 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
85
NUGÆ
87
LEVI MOSES
Sed quò divitias hæc per tormenta coactas?
Cum furor haud dubius, cum sit manifesta phrenesis
Ut locuples moriaris egenti vivere fato?
Juv.
Cum furor haud dubius, cum sit manifesta phrenesis
Ut locuples moriaris egenti vivere fato?
Juv.
Ma name'sh Levi Moshesh: I tink I vash born,
Dough I cannot exactly remember,
In Roshemary-Lane, about tree in de morn,
Shome time in de mont of November.
Ma fader cried “clothesh,” trough de shtreetsh ash he vent,
Dough he now shleeping under de shtone ish,
He made by hish bargains two hundred per shent,
And dat vay he finger'd de monish.
Dough I cannot exactly remember,
In Roshemary-Lane, about tree in de morn,
Shome time in de mont of November.
Ma fader cried “clothesh,” trough de shtreetsh ash he vent,
Dough he now shleeping under de shtone ish,
He made by hish bargains two hundred per shent,
And dat vay he finger'd de monish.
Ma fader vash vise: very great vash hish shenshe:
De monish he alvaysh vash turning:
And early he taught me poundsh, shillingsh, and penshe;
“For,” shaysh he, “dat ish all dat'sh vorth learning.
Ash to Latin and Greek, 'tish all nonshenshe, I shay,
Vhich occasion to shtudy dere none ish;
But shtick closhe to Cocker, for dat ish de vay,
To teach you to finger de monish.”
De monish he alvaysh vash turning:
And early he taught me poundsh, shillingsh, and penshe;
“For,” shaysh he, “dat ish all dat'sh vorth learning.
Ash to Latin and Greek, 'tish all nonshenshe, I shay,
Vhich occasion to shtudy dere none ish;
But shtick closhe to Cocker, for dat ish de vay,
To teach you to finger de monish.”
88
To a shtock-broker den I apprentishe vash bound,
Who hish monish lov'd very shinsherely;
And, trough hish inshtructions, I very shoon found,
I ma bushinesh knew pretty clearly.
Shaysh he: “cheat a little: 'tish no shuch great crime,
Provided it cleverly done ish:”
Sho I cleverly cheated him every time
I could manage to finger hish monish.
Who hish monish lov'd very shinsherely;
And, trough hish inshtructions, I very shoon found,
I ma bushinesh knew pretty clearly.
Shaysh he: “cheat a little: 'tish no shuch great crime,
Provided it cleverly done ish:”
Sho I cleverly cheated him every time
I could manage to finger hish monish.
And den I shet up for a broker mashelf,
And Fortune hash shmil'd on my laborsh;
I've minded de main-chanshe, and shcrap'd up de pelf,
And ruin'd von half of ma neighboursh.
If any von cash on goot bondsh vould obtain,
Very shoon ready for him de loan ish;
And about shent per shent ish de int'resht I gain,
And dat vay I finger de monish.
And Fortune hash shmil'd on my laborsh;
I've minded de main-chanshe, and shcrap'd up de pelf,
And ruin'd von half of ma neighboursh.
If any von cash on goot bondsh vould obtain,
Very shoon ready for him de loan ish;
And about shent per shent ish de int'resht I gain,
And dat vay I finger de monish.
To part vit ma monish I alvaysh vash loth;
For ma table no daintiesh I dish up:
I dine on two eggsh, and I shup on de broth,
But I feasht vonsh a veek like a bishop!
Ev'ry Shaturday night, on a grishkin of pork
I regale bote mashelf and ma croniesh;
And I play on de grishkin a goot knife and fork,
Dough dat runsh avay vit de monish!
For ma table no daintiesh I dish up:
I dine on two eggsh, and I shup on de broth,
But I feasht vonsh a veek like a bishop!
Ev'ry Shaturday night, on a grishkin of pork
I regale bote mashelf and ma croniesh;
And I play on de grishkin a goot knife and fork,
Dough dat runsh avay vit de monish!
