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Title: Playful Poems
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<h1>PLAYFUL POEMS, (by various authors)<br />EDITED AND WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY HENRY MORLEY.</h1>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
<p>CONTENTS.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>INTRODUCTION</p>
<p>CHAUCER’S MANCIPLE’S TALE OF PHŒBUS AND THE CROW<br /> Modernised
by LEIGH HUNT.<br />CHAUCER’S RIME OF SIR THOPAS<br /> Modernised
by Z. A. Z.<br />CHAUCER’S FRIAR’S TALE; OR, THE SUMNER
AND THE DEVIL<br /> Modernised
by LEIGH HUNT.<br />CHAUCER’S REVE’S TALE<br /> Modernised
by R. H. HORNE.<br />CHAUCER’S POEM OF THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE<br /> Modernised
by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.<br />GOWER’S TREASURE TROVE<br /> Modernised
from the fifth book of the CONFESSIO AMANTIS.<br />LYDGATE’S LONDON
LICKPENNY</p>
<p>LYDGATE’S BICORN AND CHICHEVACHE</p>
<p>DUNBAR’S BEST TO BE BLYTH</p>
<p>DRAYTON’S DOWSABELL</p>
<p>DRAYTON’S NYMPHIDIA</p>
<p>POPE’S RAPE OF THE LOCK</p>
<p>COWPER’S JOHN GILPIN</p>
<p>BURNS’S TAM O’SHANTER</p>
<p>HOOD’S DEMON SHIP</p>
<p>HOOD’S TALE OF A TRUMPET</p>
<p>GLOSSARY</p>
<p>NOTES</p>
<p>THE GAME OF OMBRE</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>The 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>“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>“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>“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>“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>“‘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>“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>“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>“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>“‘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>“‘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> “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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>CHAUCER’S MANCIPLE’S TALE OF PHŒBUS AND THE CROW<br />MODERNISED
BY LEIGH HUNT.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p>NOTE.</p>
<p><i>The reader is to understand, that all the persons previously described
in the “Prologue to the Canterbury Tales” are now riding
on their way to that city, and each of them telling his tale respectively,
which is preceded by some little bit of incident or conversation on
the road. The agreement, suggested by the Host of the Tabard,
was, first, that each pilgrim should tell a couple of tales while going
to Canterbury, and another couple during the return to London; secondly,
that the narrator of the best one of all should sup at the expense of
the whole party; and thirdly, that the Host himself should be gratuitous
guide on the journey, and arbiter of all differences by the way, with
power to inflict the payment of travelling expenses upon any one who
should gainsay his judgment. During the intervals of the stories
he is accordingly the most prominent person</i>. - LEIGH HUNT.</p>
<p><i>PROLOGUE TO THE MANCIPLE’S TALE.</i></p>
<p>Wottest thou, reader, of a little town,
<a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17">{17}</a><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> 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> “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> 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">{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> “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> And true it was, the cook drank fast enough;<br />Down
went the drink out of the gourd, <i>fluff, fluff:<br /></i>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> 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>“Well, sire,” quoth he, “now hark to what I say.”</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p><i>THE MANCIPLE’S TALE OF PHŒBUS AND THE CROW</i>.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p>When 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> 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">{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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> However, I am no text-spinning man;<br />So to my tale
I go, as I began.</p>
<p> 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> 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> “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> 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> 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> 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">{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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>CHAUCER’S RIME OF SIR THOPAS<br />MODERNISED BY Z. A. Z.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p><i>PROLOGUE TO SIR THOPAS.</i></p>
<p>1.<br />Now 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>2.<br />“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>3.<br />“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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p><i>THE RIME OF SIR THOPAS.</i></p>
<p><i>FYTTE THE FIRST</i>. <a name="citation30"></a><a href="#footnote30">{30}</a></p>
<p>1.<br />Listen, lordlings, in good intent,<br />And I will tell you
<i>verament<br /></i> 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>2.<br />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>3.<br />Sir Thopas was a doughty swain,<br />Fair was his face as
<i>pain de Maine,<br /></i> 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>4.<br />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>5.<br />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>6.<br />Full many a maiden bright in bower<br />Was sighing for him
<i>par amour<br /></i> 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>7.<br />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>8.<br />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>9.<br />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>10.<br />The birds all sang, as tho’ ’twere May;<br />The
spearhawk, and the popinjay,
<a name="citation32"></a><a href="#footnote32">{32}</a><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>11.<br />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>12.<br />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>13.<br />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>14.<br />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>15.<br />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>16.<br />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>17.<br />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>18.<br />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’<br /></i>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>19.<br />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>20.<br />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>21.<br />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>22.<br />“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>23.<br />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>24.<br />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">{35}</a><br /> To
guard right well his heart.</p>
<p>25.<br />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>26.<br />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>27.<br />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>28.<br />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>29.<br />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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p><i>FYTTE THE SECOND.</i></p>
<p>1.<br />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>2.<br />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>3.<br />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>4.<br />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>5.<br />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><i>[Here Chaucer is interrupted in his Rime.]</i></p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p><i>EPILOGUE TO RIME.</i></p>
<p>“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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>CHAUCER’S FRIAR’S TALE; or, THE SUMNER AND THE DEVIL<br />MODERNISED
BY LEIGH HUNT.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p>There 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> 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,<br /></i>They
have no hold, these cursed thieves, on us;<br />Nor never shall have,
let ’em thieve till doom.</p>
<p> [“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> “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> 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> 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> “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> 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> 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">{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> “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> “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> 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> “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> “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> “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> “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> “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> 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> “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> 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, 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> “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> 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> 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> “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> “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> “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> “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> 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> “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> And with that word the fiend him swept below,<br />Body
and soul. He went where Sumners go.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>CHAUCER’S REVE’S TALE<br />MODERNISED BY R. H. HORNE.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p><i>THE REVE’S PROLOGUE.</i></p>
<p>When all had laughed at this right foolish case<br />Of Absalom and
credulous Nicholas,
<a name="citation49"></a><a href="#footnote49">{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> “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">{50}</a></p>
<p> “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> 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> “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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p><i>THE REVE’S TALE</i>.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<p>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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> And when the horse was loose he ’gan to race<br />Unto
the wild mares wandering in the fen,<br />With <i>wehee! 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> 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> 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> “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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> “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> 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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>CHAUCER’S POEM OF THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE<br />MODERNISED
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>1.<br />The God of Love - <i>ah, benedicite!<br /></i>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>2.<br />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>3.<br />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>4.<br />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>5.<br />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>6.<br />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>7.<br />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>8.<br />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>9.<br />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>10.<br />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>11.<br />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>12.<br />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>13.<br />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>14.<br />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>15.<br />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>16.<br />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>17.<br />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>18.<br />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>19.<br />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>20.<br />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>21.<br />“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>22.<br />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>23.<br />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>24.<br />“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>25.<br />“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 OSEE, OSEE; then how may I<br />Have knowledge,
I thee pray, what this may be?”</p>
<p>26.<br />“Ah, fool!” quoth she, “wist thou not
what it is?<br />Oft as I say OSEE, OSEE, 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>27.<br />“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 OSEE I cry; take heed!”</p>
<p>28.<br />“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>29.<br />“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>30.<br />“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>31.<br />“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>32.<br />“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>33.<br />“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>34.<br />“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>35.<br />“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>36.<br />“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>37.<br />“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>38.<br />“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>39.<br />“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>40.<br />“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>41.<br />“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>42.<br />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>43.<br />“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>44.<br />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>45.<br />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>46.<br />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>47.<br />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>48.<br />“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>49.<br />“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>50.<br />“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>51.<br />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>52.<br />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>53.<br />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>54.<br />“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>55.<br />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>56.<br />“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>57.<br />“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>58.<br />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>
<p>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>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>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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p><i>L’ENVOY.</i></p>
<p>Pleasure’s 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><i>EXPLICIT.</i></p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>TREASURE TROVE<br />MODERNISED FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF GOWER’S
“CONFESSIO AMANTIS.”</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>In 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>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>“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>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>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>“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>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>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>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>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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>LONDON LICKPENNY<br />BY JOHN LYDGATE.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>To 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>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>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>Unto the Common Pleas I yode tho,
<a name="citation81"></a><a href="#footnote81">{81}</a><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>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>In Westminster Hall I found out one<br /> Which went in
a long gown of ray,
<a name="citation82a"></a><a href="#footnote82a">{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>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 or buy?
<a name="citation82b"></a><a href="#footnote82b">{82b}</a><br /> Fine
felt hats, or spectacles to read?<br /> Lay down your silver,
and here you may speed.”</p>
<p>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>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">{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>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>Then went I forth by London Stone,<br /> Throughout all
Can’wick Street.
<a name="citation83"></a><a href="#footnote83">{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>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>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>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>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>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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>BICORN AND CHICHEVACHE<br />BY JOHN LYDGATE.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p><i>First there shall stand an image in Poet-wise, saying these verses:-</i></p>
<p>O prudent 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">{85a}</a><br /> Is
granted to these beastés twain.</p>
<p><i>Then shall be pourtrayed two beasts, one fat; another lean.</i></p>
<p>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>Of Chichevache and of Bicorn,
<a name="citation85b"></a><a href="#footnote85b">{85b}</a><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">{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, of the country
of Bicornis, and say these three verses following:-</i></p>
<p>“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>“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>“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">{86a}</a><br /> All
such my stomach will defy.”
<a name="citation86b"></a><a href="#footnote86b">{86b}</a></p>
<p><i>Then shall be pourtrayed a company of men coming towards this
beast Bicornis, and say these four ballads:-</i></p>
<p>“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>“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>“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>“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,
crying to all wives, and say this verse:-</i></p>
<p>“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, slender and
lean, with sharp teeth, and on her body nothing but skin and bone.</i></p>
<p>“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">{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>“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>“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>“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 so prudént
<a name="citation88a"></a><a href="#footnote88a">{88a}</a><br /> They
will no more be patient.”</p>
<p><i>Then shall be pourtrayed, after Chichevache, an old man with a
baton on his back, menacing the beast for devouring of his wife.</i></p>
<p>“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>“For now of newé, for their prow,
<a name="citation88b"></a><a href="#footnote88b">{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>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>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">{89}</a><br /> Linkéd
in a double chain.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>BEST TO BE BLYTH<br />BY WILLIAM DUNBAR.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Full oft I muse, and hes in thocht<br />How this fals Warld is ay
on flocht,<br /> Quhair no thing ferme is nor degest;
<a name="citation91a"></a><a href="#footnote91a">{91a}</a>
<a name="citation91d"></a><a href="#footnote91d">{91d}</a><br />And
when I haif my mynd all socht,<br /> For to be blyth me think
it best.</p>
<p>This warld ever dois flicht and wary,
<a name="citation91b"></a><a href="#footnote91b">{91b}</a><br />Fortoun
sa fast hir quheill dois cary,<br /> Na tyme but turning
can tak rest; <a name="citation91e"></a><a href="#footnote91e">{91e}</a><br />For
quhois fats change suld none be sary,<br /> For to be blyth
me think it best.</p>
<p>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>Quha with this warld dois warsill and stryfe,
<a name="citation91c"></a><a href="#footnote91c">{91c}</a><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>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>Quho suld for tynsall drowp or de,
<a name="citation92a"></a><a href="#footnote92a">{92a}</a><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>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>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">{92b}</a><br /> For
to be blyth me think it best.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>DOWSABELL<br />BY MICHAEL DRAYTON.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Far in the country of Arden<br />There woned a knight, hight Cassamen,
<a name="citation93d"></a><a href="#footnote93d">{93d}</a><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>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 the leir <a name="citation93a"></a><a href="#footnote93a">{93a}</a>
<a name="citation93b"></a><a href="#footnote93b">{93b}</a><br /> Of
mickle courtesie.</p>
<p>The silk well couth she twist and twine,<br />And make the finé
marché pine, <a name="citation93c"></a><a href="#footnote93c">{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>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>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 wool, <a name="citation94a"></a><a href="#footnote94a">{94a}</a><br />And
white as snow on Peakish hull, <a name="citation94b"></a><a href="#footnote94b">{94b}</a><br /> Or
swan that swims in Trent.</p>
<p>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">{94c}</a><br />The
honeysuckle, the harlock,
<a name="citation94d"></a><a href="#footnote94d">{94d}</a><br />The
lily and the lady-smock,
<a name="citation94k"></a><a href="#footnote94k">{94k}</a><br /> To
deck her summer-hall.
<a name="citation94e"></a><a href="#footnote94e">{94e}</a></p>
<p>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">{94f}</a><br /> And
piped full merrily.</p>
<p>He learned his sheep as he him list, <a name="citation94g"></a><a href="#footnote94g">{94g}</a><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>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>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 skin, <a name="citation94h"></a><a href="#footnote94h">{94h}</a><br />His
cockers were of cordiwin,
<a name="citation94i"></a><a href="#footnote94i">{94i}</a> <a name="citation94j"></a><a href="#footnote94j">{94j}</a><br /> His
hood of minivere.</p>
<p>His awl and lingell in a thong;
<a name="citation95a"></a><a href="#footnote95a">{95a}</a><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>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>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>“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>“Of love, fond boy, take then no keep,”
<a name="citation95b"></a><a href="#footnote95b">{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>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>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>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>“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>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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>NYMPHIDIA, THE COURT OF FAIRY<br />By MICHAEL DRAYTON.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>Old 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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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 by two and three, <a name="citation98"></a><a href="#footnote98">{98}</a><br /> Just
as their fancy casts them.</p>
<p>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>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>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>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>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>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>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 that bloweth;
<a name="citation100"></a><a href="#footnote100">{100}</a><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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>“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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>“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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>“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>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>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>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>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 brain mixed therewithal;
<a name="citation108a"></a><a href="#footnote108a">{108a}</a><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>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>“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>“By the mandrake’s dreadful groans;
<a name="citation108b"></a><a href="#footnote108b">{108b}</a><br />By
the lubrican’s sad moans;
<a name="citation108c"></a><a href="#footnote108c">{108c}</a><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">{108d}</a><br />I
charge thee thou this place forsake,<br /> Nor of Queen Mab
be prattling!</p>
<p>“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>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>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>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>“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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>“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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>When to th’ infernal Styx she goes,<br />She takes the fogs
from thence that rose,<br />And in a bag doth them enclose:<br /> When
well she had them blended,<br />She hies her then to Lethe spring, <a name="citation114"></a><a href="#footnote114">{114}</a><br />A
bottle and thereof doth bring,<br />Wherewith she meant to work the
thing<br /> Which only she intended.</p>
<p>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>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>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>“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>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>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>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>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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>POPE’S RAPE OF THE LOCK.<br />AN HEROI-COMICAL POEM.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p> <i>Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare
capillos;<br /> Sed juvat, hoc precibus
me tribuisse tuis.<br /></i> -
MART., <i>Epigr</i>. xii. 84.</p>
<p>CANTO I.</p>
<p>What 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> 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> 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> “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> “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> “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> “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> “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> 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> 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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>CANTO II.</p>
<p>Not 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> “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> “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> “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> “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> “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> 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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>CANTO III.</p>
<p>Close 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> 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> 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; <a name="citation125"></a><a href="#footnote125">{125}</a><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> 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> The skilful Nymph reviews her force with care:<br />“Let
Spades be trumps!” she said, and trumps they were.</p>
<p> 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, that Kings and Queens o’erthrew
<a name="citation126"></a><a href="#footnote126">{126}</a><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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> “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">{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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>CANTO IV.</p>
<p>But 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> 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> 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 at her head. <a name="citation130"></a><a href="#footnote130">{130}</a></p>
<p> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> 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> “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> 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> “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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>CANTO V.</p>
<p>She 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> “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> 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> 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> 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> 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> “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> 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> 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> 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> “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> “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> “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> 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> 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> 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 soon shall view in cloudless skies, <a name="citation137"></a><a href="#footnote137">{137}</a><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> 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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN:<br /><i>SHOWING HOW HE WENT
FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED AND CAME SAFE HOME AGAIN.</i></h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>BY WILLIAM COWPER.</p>
<p>John Gilpin was a citizen<br /> Of credit and renown,<br />A
train-band captain eke was he<br /> Of famous London town.</p>
<p>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>“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>“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>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>“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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>’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>“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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>“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>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>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>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>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>“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>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>“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>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>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>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>“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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>“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>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>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>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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>TAM O’SHANTER: A TALE</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>BY ROBERT BURNS.</p>
<p><i> “Of brownyis and of bogilis
full is this buke.”<br /></i> -
GAWIN DOUGLAS.</p>
<p>When chapman billies leave the street,
<a name="citation147a"></a><a href="#footnote147a">{147a}</a><br />And
drouthy neibors neibors meet,
<a name="citation147b"></a><a href="#footnote147b">{147b}</a><br />As
market days are wearin’ late,<br />And folk begin to tak the gate;
<a name="citation147h"></a><a href="#footnote147h">{147h}</a><br />While
we sit bousing at the nappy,<br />And gettin’ fou and unco’
happy, <a name="citation147c"></a><a href="#footnote147c">{147c}</a><br />We
think na on the lang Scots miles,<br />The mosses, waters, slaps, and
stiles, <a name="citation147d"></a><a href="#footnote147d">{147d}</a><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>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>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">{147e}</a><br />A
blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; <a name="citation147f"></a><a href="#footnote147f">{147f}</a><br />That
frae November till October,<br />Ae market day thou wasna sober;<br />That
ilka melder, wi’ the miller
<a name="citation147g"></a><a href="#footnote147g">{147g}</a>
<a name="citation147i"></a><a href="#footnote147i">{147i}</a><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
Jean till Monday. <a name="citation148f"></a><a href="#footnote148f">{148f}</a><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">{148a}</a><br />By
Alloway’s auld haunted kirk.</p>
<p>Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet
<a name="citation148b"></a><a href="#footnote148b">{148b}</a><br />To
think how mony counsels sweet,<br />How mony lengthened, sage advices,<br />The
husband frae the wife despises!</p>
<p>But to our tale:- Ae market night,<br />Tam had got planted unco
right.<br />Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
<a name="citation148c"></a><a href="#footnote148c">{148c}</a><br />Wi’
reaming swats, that drank divinely; <a name="citation148d"></a><a href="#footnote148d">{148d}</a><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>Care, mad to see a man sae happy,<br />E’en drowned himsel
among the nappy! <a name="citation148e"></a><a href="#footnote148e">{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>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>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>Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,<br />A better never lifted leg,<br />Tam
skelpit on through dub and mire,
<a name="citation149a"></a><a href="#footnote149a">{149a}</a><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">{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 bore the beams were glancing,
<a name="citation150h"></a><a href="#footnote150h">{150h}</a><br />And
loud resounded mirth and dancing.</p>
<p>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">{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, i’
the east,
<a name="citation150b"></a><a href="#footnote150b">{150b}</a><br />There
sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast,<br />A towzie tyke, black, grim,
and large, <a name="citation150c"></a><a href="#footnote150c">{150c}</a><br />To
gie them music was his charge;<br />He screwed the pipes, and gart them
skirl, <a name="citation150d"></a><a href="#footnote150d">{150d}</a><br />Till
roof and rafters a’ did dirl.
<a name="citation150e"></a><a href="#footnote150e">{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">{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 did gape;
<a name="citation150g"></a><a href="#footnote150g">{150g}</a><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>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
to the wark,
<a name="citation151a"></a><a href="#footnote151a">{151a}</a><br />And
linket at it in her sark.
<a name="citation151h"></a><a href="#footnote151h">{151h}</a>
<a name="citation151b"></a><a href="#footnote151b">{151b}</a></p>
<p>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">{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>But withered beldams, auld and droll,<br />Rigwoodie hags, wad spean
a foal, <a name="citation151d"></a><a href="#footnote151d">{151d}</a>
<a name="citation151j"></a><a href="#footnote151j">{151j}</a><br />Lowpin’
and flingin’ on a cummock,
<a name="citation151e"></a><a href="#footnote151e">{151e}</a><br />I
wonder didna turn thy stomach.</p>
<p>But Tam kenned what was what fu’ brawlie,<br />“There
was ae winsome wench and walie,”
<a name="citation151i"></a><a href="#footnote151i">{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, o’ Paisley harn,
<a name="citation151f"></a><a href="#footnote151f">{151f}</a><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>Ah! little kenn’d thy reverend grannie,<br />That sark she
coft for her wee Nannie, <a name="citation151g"></a><a href="#footnote151g">{151g}</a><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 and blew wi’ might and
main: <a name="citation152a"></a><a href="#footnote152a">{152a}</a><br />Till
first ae caper, syne anither,<br />Tam tint his reason a’thegither,
<a name="citation152b"></a><a href="#footnote152b">{152b}</a><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">{152c}</a><br />When
plundering herds assail their byke; <a name="citation152d"></a><a href="#footnote152d">{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 screech and hollow. <a name="citation152e"></a><a href="#footnote152e">{152e}</a></p>
<p>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">{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>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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>THE DEMON SHIP</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>BY THOMAS HOOD.</p>
<p>’Twas 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>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>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> .
. .
. .</p>
<p>“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>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 GRIMLY ONE who
stood beside the mast!</p>
<p>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>Loud laughed that SABLE MARINER, 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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>A TALE OF A TRUMPET</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>BY THOMAS HOOD.</p>
<p><i>“Old woman, old woman, will you go a-shearing?<br />Speak
a little louder, for I’m very hard of hearing.”<br /> -
Old Ballad.</i></p>
<p>Of 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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>“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> “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>“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>“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>“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>“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>“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>“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>“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>“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>“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>“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>“’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>“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>“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> .
. .
. .<br /> .
. .
. .</p>
<p>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>’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>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>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>’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>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>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>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>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>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>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> 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>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>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> .
. .
. .</p>
<p> ’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>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>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>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>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>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>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>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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>MORAL.</p>
<p>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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>GLOSSARY</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p><a name="footnote114"></a><a href="#citation114">{114}</a> <b>And</b>,
in old English could be placed like “also” in different
parts of a sentence. Thus, in <i>Nymphidia</i>,<br /> “She
hies her then to Lethe spring,<br /> A
bottle and thereof doth bring.”<br /><a name="footnote129"></a><a href="#citation129">{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">{94h}</a> <b>Bauzon</b>,
badger. French, <i>bausin</i>.<br /><a name="footnote147a"></a><a href="#citation147a">{147a}</a>
<b>Billies</b>, fellows, used rather contemptuously.<br /><a name="footnote147f"></a><a href="#citation147f">{147f}</a>
<b>Blellum</b>, idle talker.<br /><a name="footnote150a"></a><a href="#citation150a">{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.<br /><a name="footnote150h"></a><a href="#citation150h">{150h}</a>
<b>Bore</b>, hole in the wall.<br /><a name="footnote91e"></a><a href="#citation91e">{91e}</a>
<b>But</b>, “without,” “but merriness,” without
mirth.<br /><a name="footnote152d"></a><a href="#citation152d">{152d}</a>
<b>Byke</b>, hive.</p>
<p><a name="footnote150f"></a><a href="#citation150f">{150f}</a> <b>Cantrip</b>,
charm, spell. Icelandic, <i>gandr</i>, enchantment; <i>gand-reithr</i>
was the witches’ ride.<br /><a name="footnote83"></a><a href="#citation83">{83}</a>
<b>Can’wick Street</b>, Candlewick, where now there is Cannon
Street.<br /><a name="footnote86a"></a><a href="#citation86a">{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.<br /><a name="footnote85b"></a><a href="#citation85b">{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.<br /><a name="footnote94i"></a><a href="#citation94i">{94i}</a>
<b>Cockers</b>, rustic half-boots.<br /><a name="footnote151g"></a><a href="#citation151g">{151g}</a>
<b>Coft</b>, bought. German, <i>kaufte</i>.<br /><a name="footnote82b"></a><a href="#citation82b">{82b}</a>
<b>Copen</b>, buy. Dutch, <i>koopen</i>.<br /><a name="footnote94j"></a><a href="#citation94j">{94j}</a>
<b>Cordiwin</b>, or cordewane, Cordovan leather.<br /><a name="footnote89"></a><a href="#citation89">{89}</a>
<b>Coueyn</b>, <b>coveyne</b> convening or conspiring of two or more
to defraud.<br /><a name="footnote94f"></a><a href="#citation94f">{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.<br /><a name="footnote151c"></a><a href="#citation151c">{151c}</a>
<b>Creeshie flannen</b>, greasy flannel.<br /><a name="footnote151e"></a><a href="#citation151e">{151e}</a>
<b>Cummock</b>, a short staff with a crooked head.<br /><a name="footnote151f"></a><a href="#citation151f">{151f}</a>
<b>Cutty</b>, short; so cutty pipe, short pipe.</p>
<p><a name="footnote85a"></a><a href="#citation85a">{85a}</a> <b>Darrain</b>,
decide. To “arraign” was to summon <i>ad</i> <i>rationes</i>
to the pleadings. To darraign was <i>derationare</i>, to bring
them to a decision.<br /><a name="footnote86b"></a><a href="#citation86b">{86b}</a>
<b>Defy</b>, digest. As in the Vision of Piers Plowman<br /> “wyn
of Ossye<br /> Of Ruyn and of Rochel, the
rost to defye.”<br />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.<br /><a name="footnote91d"></a><a href="#citation91d">{91d}</a>
<b>Degest</b>, orderly. To “digest” is to separate
and arrange in an orderly manner.<br /><a name="footnote150e"></a><a href="#citation150e">{150e}</a>
<b>Dirl</b>, vibrate, echo.<br /><a name="footnote147b"></a><a href="#citation147b">{147b}</a>
<b>Drouthy</b>, droughty, thirsty.<br /><a name="footnote151a"></a><a href="#citation151a">{151a}</a>
<b>Duddies</b>, clothes.</p>
<p><a name="footnote152e"></a><a href="#citation152e">{152e}</a> <b>Eldritch</b>,
also elrische, alrische, alry, having relation to elves or evil spirits,
supernatural, hideous, frightful.<br /><a name="footnote152f"></a><a href="#citation152f">{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">{108d}</a> <b>Fire-drake</b>,
dragon breathing out fire.<br /><a name="footnote91b"></a><a href="#citation91b">{91b}</a>
<b>Flicht and wary</b>, fluctuate and change.<br /><a name="footnote92b"></a><a href="#citation92b">{92b}</a>
<b>Frawfull fary</b>, froward tumult.<br /><a name="footnote152c"></a><a href="#citation152c">{152c}</a>
<b>Fyke</b>, fuss.<br /><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30">{30}</a>
<b>Fytte</b>, a song, canto. First English, <i>fit</i>, a song.<br />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">{150g}</a> <b>Gab</b>,
mouth.<br /><a name="footnote148b"></a><a href="#citation148b">{148b}</a>
<b>Gars</b>, makes; “gars me greet,” makes me weep.<br /><a name="footnote147h"></a><a href="#citation147h">{147h}</a>
<b>Gate</b>, road. Icelandic, <i>gata</i>.</p>
<p><a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35">{35}</a> <b>Habergeon</b>,
small hauberk, armour for the neck. Old High German, <i>hals</i>,
the neck; <i>bergan</i>, to protect.<br /><a name="footnote94d"></a><a href="#citation94d">{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</i> <i>arvensis</i>, the mustard-plant.<br /><a name="footnote98"></a><a href="#citation98">{98}</a>
<b>Hays</b>, The hay was a French dance, with many turnings and windings.<br /><a name="footnote100"></a><a href="#citation100">{100}</a>
<b>Hient Hill</b>, Ben Hiand, in Ardnamurchan, Argyleshire.<br /><a name="footnote152a"></a><a href="#citation152a">{152a}</a>
<b>Hotched</b>, hitched.</p>
<p><a name="footnote147g"></a><a href="#citation147g">{147g}</a> <b>Ilka</b>,
each one, every.<br /><a name="footnote85c"></a><a href="#citation85c">{85c}</a>
<b>Infere</b>, together.<br /><a name="footnote148c"></a><a href="#citation148c">{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">{95b}</a> <b>Keep</b>,
“take thou no keep” - heed, “never mind.”<br /><a name="footnote148f"></a><a href="#citation148f">{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">{94k}</a> <b>Ladysmock</b>,
<i>Cardamine</i> <i>pratensis</i>.<br /><a name="footnote93b"></a><a href="#citation93b">{93b}</a>
<b>Leir</b>, lore, doctrine.<br /><a name="footnote94g"></a><a href="#citation94g">{94g}</a>
<b>Learned his sheep</b>, taught his sheep.<br /><a name="footnote94a"></a><a href="#citation94a">{94a}</a>
<b>Lemster</b>, Leominster.<br /><a name="footnote95a"></a><a href="#citation95a">{95a}</a>
<b>Lingell</b>, a shoemaker’s thong. Latin <i>lingula</i>.<br /><a name="footnote151h"></a><a href="#citation151h">{151h}</a>
<b>Linkit</b>, tripped, moved briskly.<br /><a name="footnote108c"></a><a href="#citation108c">{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">{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.<br /><a name="footnote93c"></a><a href="#citation93c">{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.<br /><a name="footnote130"></a><a href="#citation130">{130}</a>
<b>Megrim</b>, pain on one side of the head, headache. French
<i>migraine</i>, from Gr. <i>eemikranía</i>.<br /><a name="footnote147i"></a><a href="#citation147i">{147i}</a>
<b>Melder</b>, milling. The quantity of meal ground at once.<br /><a name="footnote148a"></a><a href="#citation148a">{148a}</a>
<b>Mirk</b>, dark.<br /><a name="footnote108a"></a><a href="#citation108a">{108a}</a>
<b>Molewarp</b>, mole. First English, <i>moldwearp</i>.</p>
<p><a name="footnote148e"></a><a href="#citation148e">{148e}</a> <b>Nappy</b>,
nap, strong beer.</p>
<p><a name="footnote126"></a><a href="#citation126">{126}</a> <b>Pam</b>,
Knave of Clubs, the highest card in the game of Loo, derived from “palm,”
as “trump” from “triumph.”<br /><a name="footnote137"></a><a href="#citation137">{137}</a>
<b>Partridge</b>, a maker of prophetic almanacs, who was ridiculed by
Swift as type of his bad craft.<br /><a name="footnote94b"></a><a href="#citation94b">{94b}</a>
<b>Peakish hull</b>, hill by the Peak of Derbyshire.<br /><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19">{19}</a>
<b>Pose</b>, catarrh. First English, <i>gepósu</i>.<br /> “By
the pose in thy nose,<br /> And the
gout in thy toes.”<br /> -
<i>Beaumont and Fletcher.<br /></i><a name="footnote88b"></a><a href="#citation88b">{88b}</a>
<b>Prow</b>, profit. Old French, <i>prou</i>, <i>preu - “Oïl
voir, sire, pour vostre preu i viens.” - Garin le Loharain</i>.</p>
<p><a name="footnote91a"></a><a href="#citation91a">{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">{82a}</a> <b>Ray</b>,
striped cloth.<br /><a name="footnote151d"></a><a href="#citation151d">{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.<br /><a name="footnote82c"></a><a href="#citation82c">{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">{151b}</a> <b>Sark</b>,
shirt or shift. First English, <i>syrc</i>.<br /><a name="footnote94c"></a><a href="#citation94c">{94c}</a>
<b>Setiwall</b>, garden valerian.<br /><a name="footnote147e"></a><a href="#citation147e">{147e}</a>
<b>Skellum</b>, a worthless fellow. German, <i>schelm</i>.<br /><a name="footnote149a"></a><a href="#citation149a">{149a}</a>
<b>Skelpit</b>, beat the ground with strong pulsation; rode quickly;
pounded along.<br /><a name="footnote150d"></a><a href="#citation150d">{150d}</a>
<b>Skirl</b>, sound shrill.<br /><a name="footnote147d"></a><a href="#citation147d">{147d}</a>
<b>Slaps</b>, breaks in walls or hedges; also narrow passes.<br /><a name="footnote149b"></a><a href="#citation149b">{149b}</a>
<b>Smoored</b>, smothered.<br /><a name="footnote151j"></a><a href="#citation151j">{151j}</a>
<b>Spean</b>, wean.<br /><a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32">{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.”<br /><a name="footnote94e"></a><a href="#citation94e">{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.”<br /><a name="footnote148d"></a><a href="#citation148d">{148d}</a>
<b>Swats</b>, new ale, wort. First English, <i>swate</i>.</p>
<p><a name="footnote88c"></a><a href="#citation88c">{88c}</a> <b>Teen</b>,
vexation, grief.<br /><a name="footnote152b"></a><a href="#citation152b">{152b}</a>
<b>Tint</b>, lost.<br /><a name="footnote150c"></a><a href="#citation150c">{150c}</a>
<b>Towsie tyke</b>, a large rough cur.<br /><a name="footnote92a"></a><a href="#citation92a">{92a}</a>
<b>Tynsall</b>, loss.</p>
<p><a name="footnote147c"></a><a href="#citation147c">{147c}</a> <b>Unco’</b>,
uncouth, more than was known usually.</p>
<p><a name="footnote151i"></a><a href="#citation151i">{151i}</a> <b>Wally</b>,
<b>walie</b> thriving. First English, <i>wælig</i>.<br /><a name="footnote91c"></a><a href="#citation91c">{91c}</a>
<b>Warsill</b>, wrestle.<br /><a name="footnote150b"></a><a href="#citation150b">{150b}</a>
<b>Winnock-bunker</b>, the window seat.<br /><a name="footnote93d"></a><a href="#citation93d">{93d}</a>
<b>Woned</b>, dwelt.<br /><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17">{17}</a>
<b>Wottest</b>, knowest.<br /><a name="footnote88a"></a><a href="#citation88a">{88a}</a>
<b>Woxen</b>, grown.</p>
<p><a name="footnote93a"></a><a href="#citation93a">{93a}</a> <b>Yconned</b>,
taught.<br /><a name="footnote81"></a><a href="#citation81">{81}</a>
<b>Yode</b>, went. First English, <i>eóde</i>, past of
<i>gán</i>, to go.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2>NOTES.</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21">{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">{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">{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">{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">{50}</a> Or thus:-<br /> For
when our climbing’s done our speech aspires;<br /> <i> E’en
in our ashes live their wonted fires.<br /></i>The original lines are:-<br /> “For
whanne we may not don than wol we speken,<br /> Yet
in our ashen olde is fyre yreken.”<br />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:-<br /> Ch’
i’ veggio nel pensier, dolce mio foco,<br /> Fredda
una lingua, e duo begli occhi chiusi<br /> Rimaner
dopo noi pien’ di faville.<br />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>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<h2><a name="footnote125"></a><a href="#citation125">{125}</a> THE GAME
OF OMBRE</h2>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
<p>was invented by the Spaniards, and called by them <i>El</i> <i>Hombre</i>,
or THE MAN, <i>El</i> <i>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>
<pre> Black. Red.
Spadille, Ace of Spades. Spadille, Ace of Spades.
Manille, the Two of the Manille, the Seven of the trump suit.
Trump suit.
Basto, Ace of Clubs. Basto, Ace of Clubs.
King. Punto, Ace of the trump suit.
Queen. King
Knave. Queen.
Seven. Knave.
Six. Two.
Five. Three.
Four. Four.
Three. Five.
Six.
</pre>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
<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, 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>
<p>“‘Let spades be trumps,’ she said, and trumps they
were.”</p>
<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>“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</i>-<i>prendre</i>,
each of her opponents would have three counters to pay her.</p>
<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PLAYFUL POEMS ***</p>
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