing sight,<br /> +All one to him the day and night;<br /> +And therefore were resolved, by flight,<br /> + To leave this place behind them.</p> +<p class="poetry">At length one chanced to find a nut,<br /> +In th’ end of which a hole was cut,<br /> +Which lay upon a hazel root,<br /> + There scattered by a squirrel<br /> +Which out the kernel gotten had;<br /> +When quoth this Fay, “Dear Queen, be glad;<br /> +Let Oberon be ne’er so mad,<br /> + I’ll set you safe from peril.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come all into this nut,” quoth +she,<br /> +“Come closely in; be ruled by me;<br /> +Each one may here a chooser be,<br /> + For room ye need not wrastle:<br /> +Nor need ye be together heaped;”<br /> +So one by one therein they crept,<br /> +And lying down they soundly slept,<br /> + And safe as in a castle.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nymphidia, that this while doth watch,<br /> +Perceived if Puck the Queen should catch<br /> +That he should be her over-match,<br /> + Of which she well bethought her;<br /> +Found it must be some powerful charm,<br /> +The Queen against him that must arm,<br /> +Or surely he would do her harm,<br /> + For throughly he had sought her.</p> +<p class="poetry">And listening if she aught could hear,<br /> +That her might hinder, or might fear;<br /> +But finding still the coast was clear;<br /> + Nor creature had descried her;<br /> +Each circumstance and having scanned,<br /> +She came thereby to understand,<br /> +Puck would be with them out of hand;<br /> + When to her charms she hied her.</p> +<p class="poetry">And first her fern-seed doth bestow,<br /> +The kernel of the mistletoe;<br /> +And here and there as Puck should go,<br /> + With terror to affright him,<br /> +She night-shade strews to work him ill,<br /> +Therewith her vervain and her dill,<br /> +That hindreth witches of their will,<br /> + Of purpose to despite him.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then sprinkles she the juice of rue,<br /> +That groweth underneath the yew;<br /> +With nine drops of the midnight dew,<br /> + From lunary distilling:<br /> +The molewarp’s <a name="citation108a"></a><a +href="#footnote108a" class="citation">[108a]</a> brain mixed +therewithal;<br /> +And with the same the pismire’s gall:<br /> +For she in nothing short would fall,<br /> + The Fairy was so willing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then thrice under a briar doth creep,<br /> +Which at both ends was rooted deep,<br /> +And over it three times she leap;<br /> + Her magic much availing:<br /> +Then on Prosérpina doth call,<br /> +And so upon her spell doth fall,<br /> +Which here to you repeat I shall,<br /> + Not in one tittle failing.</p> +<p class="poetry">“By the croaking of a frog;<br /> +By the howling of the dog;<br /> +By the crying of the hog<br /> + Against the storm arising;<br /> +By the evening curfew bell,<br /> +By the doleful dying knell,<br /> +O let this my direful spell,<br /> + Hob, hinder thy surprising!</p> +<p class="poetry">“By the mandrake’s <a +name="citation108b"></a><a href="#footnote108b" +class="citation">[108b]</a> dreadful groans;<br /> +By the lubrican’s <a name="citation108c"></a><a +href="#footnote108c" class="citation">[108c]</a> sad moans;<br /> +By the noise of dead men’s bones<br /> + In charnel-houses rattling;<br /> +By the hissing of the snake,<br /> +The rustling of the fire-drake, <a name="citation108d"></a><a +href="#footnote108d" class="citation">[108d]</a><br /> +I charge thee thou this place forsake,<br /> + Nor of Queen Mab be prattling!</p> +<p class="poetry">“By the whirlwind’s hollow +sound,<br /> +By the thunder’s dreadful stound,<br /> +Yells of spirits underground,<br /> + I charge thee not to fear us;<br /> +By the screech-owl’s dismal note,<br /> +By the black night-raven’s throat,<br /> +I charge thee, Hob, to tear thy coat<br /> + With thorns, if thou come near us!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Her spell thus spoke, she stept aside,<br /> +And in a chink herself doth hide,<br /> +To see thereof what would betide,<br /> + For she doth only mind him:<br /> +When presently she Puck espies,<br /> +And well she marked his gloating eyes,<br /> +How under every leaf he pries,<br /> + In seeking still to find them.</p> +<p class="poetry">But once the circle got within,<br /> +The charms to work do straight begin,<br /> +And he was caught as in a gin;<br /> + For as he thus was busy,<br /> +A pain he in his head-piece feels,<br /> +Against a stubbéd tree he reels,<br /> +And up went poor Hobgoblin’s heels,<br /> + Alas! his brain was dizzy!</p> +<p class="poetry">At length upon his feet he gets,<br /> +Hobgoblin fumes, Hobgoblin frets;<br /> +And as again he forward sets,<br /> + And through the bushes scrambles,<br /> +A stump doth trip him in his pace;<br /> +Down comes poor Hob upon his face,<br /> +And lamentably tore his case,<br /> + Amongst the briars and brambles.</p> +<p class="poetry">“A plague upon Queen Mab!” quoth +he,<br /> +“And all her maids where’er they be<br /> +I think the devil guided me,<br /> + To seek her so provokéd!”<br /> +Where stumbling at a piece of wood,<br /> +He fell into a ditch of mud,<br /> +Where to the very chin he stood,<br /> + In danger to be chokéd.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now worse than e’er he was before,<br /> +Poor Puck doth yell, poor Puck doth roar,<br /> +That waked Queen Mab, who doubted sore<br /> + Some treason had been wrought her:<br /> +Until Nymphidia told the Queen<br /> +What she had done, what she had seen,<br /> +Who then had well-near cracked her spleen<br /> + With very extreme laughter.</p> +<p class="poetry">But leave we Hob to clamber out,<br /> +Queen Mab and all her Fairy rout,<br /> +And come again to have a bout<br /> + With Oberon yet madding:<br /> +And with Pigwiggin now distraught,<br /> +Who much was troubled in his thought,<br /> +That he so long the Queen had sought,<br /> + And through the fields was gadding.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as he runs he still doth cry,<br /> +“King Oberon, I thee defy,<br /> +And dare thee here in arms to try,<br /> + For my dear lady’s honour:<br /> +For that she is a Queen right good,<br /> +In whose defence I’ll shed my blood,<br /> +And that thou in this jealous mood<br /> + Hast laid this slander on her.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And quickly arms him for the field,<br /> +A little cockle-shell his shield,<br /> +Which he could very bravely wield;<br /> + Yet could it not be piercéd:<br /> +His spear a bent both stiff and strong,<br /> +And well-near of two inches long:<br /> +The pile was of a horse-fly’s tongue,<br /> + Whose sharpness nought reverséd.</p> +<p class="poetry">And puts him on a coat of mail,<br /> +Which was made of a fish’s scale,<br /> +That when his foe should him assail,<br /> + No point should be prevailing:<br /> +His rapier was a hornet’s sting,<br /> +It was a very dangerous thing,<br /> +For if he chanced to hurt the King,<br /> + It would be long in healing.</p> +<p class="poetry">His helmet was a beetle’s head,<br /> +Most horrible and full of dread,<br /> +That able was to strike one dead,<br /> + Yet did it well become him;<br /> +And for a plume a horse’s hair,<br /> +Which, being tosséd with the air,<br /> +Had force to strike his foe with fear,<br /> + And turn his weapon from him.</p> +<p class="poetry">Himself he on an earwig set,<br /> +Yet scarce he on his back could get,<br /> +So oft and high he did curvet,<br /> + Ere he himself could settle:<br /> +He made him turn, and stop, and bound,<br /> +To gallop, and to trot the round,<br /> +He scarce could stand on any ground,<br /> + He was so full of mettle.</p> +<p class="poetry">When soon he met with Tomalin,<br /> +One that a valiant knight had been,<br /> +And to King Oberon of kin;<br /> + Quoth he, “Thou manly Fairy,<br /> +Tell Oberon I come prepared,<br /> +Then bid him stand upon his guard;<br /> +This hand his baseness shall reward,<br /> + Let him be ne’er so wary.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Say to him thus, that I defy<br /> +His slanders and his infamy,<br /> +And as a mortal enemy<br /> + Do publicly proclaim him:<br /> +Withal that if I had mine own,<br /> +He should not wear the Fairy crown,<br /> +But with a vengeance should come down,<br /> + Nor we a king should name him.”</p> +<p class="poetry">This Tomalin could not abide,<br /> +To hear his sovereign vilified;<br /> +But to the Fairy Court him hied,<br /> + (Full furiously he posted,)<br /> +With everything Pigwiggin said:<br /> +How title to the crown he laid,<br /> +And in what arms he was arrayed,<br /> + As how himself he boasted.</p> +<p class="poetry">Twixt head and foot, from point to point,<br /> +He told the arming of each joint,<br /> +In every piece how neat and quoint,<br /> + For Tomalin could do it:<br /> +How fair he sat, how sure he rid,<br /> +As of the courser he bestrid,<br /> +How managed, and how well he did:<br /> + The King which listened to it,</p> +<p class="poetry">Quoth he, “Go, Tomalin, with speed,<br /> +Provide me arms, provide my steed,<br /> +And everything that I shall need;<br /> + By thee I will be guided:<br /> +To straight account call thou thy wit;<br /> +See there be wanting not a whit,<br /> +In everything see thou me fit,<br /> + Just as my foe’s provided.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Soon flew this news through Fairy-land,<br /> +Which gave Queen Mab to understand<br /> +The combat that was then in hand<br /> + Betwixt those men so mighty:<br /> +Which greatly she began to rue,<br /> +Perceiving that all Fairy knew<br /> +The first occasion from her grew<br /> + Of these affairs so weighty.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wherefore attended with her maids,<br /> +Through fogs, and mists, and damps she wades,<br /> +To Proserpine the Queen of Shades,<br /> + To treat, that it would please her<br /> +The cause into her hands to take,<br /> +For ancient love and friendship’s sake,<br /> +And soon thereof an end to make,<br /> + Which of much care would ease her.</p> +<p class="poetry">A while there let we Mab alone,<br /> +And come we to King Oberon,<br /> +Who, armed to meet his foe, is gone,<br /> + For proud Pigwiggin crying:<br /> +Who sought the Fairy King as fast,<br /> +And had so well his journeys cast,<br /> +That he arrivéd at the last,<br /> + His puissant foe espying.</p> +<p class="poetry">Stout Tomalin came with the King,<br /> +Tom Thumb doth on Pigwiggin bring,<br /> +That perfect were in everything<br /> + To single fights belonging:<br /> +And therefore they themselves engage,<br /> +To see them exercise their rage,<br /> +With fair and comely equipage,<br /> + Not one the other wronging.</p> +<p class="poetry">So like in arms these champions were,<br /> +As they had been a very pair,<br /> +So that a man would almost swear,<br /> + That either had been either;<br /> +Their furious steeds began to neigh,<br /> +That they were heard a mighty way;<br /> +Their staves upon their rests they lay;<br /> + Yet ere they flew together</p> +<p class="poetry">Their seconds minister an oath,<br /> +Which was indifferent to them both,<br /> +That on their knightly faith and troth<br /> + No magic them suppliéd;<br /> +And sought them that they had no charms,<br /> +Wherewith to work each other harms,<br /> +But came with simple open arms<br /> + To have their causes triéd.</p> +<p class="poetry">Together furiously they ran,<br /> +That to the ground came horse and man;<br /> +The blood out of their helmets span,<br /> + So sharp were their encounters;<br /> +And though they to the earth were thrown,<br /> +Yet quickly they regained their own,<br /> +Such nimbleness was never shown,<br /> + They were two gallant mounters.</p> +<p class="poetry">When in a second course again<br /> +They forward came with might and main,<br /> +Yet which had better of the twain,<br /> + The seconds could not judge yet;<br /> +Their shields were into pieces cleft,<br /> +Their helmets from their heads were reft,<br /> +And to defend them nothing left,<br /> + These champions would not budge yet.</p> +<p class="poetry">Away from them their staves they threw,<br /> +Their cruel swords they quickly drew,<br /> +And freshly they the fight renew,<br /> + They every stroke redoubled:<br /> +Which made Prosérpina take heed,<br /> +And make to them the greater speed,<br /> +For fear lest they too much should bleed,<br /> + Which wondrously her troubled.</p> +<p class="poetry">When to th’ infernal Styx she goes,<br /> +She takes the fogs from thence that rose,<br /> +And <a name="citation114"></a><a href="#footnote114" +class="citation">[114]</a> in a bag doth them enclose:<br /> + When well she had them blended,<br /> +She hies her then to Lethe spring,<br /> +A bottle and thereof doth bring,<br /> +Wherewith she meant to work the thing<br /> + Which only she intended.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Proserpine with Mab is gone,<br /> +Unto the place where Oberon<br /> +And proud Pigwiggin, one to one,<br /> + Both to be slain were likely:<br /> +And there themselves they closely hide,<br /> +Because they would not be espied;<br /> +For Proserpine meant to decide<br /> + The matter very quickly.</p> +<p class="poetry">And suddenly unties the poke,<br /> +Which out of it sent such a smoke,<br /> +As ready was them all to choke,<br /> + So grievous was the pother;<br /> +So that the knights each other lost,<br /> +And stood as still as any post;<br /> +Tom Thumb nor Tomalin could boast<br /> + Themselves of any other.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when the mist ’gan somewhat cease,<br +/> +Prosérpina commandeth peace;<br /> +And that a while they should release<br /> + Each other of their peril:<br /> +“Which here,” quoth she, “I do proclaim<br /> +To all in dreadful Pluto’s name,<br /> +That as ye will eschew his blame,<br /> + You let me bear the quarrel:</p> +<p class="poetry">“But here yourselves you must engage,<br +/> +Somewhat to cool your spleenish rage;<br /> +Your grievous thirst and to assuage<br /> + That first you drink this liquor,<br /> +Which shall your understanding clear,<br /> +As plainly shall to you appear;<br /> +Those things from me that you shall hear,<br /> + Conceiving much the quicker.”</p> +<p class="poetry">This Lethe water, you must know,<br /> +The memory destroyeth so,<br /> +That of our weal, or of our woe,<br /> + Is all remembrance blotted;<br /> +Of it nor can you ever think,<br /> +For they no sooner took this drink,<br /> +But nought into their brains could sink<br /> + Of what had them besotted.</p> +<p class="poetry">King Oberon forgotten had,<br /> +That he for jealousy ran mad,<br /> +But of his Queen was wondrous glad,<br /> + And asked how they came thither:<br /> +Pigwiggin likewise doth forget<br /> +That he Queen Mab had ever met;<br /> +Or that they were so hard beset,<br /> + When they were found together.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor neither of them both had thought,<br /> +That e’er they each had other sought,<br /> +Much less that they a combat fought,<br /> + But such a dream were lothing.<br /> +Tom Thumb had got a little sup,<br /> +And Tomalin scarce kissed the cup,<br /> +Yet had their brains so sure locked up,<br /> + That they remembered nothing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Queen Mab and her light maids, the while,<br /> +Amongst themselves do closely smile,<br /> +To see the King caught with this wile,<br /> + With one another jesting:<br /> +And to the Fairy Court they went,<br /> +With mickle joy and merriment,<br /> +Which thing was done with good intent,<br /> + And thus I left them feasting.</p> +<h2><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>POPE’S<br /> +Rape of the Lock.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">AN +HEROI-COMICAL POEM.</span></p> +<blockquote><p><i>Nolueram</i>, <i>Belinda</i>, <i>tuos violare +capillos</i>;<br /> +<i>Sed juvat</i>, <i>hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right" class="poetry">—<span +class="smcap">Mart</span>., <i>Epigr.</i> xii. 84.</p> +<h3>CANTO I.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> dire offence +from amorous causes springs,<br /> +What mighty contests rise from trivial things,<br /> +I sing—This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due:<br /> +This, even Belinda may vouchsafe to view:<br /> +Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,<br /> +If she inspire, and he approve my lays.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Say what strange motive, +Goddess! could compel<br /> +A well-bred lord to assault a gentle belle?<br /> +O say what stranger cause, yet unexplored,<br /> +Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?<br /> +In tasks so bold, can little men engage,<br /> +And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sol through white curtains +shot a timorous ray,<br /> +And oped those eyes that must eclipse the day:<br /> +Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake,<br /> +And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:<br /> +Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knocked the ground,<br /> +And the pressed watch returned a silver sound.<br /> +Belinda still her downy pillow pressed,<br /> +Her guardian Sylph prolonged the balmy rest;<br /> +’Twas he had summoned to her silent bed<br /> +The morning-dream that hovered o’er her head;<br /> +A youth more glittering than a birth-night beau,<br /> +(That even in slumber caused her cheek to glow)<br /> +Seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay,<br /> +And thus in whispers said, or seemed to say:</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Fairest of mortals, +thou distinguished care<br /> +Of thousand bright inhabitants of air!<br /> +If e’er one vision touched thy infant thought,<br /> +Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught;<br /> +Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen,<br /> +The silver token, and the circled green,<br /> +Or virgins visited by angel-powers,<br /> +With golden crowns and wreaths of heavenly flowers;<br /> +Hear and believe! thy own importance know,<br /> +Nor bound thy narrow views to things below.<br /> +Some secret truths, from learned pride concealed,<br /> +To maids alone and children are revealed:<br /> +What though no credit doubting wits may give?<br /> +The fair and innocent shall still believe.<br /> +Know, then, unnumbered spirits round thee fly,<br /> +The light militia of the lower sky:<br /> +These, though unseen, are ever on the wing,<br /> +Hang o’er the box, and hover round the ring.<br /> +Think what an equipage thou hast in air,<br /> +And view with scorn two pages and a chair.<br /> +As now your own, our beings were of old,<br /> +And once enclosed in woman’s beauteous mould;<br /> +Thence, by a soft transition, we repair<br /> +From earthly vehicles to these of air.<br /> +Think not, when woman’s transient breath is fled,<br /> +That all her vanities at once are dead;<br /> +Succeeding vanities she still regards,<br /> +And though she plays no more, o’erlooks the cards.<br /> +Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive,<br /> +And love of ombre, after death survive.<br /> +For when the fair in all their pride expire,<br /> +To their first elements their souls retire:<br /> +The sprites of fiery termagants in flame<br /> +Mount up, and take a Salamander’s name.<br /> +Soft yielding minds to water glide away,<br /> +And sip, with nymphs, their elemental tea.<br /> +The graver prude sinks downward to a gnome,<br /> +In search of mischief still on earth to roam,<br /> +The light coquettes in sylphs aloft repair,<br /> +And sport and flutter in the fields of air.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Know further yet; +whoever fair and chaste<br /> +Rejects mankind, is by some sylph embraced:<br /> +For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease<br /> +Assume what sexes and what shapes they please.<br /> +What guards the purity of melting maids,<br /> +In courtly balls and midnight masquerades,<br /> +Safe from the treacherous friend, the daring spark,<br /> +The glance by day, the whisper in the dark,<br /> +When kind occasion prompts their warm desires,<br /> +When music softens, and when dancing fires?<br /> +’Tis but their sylph, the wise celestials know,<br /> +Though honour is the word with men below.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Some nymphs there are, +too conscious of their face,<br /> +For life predestined to the gnomes’ embrace.<br /> +These swell their prospects and exalt their pride,<br /> +When offers are disdained, and love denied:<br /> +Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain,<br /> +While peers, and dukes, and all their sweeping train,<br /> +And garters, stars, and coronets appear,<br /> +And in soft sounds, Your Grace salutes their ear.