To de presheptsh ma fader inshtill'd in ma mind
I have ever been conshtant and shteady:
To learning or pleasure I ne'er vash inclin'd,
For neider vould bring in de ready.
And into ma pocketsh de monish to bring
Ma perpetual shtudy alone ish,
For de monish indeed ish a very goot ting,
Oh, a very goot ting ish de monish!
I have ever been conshtant and shteady:
89
For neider vould bring in de ready.
And into ma pocketsh de monish to bring
Ma perpetual shtudy alone ish,
For de monish indeed ish a very goot ting,
Oh, a very goot ting ish de monish!
90
SLENDER'S LOVE-ELEGY
Come, Polyhymnia, heav'nly maid!
Oh deign an humble bard to aid,
Whose heart in tenfold chains is laid,
In Cupid's cage:
To Anna's name I strike the string;
Thence all my pains and pleasures spring:
Yes, I aspire thy praise to sing,
Oh sweet Anne Page!
Oh deign an humble bard to aid,
Whose heart in tenfold chains is laid,
In Cupid's cage:
To Anna's name I strike the string;
Thence all my pains and pleasures spring:
Yes, I aspire thy praise to sing,
Oh sweet Anne Page!
The lustre of thy soft blue eyes,
Thy lip that with the coral vies,
Might bid love's flames the breast surprise
Of stoic sage:
And cold indeed his heart must be,
Who could thy matchless features see,
And not at once exclaim, with me,
Oh sweet Anne Page!
Thy lip that with the coral vies,
Might bid love's flames the breast surprise
Of stoic sage:
And cold indeed his heart must be,
Who could thy matchless features see,
And not at once exclaim, with me,
Oh sweet Anne Page!
Wealth, pow'r, and splendor, I disown:
To them no real joys are known:
Thy unaffected charms alone
My heart engage:
Thou canst alone my bosom fire,
Thou canst alone my muse inspire,
To thee alone I tune the lyre,
Oh sweet Anne Page!
To them no real joys are known:
Thy unaffected charms alone
My heart engage:
Thou canst alone my bosom fire,
Thou canst alone my muse inspire,
To thee alone I tune the lyre,
Oh sweet Anne Page!
91
Against my passion's fond appeal
Should'st thou thy gentle bosom steel,
What pow'r the pangs I then should feel
Could e'er assuage?
To woods, to mountains would I fly;
Thy dear lov'd name unceasing sigh,
Till thousand echoes should reply:
Oh sweet Anne Page!
Should'st thou thy gentle bosom steel,
What pow'r the pangs I then should feel
Could e'er assuage?
To woods, to mountains would I fly;
Thy dear lov'd name unceasing sigh,
Till thousand echoes should reply:
Oh sweet Anne Page!
I cannot boast the art sublime,
Like some great poets of the time,
To sing, in lofty-sounding rhyme,
Of amorous rage:
But Love has taught me to complain;
Love has inspir'd this humble strain;
Then let me not still sigh in vain,
Oh sweet Anne Page!
Like some great poets of the time,
To sing, in lofty-sounding rhyme,
Of amorous rage:
But Love has taught me to complain;
Love has inspir'd this humble strain;
Then let me not still sigh in vain,
Oh sweet Anne Page!
92
A FRAGMENT
[Nay, deem me not insensible, Cesario]
Nay, deem me not insensible, Cesario,To female charms; nor think this heart of mine
Is cas'd in adamant; because, forsooth,
I cannot ogle, and hyperbolise,
And whisper tender nothings in the ear
Of ev'ry would-be beauty, holding out
The bright but treach'rous flame of flattery,
To watch the she-moths of a drawing-room
Sport round the beam, and burn their pretty wings,
Ere conscious of their danger: yet, believe me,
I love a maid whose untranscended form
Is yet less lovely than her spotless mind.
With modest frankness, unaffected genius,
Unchang'd good-humour, beauty void of art,
And polish'd wit that seeks not to offend,
And winning smiles that seek not to betray,
She charms the sight, and fascinates the soul.
Where dwells this matchless nymph? alas, Cesario!
'Tis but a sickly creature of my fancy,
Unparallell'd in nature.
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |