The Poems of John Byrom :: :: University of Virginia Library

Dear Peter, whose Absence, whate'er I may do
In a Week or two hence, at this Present I rue:
These Lines, in great Haste, I convey to the Mitre,
To tell the sad Plight of th' unfortunate Writer.

You have left your old Friend so affected with Grief,
That nothing but Riming can give him Relief;
Tho' the Muses were never worse put to their Trumps,
To comfort poor Bard in his sorrowful Dumps.

II

The Moment you left us, with Grief be it spoken,
This poor Heart of mine was as thoff it were broken;
And I almost faint still if a Carriage approach
That looks like a Highgate or Barnet Stage-coach;
And really, when first that old Vehicle gap'd
To take in Friend Pee—so the Fare had but scap'd,
If I did not half wish the Man might overturn it,
And swash it to Pieces, I am a sous'd Gurnet.

III

The Rhenish and Sugar, which at your Departure
We drank, would have made me, I hop'd, somewhat heartier;
Yet the Wine but more strongly to Weeping inclin'd,
And my Grief by the sugar was double-refin'd.

It is not to tell how my Breast fell a-throbbing,
When at the last Parting our Noses were bobbing!
Those sad farewell Accents—I think on 'em still—
“You'll remember to write, John?”—“Yes, Peter, I will.”

IV

You no sooner was gone, but this famous Metropolis,
That seem'd just before so exceedingly populous,
When I turn'd me towards it, seem'd all of a sudden
As if it was gone from the Place it had stood in.
But for Squire Hazel's Brother, sagacious Jack,
I should hardly have known how to find my Way back;
How he brought me from Smithfield to Dick's I can't say,
But remember the Charter-House stood in our Way.

V

At Dick's I repos'd me, and call'd for some Coffee,
And sweeten'd, and supt, and still kept thinking of ye;

But not with such Pleasure as when I came there
To wait 'till Sir Peter should chance to appear.
There, while I was turning you o'er in my Mind,
“Doctor, how do you do?” says a Voice from behind;
Thought I to myself: “I should know that same Organ;”—
And who should it be but my Friend Doctor Morgan?

VI

The Doctor and I took a small walk, and then
He went somewhere else, I to Richard's again.
All Ways have I try'd the sad Loss to forget.
I have saunter'd, writ Short-hand, eat Custard, et cet.
With honest Duke Humphrey I pass the long Day,
To others, as yet, having little to say;

For indeed, I must own, since the Loss of my Chum,
I am grown, as it were, a mere Gerund in Dumb.

VII

But, Muse! we forget that our Grief will prevent us
From treating of Matters more high and momentous.
Poor Jonathan Wild!—Clowes, Peer Williams and I
Have just been in waiting to see him pass by:

Good law! how the Houses were crowded with Mobs,
That lookt like Leviathan's Picture in Hobbes,
From the very ground Floor to the Top of the Leads,
While Jonathan past thro' a Holborn of Heads.

VIII

From Newgate to Tyburn he made his Procession,
Supported by two of the nimble Profession:

Between the unheeded poor Wretches he sat,
In his Night-gown and Wig, but without e'er a Hat;
With a Book in his Hand he went weeping and praying,
The Mob all along, as he pass'd 'em, huzzaing;
While a Parcel of Verses the Hawkers were hollowing,
Of which I can only remember these following:

IX

“The cunning old Pug ev'ry Body remembers,
“That, when he saw Chesnuts a roasting i'th' Embers,
“To save his own Bacon, took Puss's two Foots,
“And so out o'th' Embers he tickl'd his Nuts.
“Thus many a poor Rogue has been burnt in the Hand,
“And 'twas all Nuts to Jonathan, you understand;
“But he was not so cunning as Æsop's old Ape,
“For the Monkey has brought himself into the Scrape.”

X

And now, Peter, I'm come to the end of my Tether;
So I wish you good Company, Journey, and Weather,

When Friends in the Country enquire after John,
Pray tender my Service t'em all every one,
To the Ladies at Toft, Legh of High-Legh,
To the Altringham Meeting, if any there be,
Darcy Lever, Will Drake, Cattell and Cottam,—
An excellent Rhime that, to wind up one's Bottom!

Richard's Monday Night May 24, 1725.

P.S.

What News? Why the Lords, if the Minutes say true,
Have past my Lord Bolingbroke's Bill three to two,—

Three to one, I would say; and resolvèd also
That the Commons have made good their Articles—ho!
And To-morrow, Earl Thomas's Fate to determine,
Their Lordships come arm'd both with Judgment and Ermine;
The Surgeons, they say, have got Jonathan's Carcase,
If so, I'll go see't, or it shall be a hard Case.