<br /> +’Tis these that early taint the female soul,<br /> +Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll,<br /> +Teach infant cheeks a hidden blush to know,<br /> +And little hearts to flutter at a beau.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Oft, when the world +imagine women stray,<br /> +The sylphs through mystic mazes guide their way,<br /> +Through all the giddy circle they pursue,<br /> +And old impertinence expel by new.<br /> +What tender maid but must a victim fall<br /> +To one man’s treat, but for another’s ball?<br /> +When Florio speaks what virgin could withstand,<br /> +If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand?<br /> +With varying vanities, from every part,<br /> +They shift the moving toyshop of their heart;<br /> +Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive,<br /> +Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive.<br /> +This erring mortal’s levity may call;<br /> +Oh, blind to truth! the sylphs contrive it all.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Of these am I, who thy +protection claim,<br /> +A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name.<br /> +Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air,<br /> +In the clear mirror of thy ruling star<br /> +I saw, alas! some dread event impend,<br /> +Ere to the main this morning sun descend,<br /> +But heaven reveals not what, or how, or where:<br /> +Warned by the sylph, oh pious maid, beware!<br /> +This to disclose is all thy guardian can:<br /> +Beware of all, but most beware of man!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> He said; when Shock, who +thought she slept too long,<br /> +Leaped up, and waked his mistress with his tongue.<br /> +’Twas then, Belinda, if report say true,<br /> +Thy eyes first opened on a billet-doux;<br /> +Wounds, charms, and ardours were no sooner read,<br /> +But all the vision vanished from thy head.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And now, unveiled, the toilet +stands displayed,<br /> +Each silver vase in mystic order laid.<br /> +First, robed in white, the nymph intent adores,<br /> +With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers.<br /> +A heavenly image in the glass appears,<br /> +To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears;<br /> +The inferior priestess, at her altar’s side,<br /> +Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride.<br /> +Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here<br /> +The various offerings of the world appear;<br /> +From each she nicely culls with curious toil,<br /> +And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil.<br /> +This casket India’s glowing gems unlocks,<br /> +And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.<br /> +The tortoise here and elephant unite,<br /> +Transformed to combs, the speckled, and the white.<br /> +Here files of pins extend their shining rows,<br /> +Puffs, powders, patches, Bibles, billet-doux.<br /> +Now awful beauty puts on all its arms;<br /> +The fair each moment rises in her charms,<br /> +Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace,<br /> +And calls forth all the wonders of her face;<br /> +Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,<br /> +And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.<br /> +The busy sylphs surround their darling care,<br /> +These set the head, and those divide the hair,<br /> +Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown;<br /> +And Betty’s praised for labours not her own.</p> +<h3>CANTO II.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Not</span> with more +glories, in the ethereal plain,<br /> +The sun first rises o’er the purpled main,<br /> +Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams<br /> +Launched on the bosom of the silver Thames.<br /> +Fair nymphs, and well-dressed youths around her shone,<br /> +But every eye was fixed on her alone.<br /> +On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,<br /> +Which Jews might kiss, and Infidels adore.<br /> +Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose,<br /> +Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those:<br /> +Favours to none, to all she smiles extends;<br /> +Oft she rejects, but never once offends.<br /> +Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike,<br /> +And, like the sun, they shine on all alike,<br /> +Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride,<br /> +Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide:<br /> +If to her share some female errors fall,<br /> +Look on her face, and you’ll forget ’em all.</p> +<p class="poetry"> This nymph, to the +destruction of mankind,<br /> +Nourished two locks, which graceful hung behind<br /> +In equal curls, and well conspired to deck<br /> +With shining ringlets the smooth ivory neck.<br /> +Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains,<br /> +And mighty hearts are held in slender chains.<br /> +With hairy springes we the birds betray,<br /> +Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey,<br /> +Fair tresses man’s imperial race ensnare,<br /> +And beauty draws us with a single hair.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Th’ adventurous Baron +the bright locks admired;<br /> +He saw, he wished, and to the prize aspired.<br /> +Resolved to win, he meditates the way,<br /> +By force to ravish, or by fraud betray;<br /> +For when success a lover’s toil attends,<br /> +Few ask, if fraud or force attained his ends.</p> +<p class="poetry"> For this, ere Phœbus +rose, he had implored<br /> +Propitious heaven, and every power adored,<br /> +But chiefly Love—to Love an altar built,<br /> +Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt.<br /> +There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves;<br /> +And all the trophies of his former loves;<br /> +With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre,<br /> +And breathes three amorous sighs to raise the fire,<br /> +Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes<br /> +Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize:<br /> +The powers gave ear, and granted half his prayer,<br /> +The rest, the winds dispersed in empty air.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But now secure the painted +vessel glides,<br /> +The sunbeams trembling on the floating tides:<br /> +While melting music steals upon the sky,<br /> +And softened sounds along the waters die;<br /> +Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play,<br /> +Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay.<br /> +All but the Sylph—with careful thoughts oppressed,<br /> +Th’ impending woe sat heavy on his breast.<br /> +He summons straight his denizens of air;<br /> +The lucid squadrons round the sails repair:<br /> +Soft o’er the shrouds aërial whispers breathe,<br /> +That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.<br /> +Some to the sun their insect wings unfold,<br /> +Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold;<br /> +Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight,<br /> +Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light,<br /> +Loose to the wind their airy garments flew,<br /> +Thin glittering textures of the filmy dew,<br /> +Dipped in the richest tincture of the skies,<br /> +Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes,<br /> +While every beam new transient colours flings,<br /> +Colours that change whene’er they wave their wings.<br /> +Amid the circle, on the gilded mast,<br /> +Superior by the head, was Ariel placed;<br /> +His purple pinions opening to the sun,<br /> +He raised his azure wand, and thus begun:</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Ye Sylphs and +Sylphids, to your chief give ear!<br /> +Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Dæmons, hear!<br /> +Ye know the spheres and various tasks assigned<br /> +By laws eternal to th’ aërial kind.<br /> +Some in the fields of purest æther play,<br /> +And bask and whiten in the blaze of day.<br /> +Some guide the course of wandering orbs on high,<br /> +Or roll the planets through the boundless sky.<br /> +Some less refined, beneath the moon’s pale light<br /> +Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night,<br /> +Or suck the mists in grosser air below,<br /> +Or dip their pinions in the painted bow,<br /> +Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main,<br /> +Or o’er the glebe distil the kindly rain.<br /> +Others on earth o’er human race preside,<br /> +Watch all their ways, and all their actions guide:<br /> +Of these the chief the care of nations own,<br /> +And guard with arms divine the British throne.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Our humbler province +is to tend the fair,<br /> +Not a less pleasing, though less glorious care;<br /> +To save the powder from too rude a gale,<br /> +Nor let the imprisoned essences exhale;<br /> +To draw fresh colours from the vernal flowers;<br /> +To steal from rainbows ere they drop in showers<br /> +A brighter wash; to curl their waving hairs,<br /> +Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs;<br /> +Nay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow,<br /> +To change a flounce or add a furbelow.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “This day black omens +threat the brightest fair<br /> +That e’er deserved a watchful spirit’s care;<br /> +Some dire disaster, or by force or slight;<br /> +But what, or where, the fates have wrapt in night.<br /> +Whether the nymph shall break Diana’s law,<br /> +Or some frail china jar receive a flaw;<br /> +Or stain her honour or her new brocade;<br /> +Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade;<br /> +Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball;<br /> +Or whether Heaven has doomed that Shock must fall,<br /> +Haste, then, ye spirits! to your charge repair:<br /> +The fluttering fan be Zephyretta’s care;<br /> +The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign;<br /> +And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine;<br /> +Do thou, Crispissa, tend her favourite lock;<br /> +Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “To fifty chosen +sylphs, of special note,<br /> +We trust th’ important charge, the petticoat:<br /> +Oft have we known that sevenfold fence to fail,<br /> +Though stiff with hoops, and armed with ribs of whale;<br /> +Form a strong line about the silver bound,<br /> +And guard the wide circumference around.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Whatever spirit, +careless of his charge,<br /> +His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large,<br /> +Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o’ertake his sins,<br /> +Be stopped in vials, or transfixed with pins;<br /> +Or plunged in lakes of bitter washes lie,<br /> +Or wedged whole ages in a bodkin’s eye:<br /> +Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain,<br /> +While clogged he beats his silken wings in vain;<br /> +Or alum styptics with contracting power<br /> +Shrink his thin essence like a rivelled flower;<br /> +Or, as Ixion fixed, the wretch shall feel<br /> +The giddy motion of the whirling mill,<br /> +In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow,<br /> +And tremble at the sea that froths below!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> He spoke; the spirits from +the sails descend;<br /> +Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend;<br /> +Some thrid the mazy ringlets of her hair;<br /> +Some hang upon the pendants of her ear:<br /> +With beating hearts the dire event they wait,<br /> +Anxious and trembling, for the birth of Fate.</p> +<h3>CANTO III.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Close</span> by those +meads, for ever crowned with flowers,<br /> +Where Thames with pride surveys his rising towers,<br /> +There stands a structure of majestic frame,<br /> +Which from the neighbouring Hampton takes its name.<br /> +Here Britain’s statesmen oft the fall foredoom<br /> +Of foreign tyrants and of nymphs at home;<br /> +Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey,<br /> +Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Hither the heroes and the +nymphs resort,<br /> +To taste awhile the pleasures of a court;<br /> +In various talk the instructive hours they passed,<br /> +Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last;<br /> +One speaks the glory of the British Queen,<br /> +And one describes a charming Indian screen;<br /> +A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes;<br /> +At every word a reputation dies.<br /> +Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat,<br /> +With singing, laughing, ogling, <i>and all that</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Meanwhile, declining from the +noon of day,<br /> +The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray;<br /> +The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,<br /> +And wretches hang that jurymen may dine;<br /> +The merchant from the Exchange returns in peace,<br /> +And the long labours of the toilet cease.<br /> +Belinda now whom thirst of fame invites,<br /> +Burns to encounter two adventurous knights,<br /> +At Ombre singly to decide their doom;<br /> +And swells her breast with conquests yet to come.<br /> +Straight the three bands prepare in arms to join,<br /> +Each band the number of the sacred nine.<br /> +Soon as she spreads her hand, the aerial guard<br /> +Descend, and sit on each important card:<br /> +First Ariel, perched upon a Matador,<br /> +Then each, according to the rank they bore;<br /> +For sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race,<br /> +Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Behold, four Kings in majesty +revered,<br /> +With hoary whiskers and a forky beard;<br /> +And four fair Queens whose hands sustain a flower,<br /> +The expressive emblem of their softer power;<br /> +Four Knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty band,<br /> +Caps on their heads, and halberts in their hand;<br /> +And particoloured troops, a shining train,<br /> +Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The skilful Nymph reviews her +force with care:<br /> +“Let Spades be trumps!” she said, and trumps they +were.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now move to war her sable +Matadores,<br /> +In show like leaders of the swarthy Moors.<br /> +Spadillio first, unconquerable lord,<br /> +Led off two captive trumps, and swept the board.<br /> +As many more Manillio forced to yield,<br /> +And marched a victor from the verdant field.<br /> +Him Basto followed, but his fate more hard<br /> +Gained but one trump and one plebeian card.<br /> +With his broad sabre next, a chief in years,<br /> +The hoary Majesty of Spades appears,<br /> +Puts forth one manly leg, to sight revealed,<br /> +The rest, his many-coloured robe concealed.<br /> +The rebel Knave, who dares his prince engage,<br /> +Proves the just victim of his royal rage.<br /> +Even mighty Pam, <a name="citation126"></a><a href="#footnote126" +class="citation">[126]</a> that Kings and Queens +o’erthrew<br /> +And mowed down armies in the fights of Lu,<br /> +Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid,<br /> +Falls undistinguished by the victor Spade!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thus far both armies to +Belinda yield;<br /> +Now to the Baron fate inclines the field.<br /> +His warlike Amazon her host invades,<br /> +Th’ imperial consort of the crown of Spades.<br /> +The Club’s black tyrant first her victim died,<br /> +Spite of his haughty mien, and barbarous pride;<br /> +What boots the regal circle on his head,<br /> +His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread;<br /> +That long behind he trails his pompous robe,<br /> +And, of all monarchs, only grasps the globe?</p> +<p class="poetry"> The Baron now his Diamonds +pours apace;<br /> +The embroidered King who shows but half his face,<br /> +And his refulgent Queen, with powers combined<br /> +Of broken troops an easy conquest find.<br /> +Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild disorder seen,<br /> +With throngs promiscuous strow the level green.<br /> +Thus when dispersed a routed army runs,<br /> +Of Asia’s troops, and Afric’s sable sons,<br /> +With like confusion different nations fly,<br /> +Of various habit, and of various dye,<br /> +The pierced battalions disunited fall,<br /> +In heaps on heaps; one fate o’erwhelms them all.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The Knave of Diamonds tries +his wily arts,<br /> +And wins (oh shameful chance!) the Queen of Hearts.<br /> +At this, the blood the virgin’s cheek forsook,<br /> +A livid paleness spreads o’er all her look;<br /> +She sees, and trembles at th’ approaching ill,<br /> +Just in the jaws of ruin, and codille.<br /> +And now (as oft in some distempered State)<br /> +On one nice trick depends the general fate.<br /> +An Ace of Hearts steps forth: the King unseen<br /> +Lurked in her hand, and mourned his captive Queen:<br /> +He springs to vengeance with an eager pace,<br /> +And falls like thunder on the prostrate Ace.<br /> +The nymph exulting fills with shouts the sky;<br /> +The walls, the woods, and long canals reply.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh thoughtless mortals, ever +blind to fate,<br /> +Too soon dejected, and too soon elate!<br /> +Sudden, these honours shall be snatched away,<br /> +And cursed for ever this victorious day.</p> +<p class="poetry"> For lo, the board with cups +and spoons is crowned,<br /> +The berries crackle, and the mill turns round;<br /> +On shining altars of Japan they raise<br /> +The silver lamp; the fiery spirits blaze:<br /> +From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide,<br /> +While China’s earth receives the smoking tide:<br /> +At once they gratify their scent and taste,<br /> +And frequent cups prolong the rich repast.<br /> +Straight hover round the Fair her airy band;<br /> +Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor fanned,<br /> +Some o’er her lap their careful plumes displayed,<br /> +Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade.<br /> +Coffee (which makes the politician wise,<br /> +And see through all things with his half-shut eyes)<br /> +Sent up in vapours to the Baron’s brain<br /> +New stratagems the radiant Lock to gain.<br /> +Ah cease, rash youth! desist ere ’tis too late,<br /> +Fear the just Gods, and think of Scylla’s fate!<br /> +Changed to a bird, and sent to flit in air,<br /> +She dearly pays for Nisus’ injured hair!</p> +<p class="poetry"> But when to mischief mortals +bend their will,<br /> +How soon they find fit instruments of ill!<br /> +Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting grace<br /> +A two-edged weapon from her shining case:<br /> +So ladies in romance assist their knight,<br /> +Present the spear, and arm him for the fight.<br /> +He takes the gift with reverence, and extends<br /> +The little engine on his fingers’ ends;<br /> +This just behind Belinda’s neck he spread,<br /> +As o’er the fragrant steams she bends her head.<br /> +Swift to the lock a thousand sprites repair,<br /> +A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the hair;<br /> +And thrice they twitched the diamond in her ear;<br /> +Thrice she looked back, and thrice the foe drew near.<br /> +Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought<br /> +The close recesses of the virgin’s thought;<br /> +As on the nosegay in her breast reclined,<br /> +He watched the ideas rising in her mind,<br /> +Sudden he viewed, in spite of all her art,<br /> +An earthly lover lurking at her heart.<br /> +Amazed, confused, he found his power expired,<br /> +Resigned to fate, and with a sigh retired.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The peer now spreads the +glittering forfex wide,<br /> +To inclose the lock; now joins it, to divide.<br /> +Even then, before the fatal engine closed,<br /> +A wretched sylph too fondly interposed;<br /> +Fate urged the shears, and cut the sylph in twain<br /> +(But airy substance soon unites again),<br /> +The meeting points the sacred hair dissever<br /> +From the fair head, for ever, and for ever!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then flashed the living +lightning from her eyes,<br /> +And screams of horror rend the affrighted skies.<br /> +Not louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast,<br /> +When husbands or when lapdogs breathe their last;<br /> +Or when rich china vessels fallen from high,<br /> +In glittering dust and painted fragments lie!</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Let wreaths of triumph +now my temples twine,”<br /> +The victor cried, “the glorious prize is mine!”<br /> +While fish in streams, or birds delight in air,<br /> +Or in a coach-and-six the British fair,<br /> +As long as Atalantis shall be read, <a name="citation129"></a><a +href="#footnote129" class="citation">[129]</a><br /> +Or the small pillow grace a lady’s bed,<br /> +While visits shall be paid on solemn days,<br /> +When numerous wax-lights in bright order blaze,<br /> +While nymphs take treats, or assignations give,<br /> +So long my honour, name, and praise shall live!<br /> +What time would spare, from steel receives its date,<br /> +And monuments, like men, submit to fate!<br /> +Steel could the labour of the gods destroy,<br /> +And strike to dust th’ imperial towers of Troy;<br /> +Steel could the works of mortal pride confound,<br /> +And hew triumphal arches to the ground.<br /> +What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hairs should feel<br /> +The conquering force of unresisting steel?</p> +<h3>CANTO IV.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">But</span> anxious cares +the pensive nymph oppressed,<br /> +And secret passions laboured in her breast.<br /> +Not youthful kings in battle seized alive,<br /> +Not scornful virgins who their charms survive,<br /> +Not ardent lovers robbed of all their bliss,<br /> +Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss,<br /> +Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die,<br /> +Not Cynthia when her manteau’s pinned awry,<br /> +E’er felt such rage, resentment, and despair,<br /> +As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravished hair.</p> +<p class="poetry"> For that sad moment when the +sylphs withdrew.<br /> +And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew,<br /> +Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite,<br /> +As ever sullied the fair face of light,<br /> +Down to the central earth, his proper scene,<br /> +Repaired to search the gloomy cave of Spleen.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Swift on his sooty pinions +flits the gnome,<br /> +And in a vapour reached the dismal dome.<br /> +No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows,<br /> +The dreaded east is all the wind that blows.<br /> +Here in a grotto, sheltered close from air,<br /> +And screened in shades from day’s detested glare,<br /> +She sighs for ever on her pensive bed,<br /> +Pain at her side, and Megrim <a name="citation130"></a><a +href="#footnote130" class="citation">[130]</a> at her head.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Two handmaids wait the +throne: alike in place,<br /> +But differing far in figure and in face.<br /> +Here stood Ill-nature like an ancient maid,<br /> +Her wrinkled form in black and white arrayed;<br /> +With store of prayers, for mornings, nights, and noons,<br /> +Her hand is filled; her bosom with lampoons.</p> +<p class="poetry"> There Affectation, with a +sickly mien,<br /> +Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen,<br /> +Practised to lisp, and hang the head aside,<br /> +Faints into airs, and languishes with pride,<br /> +On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe,<br /> +Wrapped in a gown, for sickness, and for show.<br /> +The fair ones feel such maladies as these,<br /> +When each new night-dress gives a new disease.<br /> +A constant vapour o’er the palace flies;<br /> +Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise;<br /> +Dreadful as hermit’s dreams in haunted shades,<br /> +Or bright as visions of expiring maids.<br /> +Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires,<br /> +Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires:<br /> +Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes,<br /> +And crystal domes and angels in machines.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Unnumbered throngs on every +side are seen,<br /> +Of bodies changed to various forms by Spleen.<br /> +Here living tea-pots stand, one arm held out,<br /> +One bent; the handle this, and that the spout:<br /> +A pipkin there, like Homer’s tripod walks;<br /> +Here sighs a jar, and there a goose-pie talks;<br /> +Men prove with child, as powerful fancy works,<br /> +And maids turned bottles call aloud for corks.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Safe past the Gnome, through +this fantastic band,<br /> +A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand.<br /> +Then thus addressed the power: “Hail, wayward Queen!<br /> +Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen:<br /> +Parent of vapours and of female wit,<br /> +Who give the hysteric, or poetic fit,<br /> +On various tempers act by various ways,<br /> +Make some take physic, others scribble plays;<br /> +Who cause the proud their visits to delay,<br /> +And send the godly in a pet to pray.<br /> +A nymph there is, that all thy power disdains,<br /> +And thousands more in equal mirth maintains.<br /> +But oh! if e’er thy gnome could spoil a grace,<br /> +Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face,<br /> +Like citron-waters matrons’ cheeks inflame,<br /> +Or change complexions at a losing game;<br /> +If e’er with airy horns I planted heads,<br /> +Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,<br /> +Or caused suspicion when no soul was rude,<br /> +Or discomposed the head-dress of a prude,<br /> +Or e’er to costive lapdog gave disease,<br /> +Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease:<br /> +Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin,<br /> +That single act gives half the world the spleen.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> The Goddess with a +discontented air<br /> +Seems to reject him, though she grants his prayer.<br /> +A wondrous bag with both her hands she binds,<br /> +Like that where once Ulysses held the winds;<br /> +There she collects the force of female lungs,<br /> +Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues.<br /> +A vial next she fills with fainting fears,<br /> +Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.<br /> +The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away,<br /> +Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sunk in Thalestris’ +arms the nymph he found,<br /> +Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound.<br /> +Full o’er their heads the swelling bag he rent,<br /> +And all the Furies issued at the vent.<br /> +Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,<br /> +And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire.<br /> +“O wretched maid!” she spread her hands, and +cried,<br /> +(While Hampton’s echoes, “Wretched maid!” +replied)<br /> +“Was it for this you took such constant care<br /> +The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare?<br /> +For this your locks in paper durance bound,<br /> +For this with torturing irons wreathed around?<br /> +For this with fillets strained your tender head,<br /> +And bravely bore the double loads of lead?<br /> +Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair,<br /> +While the fops envy, and the ladies stare!<br /> +Honour forbid! at whose unrivalled shrine<br /> +Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign.<br /> +Methinks already I your tears survey,<br /> +Already hear the horrid things they say,<br /> +Already see you a degraded toast,<br /> +And all your honour in a whisper lost!<br /> +How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend?<br /> +’Twill then be infamy to seem your friend!<br /> +And shall this prize, the inestimable prize,<br /> +Exposed through crystal to the gazing eyes,<br /> +And heightened by the diamond’s circling rays,<br /> +On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?<br /> +Sooner shall grass in Hyde Park Circus grow,<br /> +And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow;<br /> +Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall,<br /> +Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> She said; then raging to Sir +Plume repairs,<br /> +And bids her beau demand the precious hairs:<br /> +(Sir Plume of amber snuff-box justly vain,<br /> +And the nice conduct of a clouded cane)<br /> +With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face,<br /> +He first the snuff-box opened, then the case,<br /> +And thus broke out—“My Lord, why what the devil?<br +/> +Zounds! damn the lock! ’fore Gad, you must be civil!<br /> +Plague on’t! ’tis past a jest—nay prithee, +pox!<br /> +Give her the hair”—he spoke, and rapped his box.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “It grieves me +much” (replied the Peer again)<br /> +“Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain.<br /> +But by this lock, this sacred lock, I swear,<br /> +(Which never more shall join its parted hair;<br /> +Which never more its honours shall renew,<br /> +Clipped from the lovely head where late it grew)<br /> +That while my nostrils draw the vital air,<br /> +This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear.”<br /> +He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread<br /> +The long-contended honours of her head.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But Umbriel, hateful gnome! +forbears not so;<br /> +He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow.<br /> +Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears,<br /> +Her eyes half-languishing, half-drowned in tears;<br /> +On her heaved bosom hung her drooping head,<br /> +Which, with a sigh, she raised; and thus she said:</p> +<p class="poetry"> “For ever cursed be +this detested day,<br /> +Which snatched my best, my favourite curl away!<br /> +Happy! ah, ten times happy had I been,<br /> +If Hampton Court these eyes had never seen!<br /> +Yet am not I the first mistaken maid,<br /> +By love of courts to numerous ills betrayed.<br /> +Oh had I rather unadmired remained<br /> +In some lone isle, or distant Northern land,<br /> +Where the gilt chariot never marks the way,<br /> +Where none learn ombre, none e’er taste Bohea;<br /> +There kept my charms concealed from mortal eye,<br /> +Like roses that in deserts bloom and die!<br /> +What moved my mind with youthful lords to roam?<br /> +Oh had I stayed, and said my prayers at home!<br /> +’Twas this, the morning omens seemed to tell,<br /> +Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;<br /> +The tottering china shook without a wind,<br /> +Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind!<br /> +A sylph, too, warned me of the threats of fate,<br /> +In mystic visions, now believed too late!<br /> +See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs!<br /> +My hands shall rend what even thy rapine spares:<br /> +These in two sable ringlets taught to break,<br /> +Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck;<br /> +The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone,<br /> +And in its fellow’s fate foresees its own;<br /> +Uncurled it hangs, the fatal shears demands,<br /> +And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands.<br /> +Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize<br /> +Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these!”</p> +<h3>CANTO V.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span> said: the +pitying audience melt in tears.<br /> +But Fate and Jove had stopped the Baron’s ears.<br /> +In vain Thalestris with reproach assails,<br /> +For who can move when fair Belinda fails?<br /> +Not half so fixed the Trojan could remain,<br /> +While Anna begged and Dido raged in vain.<br /> +Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her fan;<br /> +Silence ensued, and thus the nymph began:</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Say why are beauties +praised and honoured most,<br /> +The wise man’s passion, and the vain man’s toast?<br +/> +Why decked with all that land and sea afford,<br /> +Why angels called, and angel-like adored?<br /> +Why round our coaches crowd the white-gloved beaux,<br /> +Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows;<br /> +How vain are all these glories, all our pains,<br /> +Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains:<br /> +That men may say, when we the front-box grace:<br /> +‘Behold the first in virtue as in face!’<br /> +Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day,<br /> +Charmed the smallpox, or chased old age away,<br /> +Who would not scorn what housewife’s cares produce,<br /> +Or who would learn one earthly thing of use?<br /> +To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint,<br /> +Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint.<br /> +But since, alas! frail beauty must decay;<br /> +Curled or uncurled, since locks will turn to grey;<br /> +Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade,<br /> +And she who scorns a man, must die a maid;<br /> +What then remains but well our power to use,<br /> +And keep good-humour still whate’er we lose?<br /> +And trust me, dear! good-humour can prevail,<br /> +When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail.<br /> +Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;<br /> +Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> So spoke the dame, but no +applause ensued;<br /> +Belinda frowned, Thalestris called her Prude.<br /> +“To arms, to arms!” the fierce virago cries,<br /> +And swift as lightning to the combat flies.<br /> +All side in parties, and begin the attack;<br /> +Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack;<br /> +Heroes’ and heroines’ shouts confusedly rise,<br /> +And bass and treble voices strike the skies.<br /> +No common weapons in their hands are found,<br /> +Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound.</p> +<p class="poetry"> So when bold Homer makes the +gods engage,<br /> +And heavenly breasts with human passions rage;<br /> +’Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms;<br /> +And all Olympus rings with loud alarms:<br /> +Jove’s thunder roars, heaven trembles all around,<br /> +Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound,<br /> +Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground gives way,<br /> +And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Triumphant Umbriel on a +sconce’s height<br /> +Clapped his glad wings, and sate to view the fight;<br /> +Propped on their bodkin spears, the sprites survey<br /> +The growing combat, or assist the fray.</p> +<p class="poetry"> While through the press +enraged Thalestris flies,<br /> +And scatters death around from both her eyes,<br /> +A beau and witling perished in the throng,<br /> +One died in metaphor, and one in song.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “O cruel nymph! a +living death I bear,”<br /> +Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair.<br /> +A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast,<br /> +“Those eyes are made so killing”—was his +last.<br /> +Thus on Mæander’s flowery margin lies<br /> +The expiring swan, and as he sings he dies.</p> +<p class="poetry"> When bold Sir Plume had drawn +Clarissa down,<br /> +Chloe stepped in, and killed him with a frown;<br /> +She smiled to see the doughty hero slain,<br /> +But, at her smile, the beau revived again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now Jove suspends his golden +scales in air,<br /> +Weighs the men’s wits against the ladies’ hair;<br /> +The doubtful beam long nods from side to side;<br /> +At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside.</p> +<p class="poetry"> See, fierce Belinda on the +Baron flies,<br /> +With more than usual lightning in her eyes:<br /> +Nor feared the chief the unequal fight to try,<br /> +Who sought no more than on his foe to die.<br /> +But this bold lord with manly strength endued,<br /> +She with one finger and a thumb subdued:<br /> +Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew,<br /> +A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw;<br /> +The gnomes direct, to every atom just,<br /> +The pungent grains of titillating dust.<br /> +Sudden, with starting tears each eye o’erflows,<br /> +And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Now meet thy +fate,” incensed Belinda cried,<br /> +And drew a deadly bodkin from her side.<br /> +(The same, his ancient personage to deck,<br /> +Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck,<br /> +In three seal-rings; which after, melted down,<br /> +Formed a vast buckle for his widow’s gown;<br /> +Her infant grandame’s whistle next it grew,<br /> +The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew;<br /> +Then in a bodkin graced her mother’s hairs,<br /> +Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears).</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Boast not my +fall,” he cried, “insulting foe!<br /> +Thou by some other shalt be laid as low,<br /> +Nor think to die dejects my lofty mind:<br /> +All that I dread is leaving you behind!<br /> +Rather than so, ah! let me still survive,<br /> +And burn in Cupid’s flames—but burn alive.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Restore the +lock!” she cries; and all around<br /> +“Restore the lock!” the vaulted roofs rebound.<br /> +Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain<br /> +Roared for the handkerchief that caused his pain.<br /> +But see how oft ambitious aims are crossed,<br /> +And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost!<br /> +The lock, obtained with guilt, and kept with pain,<br /> +In every place is sought, but sought in vain:<br /> +With such a prize no mortal must be blest,<br /> +So Heaven decrees: with Heaven who can contest?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Some thought it mounted to +the lunar sphere,<br /> +Since all things lost on earth are treasured there,<br /> +There heroes’ wits are kept in ponderous vases,<br /> +And beaux’ in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases.<br /> +There broken vows and death-bed alms are found,<br /> +And lovers’ hearts with ends of riband bound,<br /> +The courtiers promises, and sick man’s prayers,<br /> +The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs,<br /> +Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea,<br /> +Dried butterflies and tomes of casuistry.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But trust the Muse—she +saw it upward rise,<br /> +Though marked by none but quick, poetic eyes:<br /> +(So Rome’s great founder to the heavens withdrew,<br /> +To Proculus alone confessed in view)<br /> +A sudden star, it shot through liquid air,<br /> +And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.<br /> +Not Berenice’s locks first rose so bright,<br /> +The heavens bespangling with dishevelled light.<br /> +The sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,<br /> +And pleased pursue its progress through the skies.</p> +<p class="poetry"> This the beau-monde shall +from the Mall survey,<br /> +And hail with music its propitious ray.<br /> +This the blest lover shall for Venus take,<br /> +And send up vows from Rosamonda’s lake.<br /> +This Partridge <a name="citation137"></a><a href="#footnote137" +class="citation">[137]</a> soon shall view in cloudless skies,<br +/> +When next he looks through Galileo’s eyes;<br /> +And hence the egregious wizard shall foredoom<br /> +The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then cease, bright nymph! to +mourn thy ravished hair,<br /> +Which adds new glory to the shining sphere!<br /> +Not all the tresses that fair head can boast,<br /> +Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost.<br /> +For, after all the murders of your eye,<br /> +When, after millions slain, yourself shall die:<br /> +When those fair suns shall set, as set they must,<br /> +And all those tresses shall be laid in dust,<br /> +This lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame,<br /> +And ’midst the stars inscribe Belinda’s name.</p> +<h2><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>THE +DIVERTING HISTORY<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OF</span><br /> +JOHN GILPIN:</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">SHOWING HOW +HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED AND CAME SAFE HOME +AGAIN.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By</span> +WILLIAM COWPER.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">John Gilpin</span> was a +citizen<br /> + Of credit and renown,<br /> +A train-band captain eke was he<br /> + Of famous London town.</p> +<p class="poetry">John Gilpin’s spouse said to her dear,<br +/> + “Though wedded we have been<br /> +These twice ten tedious years, yet we<br /> + No holiday have seen.</p> +<p class="poetry">“To-morrow is our wedding-day,<br /> + And we will then repair<br /> +Unto the Bell at Edmonton,<br /> + All in a chaise and pair.</p> +<p class="poetry">“My sister, and my sister’s +child,<br /> + Myself, and children three,<br /> +Will fill the chaise; so you must ride<br /> + On horseback after we.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He soon replied, “I do admire<br /> + Of womankind but one,<br /> +And you are she, my dearest dear,<br /> + Therefore it shall be done.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I am a linen-draper bold,<br /> + As all the world doth know,<br /> +And my good friend the calender<br /> + Will lend his horse to go.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, “That’s well +said:<br /> + And for that wine is dear,<br /> +We will be furnished with our own,<br /> + Which is both bright and clear.”</p> +<p class="poetry">John Gilpin kissed his loving wife;<br /> + O’erjoyed was he to find,<br /> +That though on pleasure she was bent,<br /> + She had a frugal mind.</p> +<p class="poetry">The morning came, the chaise was brought,<br /> + But yet was not allowed<br /> +To drive up to the door, lest all<br /> + Should say that she was proud.</p> +<p class="poetry">So three doors off the chaise was stayed,<br /> + Where they did all get in;<br /> +Six precious souls, and all agog<br /> + To dash through thick and thin.</p> +<p class="poetry">Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,<br +/> + Were never folk so glad,<br /> +The stones did rattle underneath,<br /> + As if Cheapside were mad.</p> +<p class="poetry">John Gilpin at his horse’s side<br /> + Seized fast the flowing mane,<br /> +And up he got, in haste to ride,<br /> + But soon came down again;</p> +<p class="poetry">For saddle-tree scarce reached had he,<br /> + His journey to begin,<br /> +When, turning round his head, he saw<br /> + Three customers come in.</p> +<p class="poetry">So down he came; for loss of time,<br /> + Although it grieved him sore,<br /> +Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,<br /> + Would trouble him much more.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas long before the customers<br /> + Were suited to their mind,<br /> +When Betty screaming came downstairs,<br /> + “The wine is left behind!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Good lack!” quoth +he—“yet bring it me,<br /> + My leathern belt likewise,<br /> +In which I bear my trusty sword,<br /> + When I do exercise.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!)<br /> + Had two stone bottles found,<br /> +To hold the liquor that she loved,<br /> + And keep it safe and sound.</p> +<p class="poetry">Each bottle had a curling ear,<br /> + Through which the belt he drew,<br /> +And hung a bottle on each side,<br /> + To make his balance true.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then over all, that he might be<br /> + Equipped from top to toe,<br /> +His long red cloak, well brushed and neat,<br /> + He manfully did throw.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now see him mounted once again<br /> + Upon his nimble steed,<br /> +Full slowly pacing o’er the stones,<br /> + With caution and good heed.</p> +<p class="poetry">But finding soon a smoother road<br /> + Beneath his well-shod feet,<br /> +The snorting beast began to trot,<br /> + Which galled him in his seat.</p> +<p class="poetry">So, “Fair and softly,” John he +cried,<br /> + But John he cried in vain;<br /> +That trot became a gallop soon,<br /> + In spite of curb and rein.</p> +<p class="poetry">So stooping down, as needs he must<br /> + Who cannot sit upright,<br /> +He grasped the mane with both his hands,<br /> + And eke with all his might.</p> +<p class="poetry">His horse, who never in that sort<br /> + Had handled been before,<br /> +What thing upon his back had got<br /> + Did wonder more and more.</p> +<p class="poetry">Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;<br /> + Away went hat and wig;<br /> +He little dreamt, when he set out,<br /> + Of running such a rig.</p> +<p class="poetry">The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,<br /> + Like streamer long and gay,<br /> +Till, loop and button failing both,<br /> + At last it flew away.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then might all people well discern<br /> + The bottles he had slung;<br /> +A bottle swinging at each side,<br /> + As hath been said or sung.</p> +<p class="poetry">The dogs did bark, the children screamed,<br /> + Up flew the windows all;<br /> +And every soul cried out, “Well done!”<br /> + As loud as he could bawl.</p> +<p class="poetry">Away went Gilpin—who but he?<br /> + His fame soon spread around;<br /> +“He carries weight!” “He rides a +race!”<br /> + “’Tis for a thousand pound!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And still, as fast as he drew near,<br /> + ’Twas wonderful to view,<br /> +How in a trice the turnpike-men<br /> + Their gates wide open threw.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now, as he went bowing down<br /> + His reeking head full low,<br /> +The bottles twain behind his back<br /> + Were shattered at a blow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Down ran the wine into the road,<br /> + Most piteous to be seen,<br /> +Which made his horse’s flanks to smoke<br /> + As they had basted been.</p> +<p class="poetry">But still be seemed to carry weight,<br /> + With leathern girdle braced;<br /> +For all might see the bottle-necks<br /> + Still dangling at his waist.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus all through merry Islington<br /> + These gambols he did play,<br /> +Until he came unto the Wash<br /> + Of Edmonton so gay;</p> +<p class="poetry">And there he threw the Wash about<br /> + On both sides of the way,<br /> +Just like unto a trundling mop,<br /> + Or a wild goose at play.</p> +<p class="poetry">At Edmonton his loving wife<br /> + From the balcóny spied<br /> +Her tender husband, wondering much<br /> + To see how he did ride.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Stop, stop, John +Gilpin!—Here’s the house!”<br /> + They all at once did cry;<br /> +“The dinner waits, and we are tired;”<br /> + Said Gilpin—“So am I!”</p> +<p class="poetry">But yet his horse was not a whit<br /> + Inclined to tarry there!<br /> +For why?—his owner had a house<br /> + Full ten miles off, at Ware.</p> +<p class="poetry">So like an arrow swift he flew,<br /> + Shot by an archer strong;<br /> +So did he fly—which brings me to<br /> + The middle of my song.</p> +<p class="poetry">Away went Gilpin, out of breath,<br /> + And sore against his will,<br /> +Till at his friend the calender’s<br /> + His horse at last stood still.</p> +<p class="poetry">The calender, amazed to see<br /> + His neighbour in such trim,<br /> +Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,<br /> + And thus accosted him:</p> +<p class="poetry">“What news? what news? your tidings +tell!<br /> + Tell me you must and shall—<br /> +Say why bareheaded you are come,<br /> + Or why you come at all?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,<br /> + And loved a timely joke;<br /> +And thus unto the calender<br /> + In merry guise he spoke:</p> +<p class="poetry">“I came because your horse would come,<br +/> + And, if I well forbode,<br /> +My hat and wig will soon be here—<br /> + They are upon the road.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The calender, right glad to find<br /> + His friend in merry pin,<br /> +Returned him not a single word,<br /> + But to the house went in;</p> +<p class="poetry">Whence straight he came with hat and wig;<br /> + A wig that flowed behind,<br /> +A hat not much the worse for wear,<br /> + Each comely in its kind.</p> +<p class="poetry">He held them up, and in his turn<br /> + Thus showed his ready wit,<br /> +“My head is twice as big as yours,<br /> + They therefore needs must fit.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But let me scrape the dirt away<br /> + That hangs upon your face;<br /> +And stop and eat, for well you may<br /> + Be in a hungry case.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Said John, “It is my wedding-day,<br /> + And all the world would stare,<br /> +If wife should dine at Edmonton,<br /> + And I should dine at Ware.”</p> +<p class="poetry">So turning to his horse, he said,<br /> + “I am in haste to dine;<br /> +’Twas for your pleasure you came here,<br /> + You shall go back for mine.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast!<br /> + For which he paid full dear;<br /> +For, while he spake, a braying ass<br /> + Did sing most loud and clear;</p> +<p class="poetry">Whereat his horse did snort, as he<br /> + Had heard a lion roar,<br /> +And galloped off with all his might,<br /> + As he had done before.</p> +<p class="poetry">Away went Gilpin, and away<br /> + Went Gilpin’s hat and wig:<br /> +He lost them sooner than at first;<br /> + For why?—they were too big.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw<br /> + Her husband posting down<br /> +Into the country far away,<br /> + She pulled out half-a-crown;</p> +<p class="poetry">And thus unto the youth she said<br /> + That drove them to the Bell,<br /> +“This shall be yours, when you bring back<br /> + My husband safe and well.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The youth did ride, and soon did meet<br /> + John coming back amain:<br /> +Whom in a trice he tried to stop,<br /> + By catching at his rein;</p> +<p class="poetry">But not performing what he meant,<br /> + And gladly would have done,<br /> +The frighted steed he frighted more<br /> + And made him faster run.</p> +<p class="poetry">Away went Gilpin, and away<br /> + Went postboy at his heels,<br /> +The postboy’s horse right glad to miss<br /> + The lumbering of the wheels.</p> +<p class="poetry">Six gentlemen upon the road,<br /> + Thus seeing Gilpin fly,<br /> +With postboy scampering in the rear,<br /> + They raised the hue and cry:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Stop thief! stop thief!—a +highwayman!”<br /> + Not one of them was mute;<br /> +And all and each that passed that way<br /> + Did join in the pursuit.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now the turnpike gates again<br /> + Flew open in short space;<br /> +The toll-men thinking, as before,<br /> + That Gilpin rode a race.</p> +<p class="poetry">And so he did, and won it too,<br /> + For he got first to town;<br /> +Nor stopped till where he had got up<br /> + He did again get down.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now let us sing, Long live the king!<br /> + And Gilpin, long live he!<br /> +And when he next doth ride abroad<br /> + May I be there to see!</p> +<h1><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>TAM +O’SHANTER:<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A TALE.</span></h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By</span> +ROBERT BURNS.</p> +<blockquote><p>“<i>Of brownyis and of bogilis full is this +buke</i>.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">—<span class="smcap">Gawin +Douglas</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> chapman billies +<a name="citation147a"></a><a href="#footnote147a" +class="citation">[147a]</a> leave the street,<br /> +And drouthy <a name="citation147b"></a><a href="#footnote147b" +class="citation">[147b]</a> neibors neibors meet,<br /> +As market days are wearin’ late,<br /> +And folk begin to tak the gate; <a name="citation147h"></a><a +href="#footnote147h" class="citation">[147h]</a><br /> +While we sit bousing at the nappy,<br /> +And gettin’ fou and unco’ <a +name="citation147c"></a><a href="#footnote147c" +class="citation">[147c]</a> happy,<br /> +We think na on the lang Scots miles,<br /> +The mosses, waters, slaps, <a name="citation147d"></a><a +href="#footnote147d" class="citation">[147d]</a> and stiles,<br +/> +That lie between us and our hame,<br /> +Whare sits our sulky sullen dame,<br /> +Gathering her brows like gathering storm,<br /> +Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.</p> +<p class="poetry">This truth fand honest Tam o’ Shanter,<br +/> +As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,<br /> +(Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses<br /> +For honest men and bonny lasses.)</p> +<p class="poetry">O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise<br /> +As ta’en thy ain wife Kate’s advice!<br /> +She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, <a +name="citation147e"></a><a href="#footnote147e" +class="citation">[147e]</a><br /> +A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; <a +name="citation147f"></a><a href="#footnote147f" +class="citation">[147f]</a><br /> +That frae November till October,<br /> +Ae market day thou wasna sober;<br /> +That ilka <a name="citation147g"></a><a href="#footnote147g" +class="citation">[147g]</a> melder, <a name="citation147i"></a><a +href="#footnote147i" class="citation">[147i]</a> wi’ the +miller<br /> +Thou sat as lang as thou hadst siller;<br /> +That every naig was ca’d a shoe on,<br /> +The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;<br /> +That at the Lord’s house, even on Sunday,<br /> +Thou drank wi’ Kirkton <a name="citation148f"></a><a +href="#footnote148f" class="citation">[148f]</a> Jean till +Monday.<br /> +She prophesied that, late or soon,<br /> +Thou wouldst be found deep drowned in Doon!<br /> +Or catched wi’ warlocks i’ the mirk, <a +name="citation148a"></a><a href="#footnote148a" +class="citation">[148a]</a><br /> +By Alloway’s auld haunted kirk.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, gentle dames! it gars <a +name="citation148b"></a><a href="#footnote148b" +class="citation">[148b]</a> me greet<br /> +To think how mony counsels sweet,<br /> +How mony lengthened, sage advices,<br /> +The husband frae the wife despises!</p> +<p class="poetry">But to our tale:—Ae market night,<br /> +Tam had got planted unco right.<br /> +Fast by an ingle, <a name="citation148c"></a><a +href="#footnote148c" class="citation">[148c]</a> bleezing +finely,<br /> +Wi’ reaming swats, <a name="citation148d"></a><a +href="#footnote148d" class="citation">[148d]</a> that drank +divinely;<br /> +And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,<br /> +His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;<br /> +Tam lo’ed him like a vera brither—<br /> +They had been fou for weeks thegither!<br /> +The night drave on wi’ sangs and clatter,<br /> +And aye the ale was growing better:<br /> +The landlady and Tam grew gracious,<br /> +Wi’ favours secret, sweet, and precious;<br /> +The Souter tauld his queerest stories,<br /> +The landlord’s laugh was ready chorus:<br /> +The storm without might rair and rustle—<br /> +Tam didna mind the storm a whistle.</p> +<p class="poetry">Care, mad to see a man sae happy,<br /> +E’en drowned himsel among the nappy! <a +name="citation148e"></a><a href="#footnote148e" +class="citation">[148e]</a><br /> +As bees flee hame wi’ lades o’ treasure,<br /> +The minutes winged their way wi’ pleasure:<br /> +Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,<br /> +O’er a’ the ills o’ life victorious!</p> +<p class="poetry">But pleasures are like poppies spread,<br /> +You seize the flower, its bloom is shed!<br /> +Or like the snowfall in the river,<br /> +A moment white—then melts for ever;<br /> +Or like the borealis race,<br /> +That flit ere you can point their place;<br /> +Or like the rainbow’s lovely form,<br /> +Evanishing amid the storm.<br /> +Nae man can tether time or tide;<br /> +The hour approaches, Tam maun ride;<br /> +That hour, o’ night’s black arch the keystane,<br /> +That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;<br /> +And sic a night he taks the road in<br /> +As never poor sinner was abroad in.</p> +<p class="poetry">The wind blew as ’twad blown its last;<br +/> +The rattling showers rose on the blast;<br /> +The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed;<br /> +Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed:<br /> +That night, a child might understand<br /> +The deil had business on his hand.</p> +<p class="poetry">Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,<br /> +A better never lifted leg,<br /> +Tam skelpit <a name="citation149a"></a><a href="#footnote149a" +class="citation">[149a]</a> on through dub and mire,<br /> +Despising wind, and rain, and fire;<br /> +Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,<br /> +Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet;<br /> +Whiles glowering round wi’ prudent cares,<br /> +Lest bogles catch him unawares:<br /> +Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,<br /> +Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.<br /> +By this time he was ’cross the foord,<br /> +Whare in the snow the chapman smoored, <a +name="citation149b"></a><a href="#footnote149b" +class="citation">[149b]</a><br /> +And past the birks and meikle stane<br /> +Whare drunken Charlie brak’s neck-bane:<br /> +And through the whins, and by the cairn<br /> +Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn;<br /> +And near the thorn, aboon the well,<br /> +Where Mungo’s mither hanged hersel’.<br /> +Before him Doon pours a’ his floods;<br /> +The doubling storm roars through the woods;<br /> +The lightnings flash frae pole to pole;<br /> +Near and more near the thunders roll;<br /> +When glimmering through the groaning trees,<br /> +Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze;<br /> +Through ilka <a name="citation150h"></a><a href="#footnote150h" +class="citation">[150h]</a> bore the beams were glancing,<br /> +And loud resounded mirth and dancing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!<br /> +What dangers thou canst mak us scorn!<br /> +Wi’ tippenny, we fear nae evil:<br /> +Wi’ usquebae, we’ll face the devil!—<br /> +The swats sae reamed in Tammie’s noddle,<br /> +Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle. <a +name="citation150a"></a><a href="#footnote150a" +class="citation">[150a]</a><br /> +But Maggie stood right sair astonished,<br /> +Till, by the heel and hand admonished,<br /> +She ventured forward on the light;<br /> +And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!<br /> +Warlocks and witches in a dance;<br /> +Nae cotillon brent-new frae France,<br /> +But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,<br /> +Put life and mettle i’ their heels:<br /> +At winnock-bunker, <a name="citation150b"></a><a +href="#footnote150b" class="citation">[150b]</a> i’ the +east,<br /> +There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast,<br /> +A towzie tyke, <a name="citation150c"></a><a href="#footnote150c" +class="citation">[150c]</a> black, grim, and large,<br /> +To gie them music was his charge;<br /> +He screwed the pipes, and gart them skirl, <a +name="citation150d"></a><a href="#footnote150d" +class="citation">[150d]</a><br /> +Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl. <a +name="citation150e"></a><a href="#footnote150e" +class="citation">[150e]</a><br /> +Coffins stood round, like open presses,<br /> +That shaw’d the dead in their last dresses;<br /> +And by some devilish cantrip slight <a name="citation150f"></a><a +href="#footnote150f" class="citation">[150f]</a><br /> +Each in its cauld hand held a light,—<br /> +By which heroic Tam was able<br /> +To note upon the haly table,<br /> +A murderer’s banes in gibbet airns;<br /> +Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;<br /> +A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,<br /> +Wi’ his last gasp his gab <a name="citation150g"></a><a +href="#footnote150g" class="citation">[150g]</a> did gape;<br /> +Five tomahawks, wi’ bluid red-rusted:<br /> +Five scimitars, wi’ murder crusted;<br /> +A garter, which a babe had strangled;<br /> +A knife, a father’s throat had mangled,<br /> +Whom his ain son o’ life bereft,<br /> +The grey hairs yet stack to the heft:<br /> +Wi’ mair o’ horrible and awfu’,<br /> +Which even to name wad be unlawfu’.</p> +<p class="poetry">As Tammie glowered, amazed and curious,<br /> +The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:<br /> +The piper loud and louder blew,<br /> +The dancers quick and quicker flew;<br /> +They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit,<br /> +Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,<br /> +And coost her duddies <a name="citation151a"></a><a +href="#footnote151a" class="citation">[151a]</a> to the wark,<br +/> +And linket <a name="citation151h"></a><a href="#footnote151h" +class="citation">[151h]</a> at it in her sark. <a +name="citation151b"></a><a href="#footnote151b" +class="citation">[151b]</a></p> +<p class="poetry">Now Tam! O Tam! had they been queans,<br /> +A’ plump and strappin’ in their teens,<br /> +Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flannen, <a +name="citation151c"></a><a href="#footnote151c" +class="citation">[151c]</a><br /> +Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen!<br /> +Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,<br /> +That ance were plush, o’ guid blue hair,<br /> +I wad hae gien them aff my hurdies,<br /> +For ae blink o’ the bonny burdies!</p> +<p class="poetry">But withered beldams, auld and droll,<br /> +Rigwoodie <a name="citation151d"></a><a href="#footnote151d" +class="citation">[151d]</a> hags, wad spean <a +name="citation151j"></a><a href="#footnote151j" +class="citation">[151j]</a> a foal,<br /> +Lowpin’ and flingin’ on a cummock, <a +name="citation151e"></a><a href="#footnote151e" +class="citation">[151e]</a><br /> +I wonder didna turn thy stomach.</p> +<p class="poetry">But Tam kenned what was what fu’ +brawlie,<br /> +“There was ae winsome wench and walie,” <a +name="citation151i"></a><a href="#footnote151i" +class="citation">[151i]</a><br /> +That night enlisted in the core,<br /> +(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore;<br /> +For mony a beast to dead she shot,<br /> +And perished mony a bonny boat,<br /> +And shook baith meikle corn and bere,<br /> +And kept the country-side in fear.)<br /> +Her cutty sark, <a name="citation151f"></a><a +href="#footnote151f" class="citation">[151f]</a> o’ Paisley +harn,<br /> +That, while a lassie, she had worn,<br /> +In longitude though sorely scanty,<br /> +It was her best, and she was vauntie.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! little kenn’d thy reverend +grannie,<br /> +That sark she coft <a name="citation151g"></a><a +href="#footnote151g" class="citation">[151g]</a> for her wee +Nannie,<br /> +Wi’ twa pund Scots (’twas a’ her riches),<br /> +Wad ever graced a dance o’ witches!<br /> +But here my Muse her wing maun cour,<br /> +Sic flights are far beyond her power;<br /> +To sing how Nannie lap and flang,<br /> +(A souple jade she was, and strang,)<br /> +And how Tam stood like ane bewitched,<br /> +And thought his very een enriched;<br /> +Even Satan glowered, and fidged fu’ fain,<br /> +And hotch’d <a name="citation152a"></a><a +href="#footnote152a" class="citation">[152a]</a> and blew +wi’ might and main:<br /> +Till first ae caper, syne anither,<br /> +Tam tint <a name="citation152b"></a><a href="#footnote152b" +class="citation">[152b]</a> his reason a’thegither,<br /> +And roars out, “Weel done, Cutty-sark!”<br /> +And in an instant a’ was dark:<br /> +And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,<br /> +When out the hellish legion sallied.<br /> +As bees bizz out wi’ angry fyke, <a +name="citation152c"></a><a href="#footnote152c" +class="citation">[152c]</a><br /> +When plundering herds assail their byke; <a +name="citation152d"></a><a href="#footnote152d" +class="citation">[152d]</a><br /> +As open pussie’s mortal foes,<br /> +When, pop! she starts before their nose;<br /> +As eager runs the market-crowd,<br /> +When “Catch the thief!” resounds aloud;<br /> +So Maggie runs, the witches follow,<br /> +Wi’ mony an eldritch <a name="citation152e"></a><a +href="#footnote152e" class="citation">[152e]</a> screech and +hollow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou’lt get thy +fairin’!<br /> +In hell they’ll roast thee like a herrin’!<br /> +In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin’!<br /> +Kate soon will be a woefu’ woman!<br /> +Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,<br /> +And win the keystane of the brig;<br /> +There at them thou thy tail may toss,<br /> +A running stream they darena cross;<br /> +But ere the keystane she could make,<br /> +The fient a tail she had to shake!<br /> +For Nannie, far before the rest,<br /> +Hard upon noble Maggie prest,<br /> +And flew at Tam wi’ furious ettle; <a +name="citation152f"></a><a href="#footnote152f" +class="citation">[152f]</a><br /> +But little wist she Maggie’s mettle—<br /> +Ae spring brought off her master hale,<br /> +But left behind her ain grey tail:<br /> +The carlin claught her by the rump,<br /> +And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, wha this tale o’ truth shall +read,<br /> +Ilk man and mother’s son, take heed:<br /> +Whane’er to drink you are inclined,<br /> +Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,<br /> +Think! ye may buy the joys owre dear—<br /> +Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s mare.</p> +<h2><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>The +Demon Ship.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By</span> +THOMAS HOOD.</p> +<p class="poetry">’<span class="smcap">Twas</span> off the +Wash the sun went down—the sea looked black and grim,<br /> +For stormy clouds with murky fleece were mustering at the +brim;<br /> +Titanic shades! enormous gloom!—as if the solid night<br /> +Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light!<br /> +It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye,<br /> +With such a dark conspiracy between the sea and sky!</p> +<p class="poetry">Down went my helm—close reefed—the +tack held freely in my hand—<br /> +With ballast snug—I put about, and scudded for the land;<br +/> +Loud hissed the sea beneath her lee—my little boat flew +fast,<br /> +But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord! what a roaring hurricane beset the +straining sail!<br /> +What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of +hail!<br /> +What darksome caverns yawned before! what jagged steeps +behind!<br /> +Like battle-steeds, with foamy manes, wild tossing in the +wind,<br /> +Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase,<br /> +But where it sank another rose and galloped in its place;<br /> +As black as night—they turned to white, and cast against +the cloud<br /> +A snowy sheet, as if each surge upturned a sailor’s +shroud:—<br /> +Still flew my boat; alas! alas! her course was nearly run!<br /> +Behold yon fatal billow rise—ten billows heaped in one!<br +/> +With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling fast,<br +/> +As if the scooping sea contained one only wave at last;<br /> +Still on it came, with horrid roar, a swift pursuing grave;<br /> +It seemed as though some cloud had turned its hugeness to a +wave!<br /> +Its briny sleet began to beat beforehand in my face—<br /> +I felt the rearward keel begin to climb its swelling base!<br /> +I saw its alpine hoary head impending over mine!<br /> +Another pulse—and down it rushed—an avalanche of +brine!<br /> +Brief pause had I on God to cry, or think of wife and home;<br /> +The waters closed—and when I shrieked, I shrieked below the +foam!<br /> +Beyond that rush I have no hint of any after-deed—<br /> +For I was tossing on the waste, as senseless as a weed.</p> +<p style="text-align: +center">. +. +. +. .</p> +<p class="poetry">“Where am I? in the breathing world, or +in the world of death?”<br /> +With sharp and sudden pang I drew another birth of breath;<br /> +My eyes drank in a doubtful light, my ears a doubtful +sound—<br /> +And was that ship a <i>real</i> ship whose tackle seemed +around?<br /> +A moon, as if the earthly moon, was shining up aloft;<br /> +But were those beams the very beams that I have seen so oft?<br +/> +A face that mocked the human face, before me watched alone;<br /> +But were those eyes the eyes of man that looked against my +own?</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! never may the moon again disclose me such a +sight<br /> +As met my gaze, when first I looked, on that accursed night!<br +/> +I’ve seen a thousand horrid shapes begot of fierce +extremes<br /> +Of fever; and most frightful things have haunted in my +dreams—<br /> +Hyenas—cats—blood-loving bats—and apes with +hateful stare—<br /> +Pernicious snakes, and shaggy bulls—the lion, and +she-bear—<br /> +Strong enemies, with Judas looks, of treachery and +spite—<br /> +Detested features, hardly dimmed and banished by the light!<br /> +Pale-sheeted ghosts, with gory locks, upstarting from their +tombs—<br /> +All phantasies and images that flit in midnight glooms—<br +/> +Hags, goblins, demons, lemures, have made me all +aghast,—<br /> +But nothing like that <span class="smcap">Grimly One</span> who +stood beside the mast!</p> +<p class="poetry">His cheek was black—his brow was +black—his eyes and hair as dark;<br /> +His hand was black, and where it touched, it left a sable +mark;<br /> +His throat was black, his vest the same, and when I looked +beneath,<br /> +His breast was black—all, all was black, except his +grinning teeth,<br /> +His sooty crew were like in hue, as black as Afric slaves!<br /> +Oh, horror! e’en the ship was black that ploughed the inky +waves!<br /> +“Alas!” I cried, “for love of truth and blessed +mercy’s sake,<br /> +Where am I? in what dreadful ship? upon what dreadful lake?<br /> +What shape is that, so very grim, and black as any coal?<br /> +It is Mahound, the Evil One, and he has gained my soul!<br /> +Oh, mother dear! my tender nurse: dear meadows that beguiled<br +/> +My happy days, when I was yet a little sinless child—<br /> +My mother dear—my native fields I never more shall see:<br +/> +I’m sailing in the Devil’s Ship, upon the +Devil’s Sea!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Loud laughed that <span class="smcap">Sable +Mariner</span>, and loudly in return<br /> +His sooty crew sent forth a laugh that rang from stem to +stern—<br /> +A dozen pair of grimly cheeks were crumpled on the +nonce—<br /> +As many sets of grinning teeth came shining out at once:<br /> +A dozen gloomy shapes at once enjoyed the merry fit,<br /> +With shriek and yell, and oaths as well, like Demons of the +Pit.<br /> +They crowed their fill, and then the Chief made answer for the +whole:—<br /> +“Our skins,” said he, “are black, ye see, +because we carry coal;<br /> +You’ll find your mother sure enough, and see your native +fields—<br /> +For this here ship has picked you up—the <i>Mary Ann</i> of +Shields!”</p> +<h2><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>A +Tale of a Trumpet.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By</span> +THOMAS HOOD.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Old woman, old woman, will you go +a-shearing?<br /> +Speak a little louder, for I’m very hard of +hearing.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">—<i>Old Ballad</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all old women +hard of hearing,<br /> +The deafest sure was Dame Eleanor Spearing!<br /> + On her head, it +is true,<br /> + Two flaps there +grew,<br /> + That served for a pair of gold rings to go +through,<br /> +But for any purpose of ears in a parley,<br /> +They heard no more than ears of barley.</p> +<p class="poetry">No hint was needed from D. E. F.,<br /> +You saw in her face that the woman was deaf:<br /> + From her twisted mouth to her eyes so peery,<br /> + Each queer feature asked a query;<br /> +A look that said in a silent way,<br /> +“Who? and What? and How? and Eh?<br /> +I’d give my ears to know what you say!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And well she might! for each auricular<br /> +Was deaf as a post—and that post in particular<br /> +That stands at the corner of Dyott Street now,<br /> +And never hears a word of a row!<br /> +Ears that might serve her now and then<br /> +As extempore racks for an idle pen;<br /> +Or to hang with hoops from jewellers’ shops;<br /> +With coral; ruby, or garnet drops;<br /> +Or, provided the owner so inclined,<br /> +Ears to stick a blister behind;<br /> +But as for hearing wisdom, or wit,<br /> +Falsehood, or folly, or tell-tale-tit,<br /> +Or politics, whether of Fox or Pitt,<br /> +Sermon, lecture, or musical bit,<br /> +Harp, piano, fiddle, or kit,<br /> +They might as well, for any such wish,<br /> +Have been buttered, done brown, and laid in a dish!</p> +<p class="poetry">She was deaf as a post,—as said +before—<br /> +And as deaf as twenty similes more,<br /> +Including the adder, that deafest of snakes,<br /> +Which never hears the coil it makes.</p> +<p class="poetry">She was deaf as a house—which modern +tricks<br /> +Of language would call as deaf as bricks—<br /> + For her all human kind were dumb,<br /> + Her drum, indeed, was so muffled a drum,<br /> + That none could get a sound to come,<br /> +Unless the Devil, who had Two Sticks!<br /> +She was as deaf as a stone—say one of the stones<br /> +Demosthenes sucked to improve his tones;<br /> +And surely deafness no further could reach<br /> +Than to be in his mouth without hearing his speech!</p> +<p class="poetry">She was deaf as a nut—for nuts, no +doubt,<br /> +Are deaf to the grub that’s hollowing out—<br /> +As deaf, alas! as the dead and forgotten—<br /> +(Gray has noticed the waste of breath,<br /> +In addressing the “dull, cold ear of death”),<br /> +Or the felon’s ear that is stuffed with cotton—<br /> +Or Charles the First <i>in statue quo</i>;<br /> +Or the still-born figures of Madame Tussaud,<br /> +With their eyes of glass, and their hair of flax,<br /> +That only stare whatever you “ax,”<br /> +For their ears, you know, are nothing but wax.</p> +<p class="poetry">She was deaf as the ducks that swam in the +pond,<br /> +And wouldn’t listen to Mrs. Bond,—<br /> +As deaf as any Frenchman appears,<br /> +When he puts his shoulders into his ears:<br /> +And—whatever the citizen tells his son—<br /> +As deaf as Gog and Magog at one!<br /> +Or, still to be a simile-seeker,<br /> +As deaf as dogs’-ears to Enfield’s Speaker!</p> +<p class="poetry">She was deaf as any tradesman’s dummy,<br +/> +Or as Pharaoh’s mother’s mother’s mummy;<br /> +Whose organs, for fear of modern sceptics,<br /> +Were plugged with gums and antiseptics.</p> +<p class="poetry">She was deaf as a nail—that you cannot +hammer<br /> +A meaning into for all your clamour—<br /> +There never <i>was</i> such a deaf old Gammer!<br /> + So formed to +worry<br /> + Both Lindley and +Murray,<br /> +By having no ear for Music or Grammar!</p> +<p class="poetry">Deaf to sounds, as a ship out of soundings,<br +/> +Deaf to verbs, and all their compoundings,<br /> +Adjective, noun, and adverb, and particle,<br /> +Deaf to even the definite article—<br /> +No verbal message was worth a pin,<br /> +Though you hired an earwig to carry it in!</p> +<p class="poetry">In short, she was twice as deaf as Deaf +Burke,<br /> +Or all the Deafness in Yearsley’s work,<br /> +Who in spite of his skill in hardness of hearing,<br /> + Boring, +blasting, and pioneering,<br /> + To give the +dunny organ a clearing,<br /> +Could never have cured Dame Eleanor Spearing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of course the loss was a great privation,<br /> +For one of her sex—whatever her station—<br /> +And none the less that the dame had a turn<br /> +For making all families one concern,<br /> +And learning whatever there was to learn<br /> +In the prattling, tattling village of Tringham—<br /> +As, who wore silk? and who wore gingham?<br /> +And what the Atkins’s shop might bring ’em?<br /> +How the Smiths contrived to live? and whether<br /> +The fourteen Murphys all pigged together?<br /> +The wages per week of the Weavers and Skinners,<br /> +And what they boiled for their Sunday dinners?<br /> +What plates the Bugsbys had on the shelf,<br /> +Crockery, china, wooden, or delf?<br /> +And if the parlour of Mrs. O’Grady<br /> +Had a wicked French print, or Death and the Lady?<br /> +Did Snip and his wife continue to jangle?<br /> +Had Mrs. Wilkinson sold her mangle?<br /> +What liquor was drunk by Jones and Brown?<br /> +And the weekly score they ran up at the Crown?<br /> +If the cobbler could read, and believed in the Pope?<br /> +And how the Grubbs were off for soap?<br /> +If the Snobbs had furnished their room upstairs,<br /> +And how they managed for tables and chairs,<br /> +Beds, and other household affairs,<br /> +Iron, wooden, and Staffordshire wares?<br /> + And if they could muster a whole pair of bellows?<br +/> +In fact she had much of the spirit that lies<br /> +Perdu in a notable set of Paul Prys,<br /> + By courtesy called Statistical Fellows—<br /> +A prying, spying, inquisitive clan,<br /> +Who have gone upon much of the self-same plan,<br /> + Jotting the labouring class’s riches;<br /> +And after poking in pot and pan,<br /> + And routing garments in want of stitches,<br /> +Have ascertained that a working man<br /> + Wears a pair and a quarter of average breeches!</p> +<p class="poetry">But this, alas! from her loss of hearing,<br /> +Was all a sealed book to Dame Eleanor Spearing;<br /> + And often her tears would rise to their +founts—<br /> +Supposing a little scandal at play<br /> +’Twixt Mrs. O’Fie and Mrs. Au Fait—<br /> + That she couldn’t audit the gossips’ +accounts.<br /> +’Tis true, to her cottage still they came,<br /> +And ate her muffins just the same,<br /> +And drank the tea of the widowed dame,<br /> +And never swallowed a thimble the less<br /> +Of something the reader is left to guess,<br /> +For all the deafness of Mrs. S.<br /> + Who <i>saw</i> them talk, and chuckle, and cough,<br +/> +But to <i>see</i> and not share in the social flow,<br /> +She might as well have lived, you know,<br /> +In one of the houses in Owen’s Row,<br /> + Near the New River Head, with its water cut off!<br +/> +And yet the almond oil she had tried,<br /> +And fifty infallible things beside,<br /> +Hot, and cold, and thick, and thin,<br /> +Dabbed, and dribbled, and squirted in:<br /> +But all remedies failed; and though some it was clear,<br /> + Like the brandy +and salt<br /> + We now exalt,<br +/> +Had made a noise in the public ear,<br /> +She was just as deaf as ever, poor dear!</p> +<p class="poetry">At last—one very fine day in +June—<br /> + Suppose her +sitting,<br /> + Busily +knitting,<br /> +And humming she didn’t quite know what tune;<br /> + For nothing she heard but a sort of whizz,<br /> +Which, unless the sound of circulation,<br /> +Or of thoughts in the process of fabrication,<br /> +By a spinning-jennyish operation,<br /> + It’s hard to say what buzzing it is.<br /> +However, except that ghost of a sound,<br /> +She sat in a silence most profound—<br /> +The cat was purring about the mat,<br /> +But her mistress heard no more of that<br /> +Than if it had been a boatswain’s cat;<br /> +And as for the clock the moments nicking,<br /> +The dame only gave it credit for ticking.<br /> +The bark of her dog she did not catch;<br /> +Nor yet the click of the lifted latch;<br /> +Nor yet the creak of the opening door;<br /> +Nor yet the fall of a foot on the floor—<br /> +But she saw the shadow that crept on her gown<br /> +And turned its skirt of a darker brown.</p> +<p class="poetry">And lo! a man! a Pedlar! ay, marry,<br /> +With the little back-shop that such tradesmen carry,<br /> +Stocked with brooches, ribbons, and rings,<br /> +Spectacles, razors, and other odd things<br /> +For lad and lass, as Autolycus sings;<br /> +A chapman for goodness and cheapness of ware,<br /> +Held a fair dealer enough at a fair,<br /> +But deemed a piratical sort of invader<br /> +By him we dub the “regular trader,”<br /> +Who—luring the passengers in as they pass<br /> +By lamps, gay panels, and mouldings of brass,<br /> +And windows with only one huge pane of glass,<br /> +And his name in gilt characters, German or Roman—<br /> +If he isn’t a Pedlar, at least he’s a Showman!</p> +<p class="poetry">However, in the stranger came,<br /> +And, the moment he met the eyes of the Dame,<br /> +Threw her as knowing a nod as though<br /> +He had known her fifty long years ago:<br /> +And presto! before she could utter “Jack”—<br +/> +Much less “Robinson”—opened his pack—<br +/> + And then from amongst his portable gear,<br /> +With even more than a Pedlar’s tact,—<br /> +(Slick himself might have envied the act)—<br /> +Before she had time to be deaf, in fact—<br /> + Popped a Trumpet into her ear.<br /> + “There, +Ma’am! try it!<br /> + You +needn’t buy it—<br /> + The last New Patent, and nothing comes nigh it<br /> +For affording the deaf, at a little expense,<br /> +The sense of hearing, and hearing of sense!<br /> +A Real Blessing—and no mistake,<br /> +Invented for poor Humanity’s sake:<br /> +For what can be a greater privation<br /> +Than playing Dumby to all creation,<br /> +And only looking at conversation—<br /> +Great philosophers talking like Platos,<br /> +And Members of Parliament moral as Catos,<br /> +And your ears as dull as waxy potatoes!<br /> +Not to name the mischievous quizzers,<br /> +Sharp as knives, but double as scissors,<br /> +Who get you to answer quite by guess<br /> +Yes for No, and No for Yes.”<br /> +(“That’s very true,” says Dame Eleanor S.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“Try it again! No harm in +trying—<br /> +I’m sure you’ll find it worth your buying.<br /> +A little practice—that is all—<br /> +And you’ll hear a whisper, however small,<br /> +Through an Act of Parliament party-wall,—<br /> +Every syllable clear as day,<br /> +And even what people are going to say—<br /> + I wouldn’t tell a lie, I wouldn’t,<br /> + But my Trumpets have heard what Solomon’s +couldn’t;<br /> +And as for Scott he promises fine,<br /> +But can he warrant his horns like mine,<br /> +Never to hear what a lady shouldn’t—<br /> +Only a guinea—and can’t take less.”<br /> +(“That’s very dear,” said Dame Eleanor S.)</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Dear!—Oh dear, +to call it dear!<br /> +Why, it isn’t a horn you buy, but an ear;<br /> +Only think, and you’ll find on reflection<br /> +You’re bargaining, ma’am, for the Voice of +Affection;<br /> +For the language of Wisdom, and Virtue, and Truth,<br /> +And the sweet little innocent prattle of Youth:<br /> +Not to mention the striking of clocks—<br /> +Cackle of hens—crowing of cocks—<br /> +Lowing of cow, and bull, and ox—<br /> +Bleating of pretty pastoral flocks—<br /> +Murmur of waterfall over the rocks—<br /> +Every sound that Echo mocks—<br /> +Vocals, fiddles, and musical-box—<br /> +And zounds! to call such a concert dear!<br /> +But I mustn’t ‘swear with my horn in your +ear.’<br /> +Why, in buying that Trumpet you buy all those<br /> +That Harper, or any Trumpeter, blows<br /> +At the Queen’s Levees or the Lord Mayor’s Shows,<br +/> +At least as far as the music goes,<br /> +Including the wonderful lively sound,<br /> +Of the Guards’ key-bugles all the year round;<br /> +Come—suppose we call it a pound!<br /> +Come,” said the talkative Man of the Pack,<br /> +“Before I put my box on my back,<br /> +For this elegant, useful Conductor of Sound,<br /> +Come, suppose we call it a pound!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Only a pound: it’s only the +price<br /> +Of hearing a concert once or twice,<br /> + It’s only +the fee<br /> + You might give +Mr. C.<br /> +And after all not hear his advice,<br /> +But common prudence would bid you stump it;<br /> + For, not to +enlarge,<br /> + It’s the +regular charge<br /> +At a Fancy Fair for a penny trumpet.<br /> +Lord! what’s a pound to the blessing of hearing!”<br +/> +(“A pound’s a pound,” said Dame Eleanor +Spearing.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“Try it again! no harm in trying!<br /> +A pound’s a pound, there’s no denying;<br /> +But think what thousands and thousands of pounds<br /> +We pay for nothing but hearing sounds:<br /> +Sounds of Equity, Justice, and Law,<br /> +Parliamentary jabber and jaw,<br /> +Pious cant, and moral saw,<br /> +Hocus-pocus, and Nong-tong-paw,<br /> +And empty sounds not worth a straw;<br /> +Why, it costs a guinea, as I’m a sinner,<br /> +To hear the sounds at a public dinner!<br /> +One pound one thrown into the puddle,<br /> +To listen to Fiddle, Faddle, and Fuddle!<br /> +Not to forget the sounds we buy<br /> +From those who sell their sounds so high,<br /> +That, unless the managers pitch it strong,<br /> +To get a signora to warble a song,<br /> +You must fork out the blunt with a haymaker’s prong!</p> +<p class="poetry">“It’s not the thing for me—I +know it,<br /> +To crack my own trumpet up and blow it;<br /> +But it is the best, and time will show it.<br /> + There was Mrs. +F.<br /> + So very deaf,<br +/> +That she might have worn a percussion cap,<br /> +And been knocked on the head without hearing it snap,<br /> +Well, I sold her a horn, and the very next day<br /> +She heard from her husband at Botany Bay!<br /> +Come—eighteen shillings—that’s very low,<br /> +You’ll save the money as shillings go,<br /> +And I never knew so bad a lot,<br /> +By hearing whether they ring or not!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Eighteen shillings! it’s worth the +price,<br /> +Supposing you’re delicate-minded and nice,<br /> +To have the medical man of your choice,<br /> +Instead of the one with the strongest voice—<br /> +Who comes and asks you, how’s your liver,<br /> +And where you ache, and whether you shiver,<br /> +And as to your nerves, so apt to quiver,<br /> +As if he was hailing a boat on the river!<br /> +And then, with a shout, like Pat in a riot,<br /> +Tells you to keep yourself perfectly quiet!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Or a tradesman comes—as tradesmen +will—<br /> +Short and crusty about his bill;<br /> + Of patience, indeed, a perfect scorner,<br /> +And because you’re deaf and unable to pay,<br /> +Shouts whatever he has to say,<br /> +In a vulgar voice, that goes over the way,<br /> + Down the street and round the corner!<br /> +Come—speak your mind—it’s ‘No’ or +‘Yes.’”<br /> +(“I’ve half a mind,” said Dame Eleanor S.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“Try it again—no harm in trying,<br +/> +Of course you hear me, as easy as lying;<br /> +No pain at all, like a surgical trick,<br /> +To make you squall, and struggle, and kick,<br /> + Like Juno, or +Rose,<br /> + Whose ear +undergoes<br /> +Such horrid tugs at membrane and gristle,<br /> +For being as deaf as yourself to a whistle!</p> +<p class="poetry">“You may go to surgical chaps if you +choose,<br /> +Who will blow up your tubes like copper flues,<br /> +Or cut your tonsils right away,<br /> +As you’d shell out your almonds for Christmas Day;<br /> +And after all a matter of doubt,<br /> +Whether you ever would hear the shout<br /> +Of the little blackguards that bawl about,<br /> +‘There you go with your tonsils out!’<br /> + Why I knew a deaf Welshman, who came from +Glamorgan<br /> +On purpose to try a surgical spell,<br /> +And paid a guinea, and might as well<br /> + Have called a monkey into his organ!<br /> +For the Aurist only took a mug,<br /> +And poured in his ear some acoustical drug,<br /> +That, instead of curing, deafened him rather,<br /> +As Hamlet’s uncle served Hamlet’s father!<br /> +That’s the way with your surgical gentry!<br /> + And happy your +luck<br /> + If you +don’t get stuck<br /> +Through your liver and lights at a royal entry,<br /> +Because you never answered the sentry!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Try it again, dear madam, try it!<br /> +Many would sell their beds to buy it.<br /> +I warrant you often wake up in the night,<br /> +Ready to shake to a jelly with fright,<br /> +And up you must get to strike a light,<br /> +And down you go, in you know what,<br /> +Whether the weather is chilly or hot,—<br /> +That’s the way a cold is got,—<br /> +To see if you heard a noise or not.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Why, bless you, a woman with organs like +yours<br /> +Is hardly safe to step out of doors!<br /> +Just fancy a horse that comes full pelt,<br /> +But as quiet as if he was shod with felt,<br /> +Till he rushes against you with all his force,<br /> +And then I needn’t describe of course,<br /> +While he kicks you about without remorse,<br /> +How awkward it is to be groomed by a horse!<br /> +Or a bullock comes, as mad as King Lear,<br /> +And you never dream that the brute is near,<br /> +Till he pokes his horn right into your ear,<br /> +Whether you like the thing or lump it,—<br /> +And all for want of buying a trumpet!</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’m not a female to fret and +vex,<br /> +But if I belonged to the sensitive sex,<br /> +Exposed to all sorts of indelicate sounds,<br /> +I wouldn’t be deaf for a thousand pounds.<br /> + Lord! only think of chucking a copper<br /> +To Jack or Bob with a timber limb,<br /> +Who looks as if he was singing a hymn,<br /> + Instead of a song that’s very improper!<br /> +Or just suppose in a public place<br /> +You see a great fellow a-pulling a face,<br /> +With his staring eyes and his mouth like an O,—<br /> +And how is a poor deaf lady to know,—<br /> +The lower orders are up to such games—<br /> +If he’s calling ‘Green Peas,’ or calling her +names?”<br /> +(“They’re tenpence a peck!” said the deafest of +dames.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“’Tis strange what very strong +advising,<br /> +By word of mouth, or advertising,<br /> +By chalking on wall, or placarding on vans,<br /> +With fifty other different plans,<br /> +The very high pressure, in fact, of pressing,<br /> +It needs to persuade one to purchase a blessing!<br /> +Whether the soothing American Syrup,<br /> +A Safety Hat, or a Safety Stirrup,—<br /> +Infallible Pills for the human frame,<br /> +Or Rowland’s O-don’t-O (an ominous name)!<br /> +A Doudney’s suit which the shape so hits<br /> +That it beats all others into <i>fits</i>;<br /> +A Mechi’s razor for beards unshorn,<br /> +Or a Ghost-of-a-Whisper-Catching Horn!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Try it again, ma’am, only +try!”<br /> +Was still the voluble Pedlar’s cry;<br /> +“It’s a great privation, there’s no dispute,<br +/> +To live like the dumb unsociable brute,<br /> +And to hear no more of the <i>pro</i> and <i>con</i>,<br /> +And how Society’s going on,<br /> +Than Mumbo Jumbo or Prester John,<br /> +And all for want of this <i>sine quâ non</i>;<br /> + Whereas, with a horn that never offends,<br /> +You may join the genteelest party that is,<br /> +And enjoy all the scandal, and gossip, and quiz,<br /> + And be certain to hear of your absent +friends;—<br /> +Not that elegant ladies, in fact,<br /> +In genteel society ever detract,<br /> +Or lend a brush when a friend is blacked,—<br /> +At least as a mere malicious act,—<br /> +But only talk scandal for fear some fool<br /> +Should think they were bred at <i>charity</i> school.<br /> + Or, maybe, you like a little flirtation,<br /> +Which even the most Don Juanish rake<br /> +Would surely object to undertake<br /> + At the same high pitch as an altercation.<br /> +It’s not for me, of course, to judge<br /> +How much a deaf lady ought to begrudge;<br /> +But half-a-guinea seems no great matter—<br /> +Letting alone more rational patter—<br /> +Only to hear a parrot chatter:<br /> +Not to mention that feathered wit,<br /> +The starling, who speaks when his tongue is slit;<br /> +The pies and jays that utter words,<br /> +And other Dicky Gossips of birds,<br /> +That talk with as much good sense and decorum<br /> +As many <i>Beaks</i> who belong to the Quorum.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Try it—buy it—say ten and +six,<br /> +The lowest price a miser could fix:<br /> +I don’t pretend with horns of mine,<br /> +Like some in the advertising line,<br /> +To ‘<i>magnify sounds</i>’ on such marvellous +scales,<br /> +That the sounds of a cod seem as big as a whale’s;<br /> +But popular rumours, right or wrong,—<br /> +Charity sermons, short or long,—<br /> +Lecture, speech, concerto, or song,<br /> +All noises and voices, feeble or strong,<br /> +From the hum of a gnat to the clash of a gong,<br /> +This tube will deliver distinct and clear;<br /> + Or, supposing by +chance<br /> + You wish to +dance,<br /> +Why it’s putting a <i>Horn-pipe</i> into your ear!<br /> + Try it—buy +it!<br /> + Buy it—try +it!<br /> +The last New Patent, and nothing comes nigh it,<br /> + For guiding sounds to their proper tunnel:<br /> +Only try till the end of June,<br /> +And if you and the trumpet are out of tune<br /> + I’ll turn it gratis into a funnel!”<br +/> +In short, the pedlar so beset her,—<br /> +Lord Bacon couldn’t have gammoned her better,—<br /> +With flatteries plump and indirect,<br /> +And plied his tongue with such effect,—<br /> +A tongue that could almost have buttered a crumpet:<br /> +The deaf old woman bought the Trumpet.</p> +<p style="text-align: +center">. +. +. +. .<br /> +. +. +. +. .</p> +<p class="poetry">The pedlar was gone. With the +horn’s assistance,<br /> +She heard his steps die away in the distance;<br /> +And then she heard the tick of the clock,<br /> +The purring of puss, and the snoring of Shock;<br /> +And she purposely dropped a pin that was little,<br /> +And heard it fall as plain as a skittle!</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas a wonderful horn, to be but +just!<br /> +Nor meant to gather dust, must, and rust;<br /> +So in half a jiffy, or less than that,<br /> +In her scarlet cloak and her steeple-hat,<br /> +Like old Dame Trot, but without her cat,<br /> +The gossip was hunting all Tringham thorough,<br /> +As if she meant to canvass the borough,<br /> + Trumpet in hand, or up to the cavity;—<br /> +And, sure, had the horn been one of those<br /> +The wild rhinoceros wears on his nose,<br /> + It couldn’t have ripped up more depravity!</p> +<p class="poetry">Depravity! mercy shield her ears!<br /> +’Twas plain enough that her village peers<br /> + In the ways of vice were no raw beginners;<br /> +For whenever she raised the tube to her drum<br /> +Such sounds were transmitted as only come<br /> + From the very Brass Band of human sinners!<br /> +Ribald jest and blasphemous curse<br /> +(Bunyan never vented worse),<br /> +With all those weeds, not flowers, of speech<br /> +Which the Seven Dialecticians teach;<br /> +Filthy Conjunctions, and Dissolute Nouns,<br /> +And Particles picked from the kennels of towns,<br /> +With Irregular Verbs for irregular jobs,<br /> +Chiefly active in rows and mobs,<br /> +Picking Possessive Pronouns’ fobs,<br /> +And Interjections as bad as a blight,<br /> +Or an Eastern blast, to the blood and the sight:<br /> +Fanciful phrases for crime and sin,<br /> +And smacking of vulgar lips where Gin,<br /> +Garlic, Tobacco, and offals go in—<br /> +A jargon so truly adapted, in fact,<br /> +To each thievish, obscene, and ferocious act,<br /> +So fit for the brute with the human shape,<br /> +Savage Baboon, or libidinous Ape,<br /> +From their ugly mouths it will certainly come<br /> +Should they ever get weary of shamming dumb!</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! for the Voice of Virtue and Truth,<br /> +And the sweet little innocent prattle of Youth!<br /> +The smallest urchin whose tongue could tang,<br /> +Shocked the Dame with a volley of slang,<br /> +Fit for Fagin’s juvenile gang;<br /> + While the +charity chap,<br /> + With his muffin +cap,<br /> + His crimson coat, and his badge so garish,<br /> +Playing at dumps, or pitch in the hole,<br /> +Cursed his eyes, limbs, body and soul,<br /> + As if they did not belong to the Parish!</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas awful to hear, as she went +along,<br /> +The wicked words of the popular song;<br /> + Or supposing she listened—as gossips +will—<br /> +At a door ajar, or a window agape,<br /> +To catch the sounds they allowed to escape.<br /> + Those sounds belonged to Depravity still!<br /> +The dark allusion, or bolder brag<br /> +Of the dexterous “dodge,” and the lots of +“swag,”<br /> +The plundered house—or the stolen nag—<br /> +The blazing rick, or the darker crime,<br /> +That quenched the spark before its time—<br /> +The wanton speech of the wife immoral,<br /> +The noise of drunken or deadly quarrel,<br /> +With savage menace, which threatened the life,<br /> +Till the heart seemed merely a strop for the knife;<br /> +The human liver, no better than that<br /> +Which is sliced and thrown to an old woman’s cat;<br /> + And the head, so useful for shaking and nodding,<br +/> +To be punched into holes, like a “shocking bad +hat”<br /> + That is only fit to be punched into wadding!</p> +<p class="poetry">In short, wherever she turned the horn,<br /> +To the highly bred, or the lowly born,<br /> +The working man, who looked over the hedge,<br /> +Or the mother nursing her infant pledge.<br /> + The sober Quaker, averse to quarrels,<br /> +Or the Governess pacing the village through,<br /> +With her twelve Young Ladies, two and two,<br /> +Looking, as such young ladies do,<br /> + Trussed by Decorum and stuffed with morals—<br +/> +Whether she listened to Hob or Bob,<br /> + Nob or Snob,<br /> + The Squire on his cob,<br /> +Or Trudge and his ass at a tinkering job,<br /> +To the “Saint” who expounded at “Little +Zion”—<br /> +Or the “Sinner” who kept the “Golden +Lion”—<br /> +The man teetotally weaned from liquor—<br /> +The Beadle, the Clerk, or the Reverend Vicar—<br /> +Nay, the very Pie in its cage of wicker—<br /> +She gathered such meanings, double or single,<br /> + That like the bell,<br /> + With muffins to sell,<br /> +Her ear was kept in a constant tingle!</p> +<p class="poetry">But this was nought to the tales of shame,<br +/> +The constant runnings of evil fame,<br /> +Foul, and dirty, and black as ink,<br /> +That her ancient cronies, with nod and wink,<br /> +Poured in her horn like slops in a sink:<br /> + While sitting in conclave, as gossips do,<br /> +With their Hyson or Howqua, black or green,<br /> +And not a little of feline spleen,<br /> + Lapped up in “Catty packages,” too,<br +/> + To give a zest to the sipping and supping;<br /> +For still by some invisible tether,<br /> +Scandal and Tea are linked together,<br /> + As surely as Scarification and Cupping;<br /> +Yet never since Scandal drank Bohea—<br /> +Or sloe, or whatever it happened to be,<br /> + For some +grocerly thieves<br /> + Turn over new +leaves,<br /> +Without much mending their lives or their tea—<br /> +No, never since cup was filled or stirred<br /> +Were such wild and horrible anecdotes heard,<br /> +As blackened their neighbours of either gender,<br /> +Especially that, which is called the Tender,<br /> +But instead of the softness we fancy therewith,<br /> +Was hardened in vice as the vice of a smith.</p> +<p class="poetry">Women! the wretches! had soiled and marred<br +/> + Whatever to womanly nature belongs;<br /> +For the marriage tie they had no regard,<br /> +Nay, sped their mates to the sexton’s yard,<br /> + (Like Madame Laffarge, who with poisonous pinches<br +/> + Kept cutting off her L by inches)—<br /> +And as for drinking, they drank so hard<br /> +That they drank their flat-irons, pokers, and tongs!</p> +<p class="poetry">The men—they fought and gambled at +fairs;<br /> +And poached—and didn’t respect grey hairs—<br +/> +Stole linen, money, plate, poultry, and corses;<br /> +And broke in houses as well as horses;<br /> +Unfolded folds to kill their own mutton,—<br /> +And would their own mothers and wives for a button:<br /> +But not to repeat the deeds they did,<br /> +Backsliding in spite of all moral skid,<br /> +If all were true that fell from the tongue,<br /> +There was not a villager, old or young,<br /> +But deserved to be whipped, imprisoned, or hung,<br /> +Or sent on those travels which nobody hurries,<br /> +To publish at Colburn’s, or Longmans’, or +Murray’s.</p> +<p class="poetry">Meanwhile the Trumpet, <i>con amore</i>,<br /> +Transmitted each vile diabolical story;<br /> +And gave the least whisper of slips and falls,<br /> +As that Gallery does in the Dome of St. Paul’s,<br /> +Which, as all the world knows, by practice or print,<br /> +Is famous for making the most of a hint.<br /> + Not a murmur of +shame,<br /> + Or buzz of +blame,<br /> +Not a flying report that flew at a name,<br /> +Not a plausible gloss, or significant note,<br /> +Not a word in the scandalous circles afloat,<br /> +Of a beam in the eye, or diminutive mote,<br /> +But vortex-like that tube of tin<br /> +Sucked the censorious particle in;<br /> + And, truth to tell, for as willing an organ<br /> +As ever listened to serpent’s hiss,<br /> +Nor took the viperous sound amiss,<br /> + On the snaky head of an ancient Gorgon!</p> +<p class="poetry">The Dame, it is true, would mutter +“shocking!”<br /> +And give her head a sorrowful rocking,<br /> +And make a clucking with palate and tongue,<br /> +Like the call of Partlet to gather her young,<br /> +A sound, when human, that always proclaims<br /> +At least a thousand pities and shames;<br /> + But still the darker the tale of sin,<br /> +Like certain folks, when calamities burst,<br /> +Who find a comfort in “hearing the worst,”<br /> + The farther she poked the Trumpet in.<br /> +Nay, worse, whatever she heard she spread<br /> + East and West, and North and South,<br /> +Like the ball which, according to Captain Z.,<br /> + Went in at his ear, and came out at his mouth.<br /> +What wonder between the Horn and the Dame,<br /> +Such mischief was made wherever they came,<br /> +That the parish of Tringham was all in a flame!</p> +<p class="poetry"> For although it required such +loud discharges,<br /> +Such peals of thunder as rumbled at Lear,<br /> +To turn the smallest of table-beer,<br /> +A little whisper breathed into the ear<br /> + Will sour a temper “as sour as +varges.”<br /> +In fact such very ill blood there grew,<br /> + From this private circulation of stories,<br /> +That the nearest neighbours the village through,<br /> +Looked at each other as yellow and blue,<br /> +As any electioneering crew<br /> + Wearing the colours of Whigs and Tories.<br /> +Ah! well the Poet said, in sooth,<br /> +That “whispering tongues can poison Truth,”—<br +/> +Yes, like a dose of oxalic acid,<br /> +Wrench and convulse poor Peace, the placid,<br /> +And rack dear Love with internal fuel,<br /> +Like arsenic pastry, or what is as cruel,<br /> +Sugar of lead, that sweetens gruel,—<br /> +At least such torments began to wring ’em<br /> + From the very +morn<br /> + When that +mischievous Horn<br /> +Caught the whisper of tongues in Tringham.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Social Clubs dissolved in huffs,<br /> +And the Sons of Harmony came to cuffs,<br /> +While feuds arose and family quarrels,<br /> +That discomposed the mechanics of morals,<br /> +For screws were loose between brother and brother,<br /> +While sisters fastened their nails on each other;<br /> +Such wrangles, and jangles, and miff, and tiff,<br /> +And spar, and jar—and breezes as stiff<br /> +As ever upset a friendship—or skiff!<br /> +The plighted lovers who used to walk,<br /> +Refused to meet, and declined to talk:<br /> +And wished for two moons to reflect the sun,<br /> +That they mightn’t look together on one:<br /> +While wedded affection ran so low,<br /> +That the oldest John Anderson snubbed his Jo—<br /> +And instead of the toddle adown the hill,<br /> + Hand in hand,<br +/> + As the song has +planned,<br /> +Scratched her, penniless, out of his will!<br /> +In short, to describe what came to pass<br /> + In a true, though somewhat theatrical way,<br /> +Instead of “Love in a Village”—alas!<br /> + The piece they performed was “The Devil to +Pay!”</p> +<p class="poetry">However, as secrets are brought to light,<br /> +And mischief comes home like chickens at night;<br /> +And rivers are tracked throughout their course,<br /> +And forgeries traced to their proper source;—<br /> + And the sow that +ought<br /> + By the ear is +caught,—<br /> +And the sin to the sinful door is brought;<br /> +And the cat at last escapes from the bag—<br /> +And the saddle is placed on the proper nag—<br /> +And the fog blows off, and the key is found—<br /> +And the faulty scent is picked out by the hound—<br /> +And the fact turns up like a worm from the ground—<br /> +And the matter gets wind to waft it about;<br /> +And a hint goes abroad, and the murder is out—<br /> +And a riddle is guessed—and the puzzle is known—<br +/> +So the Truth was sniffed, and the Trumpet was blown!</p> +<p style="text-align: +center">. +. +. +. .</p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis a day in +November—a day of fog—<br /> +But the Tringham people are all agog!<br /> + Fathers, Mothers, and Mothers’ Sons,—<br +/> + With sticks, and staves, and swords, and +guns,—<br /> +As if in pursuit of a rabid dog;<br /> +But their voices—raised to the highest pitch—<br /> +Declare that the game is “a Witch!—a +Witch!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Over the Green and along by the +George—<br /> +Past the Stocks and the Church, and the Forge,<br /> +And round the Pound, and skirting the Pond,<br /> +Till they come to the whitewashed cottage beyond,<br /> +And there at the door they muster and cluster,<br /> +And thump, and kick, and bellow, and bluster—<br /> +Enough to put Old Nick in a fluster!<br /> +A noise, indeed, so loud and long,<br /> +And mixed with expressions so very strong,<br /> +That supposing, according to popular fame,<br /> +“Wise Woman” and Witch to be the same,<br /> +No hag with a broom would unwisely stop,<br /> +But up and away through the chimney-top;<br /> +Whereas, the moment they burst the door,<br /> +Planted fast on her sanded floor,<br /> +With her trumpet up to her organ of hearing,<br /> +Lo and behold!—Dame Eleanor Spearing!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! then rises the fearful shout—<br /> +Bawled and screamed, and bandied about—<br /> +“Seize her!—Drag the old Jezebel out!”<br /> +While the Beadle—the foremost of all the band,<br /> +Snatches the Horn from her trembling hand—<br /> +And after a pause of doubt and fear,<br /> +Puts it up to his sharpest ear.<br /> +“Now silence—silence—one and all!”<br /> +For the Clerk is quoting from Holy Paul!<br /> + But before he +rehearses<br /> + A couple of +verses,<br /> +The Beadle lets the Trumpet fall!<br /> +For instead of the words so pious and humble,<br /> +He hears a supernatural grumble.</p> +<p class="poetry">Enough, enough! and more than enough;—<br +/> +Twenty impatient hands and rough,<br /> +By arm and leg, and neck and scruff,<br /> +Apron, ’kerchief, gown of stuff—<br /> +Cap and pinner, sleeve and cuff—<br /> +Are clutching the Witch wherever they can,<br /> +With the spite of woman and fury of man;<br /> +And then—but first they kill her cat,<br /> +And murder her dog on the very mat—<br /> +And crush the infernal Trumpet flat;—<br /> +And then they hurry her through the door<br /> +She never, never will enter more!</p> +<p class="poetry">Away! away! down the dusty lane<br /> +They pull her and haul her, with might and main;<br /> +And happy the hawbuck, Tom or Harry,<br /> +Dandy or Sandy, Jerry or Larry,<br /> +Who happens to get “a leg to carry!”<br /> +And happy the foot that can give her a kick,<br /> +And happy the hand that can find a brick—<br /> +And happy the fingers that hold a stick—<br /> +Knife to cut, or pin to prick—<br /> +And happy the boy who can lend her a lick;—<br /> +Nay, happy the urchin—Charity-bred,—<br /> +Who can shy very nigh to her wicked old head!</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! to think how people’s creeds<br /> +Are contradicted by people’s deeds!<br /> + But though the wishes that Witches utter<br /> +Can play the most diabolical rigs—<br /> +Send styes in the eye—and measle the pigs—<br /> +Grease horses’ heels—and spoil the butter;<br /> +Smut and mildew the corn on the stalk—<br /> +And turn new milk to water and chalk,—<br /> +Blight apples—and give the chickens the pip—<br /> +And cramp the stomach—and cripple the hip—<br /> +And waste the body—and addle the eggs—<br /> +And give a baby bandy legs;<br /> +Though in common belief a Witch’s curse<br /> +Involves all these horrible things and worse—<br /> +As ignorant bumpkins all profess,<br /> +No bumpkin makes a poke the less<br /> +At the back or ribs of old Eleanor S.!<br /> + As if she were only a sack of barley!<br /> +Or gives her credit for greater might<br /> +Than the Powers of Darkness confer at night<br /> + On that other old woman, the parish Charley!</p> +<p class="poetry">Ay, now’s the time for a Witch to call<br +/> +On her imps and sucklings one and all—<br /> +Newes, Pyewacket, or Peck in the Crown,<br /> +(As Matthew Hopkins has handed them down)<br /> +Dick, and Willet, and Sugar-and-Sack,<br /> +Greedy Grizel, Jarmara the Black,<br /> +Vinegar Tom, and the rest of the pack—<br /> +Ay, now’s the nick for her friend Old Harry<br /> +To come “with his tail,” like the bold Glengarry,<br +/> +And drive her foes from their savage job<br /> +As a mad black bullock would scatter a mob:—<br /> + But no such matter is down in the bond;<br /> +And spite of her cries that never cease,<br /> +But scare the ducks and astonish the geese,<br /> +The dame is dragged to the fatal pond!</p> +<p class="poetry">And now they come to the water’s +brim—<br /> +And in they bundle her—sink or swim;<br /> +Though it’s twenty to one that the wretch must drown,<br /> +With twenty sticks to hold her down;<br /> +Including the help to the self-same end,<br /> +Which a travelling Pedlar stops to lend.<br /> +A Pedlar!—Yes!—The same!—the same!<br /> +Who sold the Horn to the drowning Dame!<br /> +And now is foremost amid the stir,<br /> +With a token only revealed to her;<br /> +A token that makes her shudder and shriek,<br /> +And point with her finger, and strive to speak—<br /> +But before she can utter the name of the Devil,<br /> +Her head is under the water level!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Moral</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">There are folks about town—to name no +names—<br /> +Who much resemble the deafest of Dames!<br /> + And over their tea, and muffins, and crumpets,<br /> +Circulate many a scandalous word,<br /> +And whisper tales they could only have heard<br /> + Through some such Diabolical Trumpets!</p> +<h2><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span><i>NOTE</i>.<br /> +THE GAME OF OMBRE</h2> +<p>was invented by the Spaniards, and called by them <i>El +Hombre</i>, or <span class="smcap">The Man</span>, <i>El +Hombre</i> being he (or she) who undertakes the game against the +other players.</p> +<p>There were variations in the way of playing, and there were +sometimes four or even five players; but usually there were three +players, as described by Pope in the third canto of <i>The Rape +of the Lock</i>, where Belinda played as Ombre against the Baron +and another, and the course of the game is faithfully +described. It is the purpose of this note to enable any +reader of <i>The Rape of the Lock</i> to learn the game of Ombre, +play it, and be able to follow Pope’s description of a +game.</p> +<p>The game of Ombre is played with a pack of cards from which +the eights, nines, and tens of each of the four suits have been +thrown out. The Ombre pack consists, therefore, of forty +cards.</p> +<p>The values of cards when they are not trumps are not arranged +in the same order for each colour.</p> +<p>For the two black suits, Spades and Clubs, the values, from +highest to lowest, follow the natural order—King, Queen, +Knave, seven, six, five, four, three, two. But the two +black aces always rank as trumps, and are not reckoned as parts +of the black suit. The Ace of Spades is named +<i>Spadille</i>, the Ace of Clubs is <i>Basto</i>.</p> +<p>For the two red suits, Hearts and Diamonds, only the King, +Queen, and Knave keep their values in natural order; the other +cards have their order of values reversed. The value from +highest to lowest for each red suit is, therefore, King, Queen, +Knave, ace, two, three, four, five, six, seven.</p> +<p>The values of trump cards are thus arranged:—</p> +<p>The first and best trump is the Ace of Spades, +<i>Spadille</i>.</p> +<p>The second best trump is the lowest card of the trump suit, +the two of trumps in a black suit, or the seven of trumps if the +trump suit be red. This second trump is called +<i>Manille</i>.</p> +<p>The third trump is the Ace of Clubs, <i>Basto</i>.</p> +<p>When the trump suit is red, its Ace becomes the fourth +trump. Thus if Diamonds be trumps the Ace of Diamonds can +take the King of Diamonds; the Ace of Hearts can take the King of +Hearts if Hearts be trumps, not otherwise. There is no +addition to the value of the Ace of Diamonds when Hearts are +trumps. The Ace of a red suit of trumps, having become in +this way the fourth trump in order of value, is called +<i>Punto</i>.</p> +<p>In order of their value, counted from the highest to the +lowest, I now place in parallel columns the trumps in black suits +and the trumps in red:—</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">Black.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">Red.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Spadille, Ace of Spades.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Spadille, Ace of Spades.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Manille, the Two of the Trump suit.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Manille, the Seven of the trump suit.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Basto, Ace of Clubs.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Basto, Ace of Clubs.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>King.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Punto, Ace of the trump suit.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Queen.</p> +</td> +<td><p>King.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Knave.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Queen.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Seven.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Knave.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Six.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Two.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Five.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Three.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Four.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Four.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Three.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Five.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Six.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>The three chief trumps, <i>Spadille</i>, <i>Manille</i>, and +<i>Basto</i>, are called <i>Matadores</i>, and have powers which, +together with their name, are passed to the trumps following +them, so far as they are found in sequence in the Ombre’s +hand. Thus, although <i>Spadille</i>, <i>Manille</i>, and +<i>Basto</i> are strictly speaking the only <i>Matadores</i>, if +the Ombre can show also in his hand, say, in the red suit, Punto, +King, Queen, Knave, he takes for seven <i>Matadores</i>; and if +there should be joined to these the two and three, his trumps +would be all in sequence, every card would be a <i>Matadore</i>, +and he would be paid for nine, which is the whole number of cards +in a hand.</p> +<p>Counters having been distributed, among which a fish is worth +ten round counters, each player lays down a fish before the +deal. The cards having been shuffled by the dealer, and cut +by the player who sits on the left hand of the dealer, are dealt +three at a time, and first to the player who sits on the +dealer’s right hand, which is contrary to the usual +course. The cards are dealt three times round. Each +of the three players then has nine, and the remaining thirteen +cards are laid down at the right hand of the dealer. No +card is turned up to determine trumps.</p> +<p>Each player then looks at his hand. The eldest hand is +that to the dealer’s right. He speaks first. If +his cards are bad, and he will not venture to be Ombre, he says +“Pass,” and lays a counter down at his left. If +all three players say “Pass,” each laying a counter +down, the cards are dealt again. When a player thinks his +cards may win, and is willing to be Ombre, unless he be the third +to speak, and the two other hands have passed, he says “Do +you give me leave?” or “Do you play without taking +in?” If the other players say “Pass,” +each depositing his counter at his own left hand, the Ombre +begins by discarding from his hand two, three, or more cards that +he thinks unserviceable. He lays them down at his left +hand. Then before he deals to himself from the pack of thirteen +left undistributed the same number of cards that he has thrown +out, he must name the trump suit. In doing this he chooses +for himself, according to his hand, spades, clubs, hearts, +diamonds, whichever suit he thinks will best help him to +win. If he has a two of a black suit, or a seven of a red, +he can secure to himself <i>Manille</i> by making that suit +trumps, or there may be reason why another suit should be +preferred.</p> +<p>If the player who proposes to be Ombre has a safe game in his +hand—five <i>Matadores</i>, for example—he names the +trump and elects to play <i>Sans-prendre</i>, that is to say, +without discarding. Whoever plays <i>Sans-prendre</i>, if +he win, receives three counters from each of the other players, +and pays three counters to each if he should lose the game.</p> +<p>When the Ombre plays <i>Sans-Prendre</i>, his opponents have +more cards from which to draw, and the first who discards is even +free to change all his nine cards; but he usually limits his +discard to six or seven, and avoids encroachment on the share of +the next player. The two who play against the Ombre are +only half in the position of partners at whist, because one of +them, when his hand is strong enough, can be the only winner.</p> +<p>The hands having been thus settled, the game begins, from the +hand on the right of the dealer. After a trick has been +taken, the lead, as at other games, is with the winner of the +trick, the order of play being still from left to right.</p> +<p>As at whist, a suit led must be followed, and a player who +cannot follow suit is not obliged to play a trump unless he +please.</p> +<p>If the first player who follows the Ombre’s lead with a +better card, and has in his hand so good a game that he desires, +by winning the trick, to obtain the lead, he declares that aloud +by saying <i>Gano</i>, that is, “I win.” His +partner then lets him win, if he can. Thus, Ombre has +played a spade, which the next player wins with the Queen, saying +<i>Gano</i> when he does so. If the third player has the +King in his hand he refrains from playing it, unless he have no +spade in his hand of smaller value, in which case he is obliged +to follow suit and win the trick against his partner. Where +the lead is urgently desired, not for a personal gain of more +tricks than the Ombre, which is called <i>Codille</i>, but to +defend the stake, and the third player is seen to hesitate, +<i>Gano</i> may be pressed for, three times, “Gano, if +possible.” When Ombre was played by gambling +courtiers under Queen Anne and George I., all such words spoken +in the game had to be given strictly in the Spanish form, which +was, in this case, <i>Yo Gano</i>, <i>si se puede</i>.</p> +<p>Ombre, to win the stake, must make five tricks; but he can win +with four if the other five are so divided between his +antagonists that one has only three of them, the other only +two. If one of the two defenders of the stakes, playing +against Ombre, does not feel almost sure that he can win at least +three tricks, with a chance of the fourth, he should win one, and +try to avoid winning more, but help whatever chance his partner +seems to have of winning four, because Ombre wins with four when +each of the other players has won less than four.</p> +<p>If Ombre lose he is said to be Beasted. Whoever loses is +said to be Beasted. Whoever is Beasted has to pay to the +board counters of the value of what the Ombre takes up if he +wins. When players were beasted for revokes and other +oversights in play, the fines were heavy upon carelessness.</p> +<p>At the end of the game tricks are counted. When Ombre +wins he takes the stakes; when he loses the two opponents will +divide the stakes between them, unless one of them should have +taken more tricks than the Ombre, in which case that one is said +to have won <i>Codille</i>. Whoever wins <i>Codille</i> +takes all the stake the Ombre played for. For this reason +it was not thought creditable for any one to call <i>Gano</i> who +had four tricks in his hand, as by so doing he would only be +inducing the other player against Ombre to give up to him his +half of the winnings. Each player against the Ombre aims at +<i>Codille</i> when he thinks it within reach, but in that case +it used to be held very bad manners to win by calling +<i>Gano</i>. When one of the players against the Ombre must +either give <i>Codille</i> to the other or let the Ombre win, he +gives the <i>Codille</i>. For if the Ombre be beasted he +has to replace the stakes. But if the Ombre wins, both of +the players against him have to stake again. If any one +wins all the nine tricks he is said to have won the <i>Vole</i>, +and clears all stakes upon the table.</p> +<p>Belinda, in the <i>Rape of the Lock</i>, having looked at her +hand, named trumps—</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Let spades be trumps,’ she +said, and trumps they were.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>She chose that suit because she had not only the King but also +the two of Spades, and two of trumps, called <i>Manille</i>, is +the second best trump after <i>Spadille</i>. Her hand +contained also the Ace of Spades, “unconquerable +lord” <i>Spadille</i>, and the third trump, <i>Basto</i>, +Ace of Clubs. By making spades trumps she secured the +addition of <i>Manille</i>. The three best trumps secured +her the three best tricks. <i>Spadille</i> and +<i>Manille</i> fetched small trumps out of the hands of her +antagonists. <i>Basto</i> brought a trump out of the +Baron’s suit, that also held the Knave and Queen of trumps, +and a small card from the other hand, which showed that it was +out of trumps. Then came Belinda’s King of trumps, to +win her fourth sure trick, and the Baron, who still had his best +trumps in his hand, the Knave and Queen, lost the Knave to +it.</p> +<p>After this the Baron’s Queen of trumps was the best +card, and Belinda, with no more trumps in her hand, or possibly +the other player, sacrificed the King of Clubs to it.</p> +<p>Trumps being exhausted, and the Baron having won a trick and +the lead, it is his turn now to win three tricks in succession +with the King, Queen, and Knave of Diamonds. At the third +round of the Diamonds Belinda has left in her hand only the King +and Queen of Hearts. She gives up the Queen.</p> +<p>Each has now four tricks. It is the Baron’s +lead. If his card be best he has more tricks than the +Ombre, and will win <i>Codille</i>. If his card be a club +or a diamond—spades are played out—Belinda’s +King of Hearts will be unable to follow suit. He will be +taken. Thus is she “between the jaws of ruin and +codille.” But should his last card be a +heart—she has the best heart—</p> +<p class="poetry">“An Ace of Hearts steps forth: the King +unseen<br /> +Lurked in her hand, and mourned his captive Queen.<br /> +He springs to vengeance with an eager pace,<br /> +And falls like thunder on the prostrate Ace.<br /> +The nymph exulting, fills with shouts the sky,<br /> +The walls, the woods, the long canals reply.”</p> +<p>In addition to the stakes she won, Belinda was entitled also +to the value of four counters from each of her antagonists for +her sequence of four <i>Matadores</i>, <i>Spadille</i>, +<i>Manille</i>, <i>Basto</i>, and the King of Spades. +Furthermore, if she had been playing <i>Sans-prendre</i>, each of +her opponents would have three counters to pay her.</p> +<h2><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +188</span>GLOSSARY</h2> +<p><a name="footnote114"></a><a href="#citation114" +class="footnote">[114]</a> <b>And</b>, in old English could +be placed like “also” in different parts of a +sentence. Thus, in <i>Nymphidia</i>,</p> +<blockquote><p>“She hies her then to Lethe spring,<br /> +A bottle and thereof doth bring.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote129"></a><a href="#citation129" +class="footnote">[129]</a> <b>Atalantis</b>, “As long +as Atalantis shall be read.” Atalantis was a book of +Court scandal by Mrs. De la Rivière Manley, in four +volumes, entitled “Secret Memoirs and Manners of several +Persons of Quality of both Sexes from the New Atalantis, an +Island in the Mediterranean.” Mrs. Manley died in +1724.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94h"></a><a href="#citation94h" +class="footnote">[94h]</a> <b>Bauzon</b>, badger. +French, <i>bausin</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147a"></a><a href="#citation147a" +class="footnote">[147a]</a> <b>Billies</b>, fellows, used +rather contemptuously.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147f"></a><a href="#citation147f" +class="footnote">[147f]</a> <b>Blellum</b>, idle +talker.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150a"></a><a href="#citation150a" +class="footnote">[150a]</a> <b>Boddle</b>, a Scottish +copper coin worth the third part of an English halfpenny; said to +be named after the Mint-master who first coined it, Bothwell.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150h"></a><a href="#citation150h" +class="footnote">[150h]</a> <b>Bore</b>, hole in the +wall.</p> +<p><a name="footnote91e"></a><a href="#citation91e" +class="footnote">[91e]</a> <b>But</b>, +“without,” “but merriness,” without +mirth.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152d"></a><a href="#citation152d" +class="footnote">[152d]</a> <b>Byke</b>, hive.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150f"></a><a href="#citation150f" +class="footnote">[150f]</a> <b>Cantrip</b>, charm, +spell. Icelandic, <i>gandr</i>, enchantment; +<i>gand-reithr</i> was the witches’ ride.</p> +<p><a name="footnote83"></a><a href="#citation83" +class="footnote">[83]</a> <b>Can’wick Street</b>, +Candlewick, where now there is Cannon Street.</p> +<p><a name="footnote86a"></a><a href="#citation86a" +class="footnote">[86a]</a> <b>Champarty</b>, Champartage, +was a feudal levy of a share of profit from the ground (<i>campi +pars</i>), based originally upon aid given to enable profit to be +earned. Thus it became a law term for right of a stranger +to fixed share in any profits that on such condition he helped a +litigant to win.</p> +<p><a name="footnote85b"></a><a href="#citation85b" +class="footnote">[85b]</a> <b>Chiche vache</b>, lean +cow. French <i>chiche</i>, Latin <i>ciccus</i>, wretched, +worthless; from Greek kíkkos, the core of a +pomegranate. Worth no more than a pomegranate seed.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94i"></a><a href="#citation94i" +class="footnote">[94i]</a> <b>Cockers</b>, rustic +half-boots.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151g"></a><a href="#citation151g" +class="footnote">[151g]</a> <b>Coft</b>, bought. +German, <i>kaufte</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82b"></a><a href="#citation82b" +class="footnote">[82b]</a> <b>Copen</b>, buy. Dutch, +<i>koopen</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94j"></a><a href="#citation94j" +class="footnote">[94j]</a> <b>Cordiwin</b>, or cordewane, +Cordovan leather.</p> +<p><a name="footnote89"></a><a href="#citation89" +class="footnote">[89]</a> <b>Coueyn</b>, <b>coveyne</b> +convening or conspiring of two or more to defraud.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94f"></a><a href="#citation94f" +class="footnote">[94f]</a> <b>Crank</b>, lively. A +boat was “crank” when frail, lightly and easily +tossed on the waves, and liable to upset. Prof. Skeat +thinks that the image of the tossed boat suggested lively +movement.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151c"></a><a href="#citation151c" +class="footnote">[151c]</a> <b>Creeshie flannen</b>, greasy +flannel.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151e"></a><a href="#citation151e" +class="footnote">[151e]</a> <b>Cummock</b>, a short staff +with a crooked head.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151f"></a><a href="#citation151f" +class="footnote">[151f]</a> <b>Cutty</b>, short; so cutty +pipe, short pipe.</p> +<p><a name="footnote85a"></a><a href="#citation85a" +class="footnote">[85a]</a> <b>Darrain</b>, decide. To +“arraign” was to summon <i>ad rationes</i> to the +pleadings. To darraign was <i>derationare</i>, to bring +them to a decision.</p> +<p><a name="footnote86b"></a><a href="#citation86b" +class="footnote">[86b]</a> <b>Defy</b>, digest. As in +the Vision of Piers Plowman</p> + +<blockquote><p> “wyn +of Ossye<br /> +Of Ruyn and of Rochel, the rost to defye.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Latin, <i>defio</i> = <i>deficio</i>, to make one’s self +to be removed from something, or something to be removed from +one’s self. To defy in the sense of challenging is a +word of different origin, <i>diffidere</i>, to separate from +<i>fides</i>, faith, trust, allegiance to another.</p> +<p><a name="footnote91d"></a><a href="#citation91d" +class="footnote">[91d]</a> <b>Degest</b>, orderly. To +“digest” is to separate and arrange in an orderly +manner.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150e"></a><a href="#citation150e" +class="footnote">[150e]</a> <b>Dirl</b>, vibrate, echo.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147b"></a><a href="#citation147b" +class="footnote">[147b]</a> <b>Drouthy</b>, droughty, +thirsty.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151a"></a><a href="#citation151a" +class="footnote">[151a]</a> <b>Duddies</b>, clothes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152e"></a><a href="#citation152e" +class="footnote">[152e]</a> <b>Eldritch</b>, also elrische, +alrische, alry, having relation to elves or evil spirits, +supernatural, hideous, frightful.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152f"></a><a href="#citation152f" +class="footnote">[152f]</a> <b>Ettle</b>, endeavour, +aim. Icelandic, <i>ætla</i>, to mean anything, +design, have aim, is the Scottish <i>ettle</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108d"></a><a href="#citation108d" +class="footnote">[108d]</a> <b>Fire-drake</b>, dragon +breathing out fire.</p> +<p><a name="footnote91b"></a><a href="#citation91b" +class="footnote">[91b]</a> <b>Flicht and wary</b>, +fluctuate and change.</p> +<p><a name="footnote92b"></a><a href="#citation92b" +class="footnote">[92b]</a> <b>Frawfull fary</b>, froward +tumult.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152c"></a><a href="#citation152c" +class="footnote">[152c]</a> <b>Fyke</b>, fuss.</p> +<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30" +class="footnote">[30]</a> <b>Fytte</b>, a song, +canto. First English, <i>fit</i>, a song.</p> +<p>When Wisdom “<i>thas fitte asungen +hæfde</i>” had sung this song. King +Alfred’s Boëthius.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150g"></a><a href="#citation150g" +class="footnote">[150g]</a> <b>Gab</b>, mouth.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148b"></a><a href="#citation148b" +class="footnote">[148b]</a> <b>Gars</b>, makes; “gars +me greet,” makes me weep.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147h"></a><a href="#citation147h" +class="footnote">[147h]</a> <b>Gate</b>, road. +Icelandic, <i>gata</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35" +class="footnote">[35]</a> <b>Habergeon</b>, small hauberk, +armour for the neck. Old High German, <i>hals</i>, the +neck; <i>bergan</i>, to protect.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94d"></a><a href="#citation94d" +class="footnote">[94d]</a> <b>Harlock</b>, This plant-name +occurs only here and in Shakespeare’s <i>Lear</i>, Act iv. +sc. 4, where Lear is said to be crowned “with harlocks, +hemlocks, nettles, cuckoo-flowers.” Probably it is +charlock, <i>Sinapis arvensis</i>, the mustard-plant.</p> +<p><a name="footnote98"></a><a href="#citation98" +class="footnote">[98]</a> <b>Hays</b>, The hay was a French +dance, with many turnings and windings.</p> +<p><a name="footnote100"></a><a href="#citation100" +class="footnote">[100]</a> <b>Hient Hill</b>, Ben Hiand, in +Ardnamurchan, Argyleshire.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152a"></a><a href="#citation152a" +class="footnote">[152a]</a> <b>Hotched</b>, hitched.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147g"></a><a href="#citation147g" +class="footnote">[147g]</a> <b>Ilka</b>, each one, +every.</p> +<p><a name="footnote85c"></a><a href="#citation85c" +class="footnote">[85c]</a> <b>Infere</b>, together.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148c"></a><a href="#citation148c" +class="footnote">[148c]</a> <b>Ingle</b>, fire. +Gaelic, <i>aingeal</i>, allied to Latin <i>ignis</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote95b"></a><a href="#citation95b" +class="footnote">[95b]</a> <b>Keep</b>, “take thou no +keep”—heed, “never mind.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote148f"></a><a href="#citation148f" +class="footnote">[148f]</a> <b>Kirkton</b>, familiar term +for the village in which the country people had their church.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94k"></a><a href="#citation94k" +class="footnote">[94k]</a> <b>Ladysmock</b>, <i>Cardamine +pratensis</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93b"></a><a href="#citation93b" +class="footnote">[93b]</a> <b>Leir</b>, lore, doctrine.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94g"></a><a href="#citation94g" +class="footnote">[94g]</a> <b>Learned his sheep</b>, taught +his sheep.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94a"></a><a href="#citation94a" +class="footnote">[94a]</a> <b>Lemster</b>, Leominster.</p> +<p><a name="footnote95a"></a><a href="#citation95a" +class="footnote">[95a]</a> <b>Lingell</b>, a +shoemaker’s thong. Latin <i>lingula</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151h"></a><a href="#citation151h" +class="footnote">[151h]</a> <b>Linkit</b>, tripped, moved +briskly.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108c"></a><a href="#citation108c" +class="footnote">[108c]</a> <b>Lubrican</b>, the Irish +leprechaun, a fairy in shape of an old man, discovered by the +moan he makes. He brings wealth, and is fixed only as long +as the finder keeps his eye upon him.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108b"></a><a href="#citation108b" +class="footnote">[108b]</a> <b>Mandrake</b>, the root of +mandragora, rudely shaped like the forked animal man, and said to +groan or shriek when pulled out of the earth.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93c"></a><a href="#citation93c" +class="footnote">[93c]</a> <b>Marchpine</b>, sweet biscuit +of sugar and almonds. Marchpane paste was used by +comfit-makers for shaping into letters, true-love knots, birds, +beasts, etc.</p> +<p><a name="footnote130"></a><a href="#citation130" +class="footnote">[130]</a> <b>Megrim</b>, pain on one side +of the head, headache. French <i>migraine</i>, from Gr. +<i>eemikranía</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147i"></a><a href="#citation147i" +class="footnote">[147i]</a> <b>Melder</b>, milling. +The quantity of meal ground at once.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148a"></a><a href="#citation148a" +class="footnote">[148a]</a> <b>Mirk</b>, dark.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108a"></a><a href="#citation108a" +class="footnote">[108a]</a> <b>Molewarp</b>, mole. +First English, <i>moldwearp</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148e"></a><a href="#citation148e" +class="footnote">[148e]</a> <b>Nappy</b>, nap, strong +beer.</p> +<p><a name="footnote126"></a><a href="#citation126" +class="footnote">[126]</a> <b>Pam</b>, Knave of Clubs, the +highest card in the game of Loo, derived from “palm,” +as “trump” from “triumph.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote137"></a><a href="#citation137" +class="footnote">[137]</a> <b>Partridge</b>, a maker of +prophetic almanacs, who was ridiculed by Swift as type of his bad +craft.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94b"></a><a href="#citation94b" +class="footnote">[94b]</a> <b>Peakish hull</b>, hill by the +Peak of Derbyshire.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19" +class="footnote">[19]</a> <b>Pose</b>, catarrh. First +English, <i>gepósu</i>.</p> +<blockquote><p>“By the pose in thy nose,<br /> +And the gout in thy toes.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">—<i>Beaumont and +Fletcher</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote88b"></a><a href="#citation88b" +class="footnote">[88b]</a> <b>Prow</b>, profit. Old +French, <i>prou</i>, <i>preu</i>—“<i>Oïl +voir</i>, <i>sire</i>, <i>pour vostre preu i +viens</i>.”—<i>Garin le Loharain</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote91a"></a><a href="#citation91a" +class="footnote">[91a]</a> <b>Qu</b>, Scottish = W. +<b>Quhair</b>, where; <b>quhois</b>, whose; <b>quheill</b>, +wheel; <b>quha</b>, <b>quho</b>, who; <b>quhat</b>, what.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82a"></a><a href="#citation82a" +class="footnote">[82a]</a> <b>Ray</b>, striped cloth.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151d"></a><a href="#citation151d" +class="footnote">[151d]</a> <b>Rigwoodie</b>, tough. +Rigwiddie is the rope crossing the back of a horse yoked in a +cart; <i>rig</i>, back, and <i>withy</i>, a twig. Applied +to anything strong-backed.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82c"></a><a href="#citation82c" +class="footnote">[82c]</a> <b>Rise</b>, “cherries in +the rise,” cherries on the twig. First English, +<i>hris</i>, a twig, or thin branch. The old practice of +selling cherries upon shoots cut from the tree ended in their +sale by pennyworths with their stalks tied to a little stick of +wood. So they were sold in London when I was a boy.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151b"></a><a href="#citation151b" +class="footnote">[151b]</a> <b>Sark</b>, shirt or +shift. First English, <i>syrc</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94c"></a><a href="#citation94c" +class="footnote">[94c]</a> <b>Setiwall</b>, garden +valerian.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147e"></a><a href="#citation147e" +class="footnote">[147e]</a> <b>Skellum</b>, a worthless +fellow. German, <i>schelm</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149a"></a><a href="#citation149a" +class="footnote">[149a]</a> <b>Skelpit</b>, beat the ground +with strong pulsation; rode quickly; pounded along.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150d"></a><a href="#citation150d" +class="footnote">[150d]</a> <b>Skirl</b>, sound shrill.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147d"></a><a href="#citation147d" +class="footnote">[147d]</a> <b>Slaps</b>, breaks in walls +or hedges; also narrow passes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149b"></a><a href="#citation149b" +class="footnote">[149b]</a> <b>Smoored</b>, smothered.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151j"></a><a href="#citation151j" +class="footnote">[151j]</a> <b>Spean</b>, wean.</p> +<p><a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32" +class="footnote">[32]</a> <b>Spear-hawk</b>, +sparrow-hawk. From the root <i>spar</i>, to quiver or +flutter, comes the name of “sparrow” and a part of +the name “sparrow-hawk.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote94e"></a><a href="#citation94e" +class="footnote">[94e]</a> <b>Summerhall</b>, Stubbs, in +the “Anatomy of Abuses,” speaking of the maypole, +tells how villagers, when they have reared it up, “with +handkerchiefs and flags streaming on the top, they strew the +ground about, bind green boughs about it, set up +<i>summerhalls</i>, bowers, and arbours hard by it, and then fall +they to banquet and feast, and leap and dance about +it.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote148d"></a><a href="#citation148d" +class="footnote">[148d]</a> <b>Swats</b>, new ale, +wort. First English, <i>swate</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88c"></a><a href="#citation88c" +class="footnote">[88c]</a> <b>Teen</b>, vexation, +grief.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152b"></a><a href="#citation152b" +class="footnote">[152b]</a> <b>Tint</b>, lost.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150c"></a><a href="#citation150c" +class="footnote">[150c]</a> <b>Towsie tyke</b>, a large +rough cur.</p> +<p><a name="footnote92a"></a><a href="#citation92a" +class="footnote">[92a]</a> <b>Tynsall</b>, loss.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147c"></a><a href="#citation147c" +class="footnote">[147c]</a> <b>Unco’</b>, uncouth, +more than was known usually.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151i"></a><a href="#citation151i" +class="footnote">[151i]</a> <b>Wally</b>, <b>walie</b> +thriving. First English, <i>wælig</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote91c"></a><a href="#citation91c" +class="footnote">[91c]</a> <b>Warsill</b>, wrestle.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150b"></a><a href="#citation150b" +class="footnote">[150b]</a> <b>Winnock-bunker</b>, the +window seat.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93d"></a><a href="#citation93d" +class="footnote">[93d]</a> <b>Woned</b>, dwelt.</p> +<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17" +class="footnote">[17]</a> <b>Wottest</b>, knowest.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88a"></a><a href="#citation88a" +class="footnote">[88a]</a> <b>Woxen</b>, grown.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93a"></a><a href="#citation93a" +class="footnote">[93a]</a> <b>Yconned</b>, taught.</p> +<p><a name="footnote81"></a><a href="#citation81" +class="footnote">[81]</a> <b>Yode</b>, went. First +English, <i>eóde</i>, past of <i>gán</i>, to +go.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES.</h2> +<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21" +class="footnote">[21]</a> This old French and Anglo-Norman +word, answering to the Italian <i>gentilezza</i>, and signifying +the possession of every species of refinement, has been retained +as supplying a want which there is no modern word to fill +up.—<i>Leigh Hunt</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26" +class="footnote">[26]</a> The sententious sermon which here +follows might have had a purely serious intention in +Chaucer’s time, when books were rare, and moralities not +such commonplaces as they are now; yet it is difficult to believe +that the poet did not intend something of a covert satire upon at +least the sermoniser’s own pretensions, especially as the +latter had declared himself against text-spinning. The +Host, it is to be observed, had already charged him with +forgetting his own faults, while preaching against those of +others. The <i>refashioner</i> of the original lines has +accordingly endeavoured to retain the kind of tabernacle, or old +woman’s tone, into which he conceives the Manciple to have +fallen, compared with that of his narrative style.—<i>Leigh +Hunt</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42" +class="footnote">[42]</a> “We possess,” says +Satan in <i>Paradise Lost</i>, “the quarters of the +north.” The old legend that Milton followed placed +Satan in the north parts of heaven, following the passage in +Isaiah concerning Babylon on which that legend was constructed +(Isa. xiv. 12–15), “Thou hast said in thine heart, I +will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars +of God; I will sit also upon the mount of the congregation <i>in +the sides of the north</i>.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote49"></a><a href="#citation49" +class="footnote">[49]</a> Alluding to the “Millers +Tale,” which has rather offended the Reve, by reason that +it ridiculed a worthy carpenter.—R. H. H.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50"></a><a href="#citation50" +class="footnote">[50]</a> Or thus:—</p> +<p class="poetry">For when our climbing’s done our speech +aspires;<br /> +<i>E’en in our ashes live their wonted fires</i>.</p> +<p>The original lines are:—</p> +<p class="poetry">“For whanne we may not don than wol we +speken,<br /> +Yet in our ashen olde is fyre yreken.”</p> +<p>The coincidence of the last line with the one quoted from +Gray’s Elegy will be remarked. Mr. Tyrwhit says he +should certainly have considered the latter as an +“imitation” (of Chaucer), “if Mr. Gray himself +had not referred us to the 169 Sonnet of Petrarch as his +original:—</p> +<p class="poetry">Ch’ i’ veggio nel pensier, dolce +mio foco,<br /> +Fredda una lingua, e duo begli occhi chiusi<br /> +Rimaner dopo noi pien’ di faville.</p> +<p>The sentiment is different in all three; but the form of +expression here adopted by Gray closely resembles that of the +Father of English Poetry, although in Gray’s time it was no +doubt far more elegant to quote Petrarch than +Chaucer.—<i>R. H. Horne</i>.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PLAYFUL POEMS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 6332-h.htm or 6332-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/3/3/6332 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. 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