The Dance of Life A Poem, by the author of "Doctor Syntax;%" [i.e. William Combe] Illustrated with coloured engravings, by Thomas Rowlandson |
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| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | CHAPTER I. INFANCY. The Dance of Life |  |
Nurse.
Lady.
“Now, of this Curate and the Nurse,
“Whose worth his genius did rehearse,
“I have a curious wish to know
“All that your memory can bestow.”
Nurse.
“'Twas Betty Jenkins, and her name
“Has long been known to village fame;
“Nor will her humble virtues die
“Till all forget her Elegy.
“I know not scarce a cottage-wall,
“Where, or in print, or school-boy's scrawl,
“But there it is expos'd to view,
“While some have fram'd and glaz'd it too;
“And each Fair-day, 'tis always seen
“Among the ballads on the Green.
“—The Curate, Doctor, well you know,
“Is gone where all the good will go.
“You lov'd him, for you knew him well;
“And what a fate is his to tell!
“E'en though I feel o'erwhelm'd with joy,
“In clasping close this lovely Boy,
“I cannot stop the heaving sigh,
“When it comes 'cross my memory.”
Doctor.
“Madam,—before you saw the light,
“The Curate bade the world good night:
“He sunk beneath some secret pain
“Whose cause he never would explain:
“As the Nurse says, I lov'd him well,
“And oft entreated him to tell
“The cause of his deep-rooted woe,
“And why his tears should gush and flow.
“For oft, as we together sat
“In learned talk, or common chat,
“Sorrow its sudden course would take,
“And his heart beat as it would break;
“That heart, as I can truly tell.
“Where Goodness' self was known to dwell.
“—Whims, sometimes, would disguise his sense;
“But then they never gave offence:
“In them he dress'd Benevolence.
“Though Wisdom was his guiding rule
“He sometimes seem'd to play the fool:
“For such appear'd, to common eyes,
“His high-wrought sensibilities.
“He ev'ry path of Science trod,
“From Nature up to Nature's God:
“The truths that in the Gospel shine,
“He taught with energy divine.
“O, what a mind was his to own!
“What beams of genius in him shone!
“They flash'd, but as the lightnings glare,
“Heightened by clouds of gloomy care.
“—The old Beech, at the Green Lane's end,
“Sadly reminds me of my friend:
“There he would sit full many an hour,
“And Virgil's classic page devour.
“When on the mould'ring bridge I look,
“That throws its old arch o'er the brook,
“Where, with cross'd arms, he oft would seem
“To watch the eddies of the stream;
“Although so many years are past,
“Since I beheld him breathe his last,
“So much he does my mem'ry share,
“I almost think I see him there.
“—But see, my Lady B--- is come,
“And patients wait my going home:
“I leave to Nurse the tale to tell—
“She loves to talk, and knows it well.
“Remember him? ah, many a year,
“When he was us'd to visit here,
“And all the madcap tricks he play'd
“With me, and Bet, the chamber-maid;
“His pranks too, with the good old nurse,
“On whom the Curate wrote the verse.
“Were I his waggeries to tell,
“That now within my mem'ry dwell:
“To reckon up his various sport
“A week, I think, would be too short.
“—Once, I shall ne'er forget the day,
“He met and stopp'd me on the way
“As I was trotting to the fair,
“And slily twitch'd the pie-ball'd mare;—
“The beast kick'd up, I stumbled over:
“What he did not, or did discover
“I know not; though it seem'd, he knew
“My garters were of deepest blue:
“But the next day, with cut and caper,
“He brought me tea, wrapp'd up in paper;
“And when the parcel was unroll'd
“It held, I saw, a piece of gold.
“—One afternoon he play'd a trick
“That made Nurse Jenkins sad and sick:
“Something he slipp'd into her cup,
“And chuckled as she drank it up.
“Sad and sick, indeed, it made her,
“But a King William's crown repaid her.
“—Nor shall I e'er forget the brawl
“At Lawyer Tenfold's funeral:
“It happen'd, as I well remember,
“On a cold fifth day of November,
“I'm sure 'twill never be forgot:—
“E'en now of Master William's plot
“The elder folks will talk and laugh,
“As they their evening home-brew'd quaff.
“—The day was verging to be dark,
“When just as John, the Parish Clerk,
“Was well prepar'd to tune a stave
“E'er they clos'd up the Lawyer's grave,
“Young Mischief slipp'd a kindled rocket,
“Or some strange fire-work in his pocket;
“Which, with a bounce un-orthodox,
“Blew up poor John's tobacco box
“And quickly scatter'd, here and there,
“All his Virginia in the air.
“Nay, with such force his elbow shook,
“That in the grave he dropp'd his book.
“The Rector, with quick step departed,
“Away the Clerk and mourners darted;
“And all declared the Devil was come
“To take the Lawyer Tenfold home.
“The Curate, on the morrow said,
“The Prayer-book had preserv'd the dead:
“For Holy Writ, wherever found,
“Would e'en Old Nick himself astound;
“And Lawyer Tenfold now would wait,
“Till Judgement Day to meet his fate.
“—When the Curate told my master,
“In his droll way, of this disaster,
“Sick as he was, Nurse Jenkins said,
“He laugh'd until he shook the bed.
“Merry he was till Life was past:
“Old Betty nurs'd him to the last;
“And she to me has often said—
“What a fine Christian end he made.
“He was my Lady's Uncle John,
“A stately man to look upon;
“Just like my present Master stood—
“Like him was always doing good.
“The Doctor knows, as well as I,
“That when he died—no, not an eye
“In all the country round was dry.”
“When he was us'd to visit here,
“And all the madcap tricks he play'd
“With me, and Bet, the chamber-maid;
“His pranks too, with the good old nurse,
“On whom the Curate wrote the verse.
“Were I his waggeries to tell,
“That now within my mem'ry dwell:
20
“A week, I think, would be too short.
“—Once, I shall ne'er forget the day,
“He met and stopp'd me on the way
“As I was trotting to the fair,
“And slily twitch'd the pie-ball'd mare;—
“The beast kick'd up, I stumbled over:
“What he did not, or did discover
“I know not; though it seem'd, he knew
“My garters were of deepest blue:
“But the next day, with cut and caper,
“He brought me tea, wrapp'd up in paper;
“And when the parcel was unroll'd
“It held, I saw, a piece of gold.
“—One afternoon he play'd a trick
“That made Nurse Jenkins sad and sick:
“Something he slipp'd into her cup,
“And chuckled as she drank it up.
“Sad and sick, indeed, it made her,
“But a King William's crown repaid her.
“—Nor shall I e'er forget the brawl
“At Lawyer Tenfold's funeral:
21
“On a cold fifth day of November,
“I'm sure 'twill never be forgot:—
“E'en now of Master William's plot
“The elder folks will talk and laugh,
“As they their evening home-brew'd quaff.
“—The day was verging to be dark,
“When just as John, the Parish Clerk,
“Was well prepar'd to tune a stave
“E'er they clos'd up the Lawyer's grave,
“Young Mischief slipp'd a kindled rocket,
“Or some strange fire-work in his pocket;
“Which, with a bounce un-orthodox,
“Blew up poor John's tobacco box
“And quickly scatter'd, here and there,
“All his Virginia in the air.
“Nay, with such force his elbow shook,
“That in the grave he dropp'd his book.
“The Rector, with quick step departed,
“Away the Clerk and mourners darted;
“And all declared the Devil was come
“To take the Lawyer Tenfold home.
22
“The Prayer-book had preserv'd the dead:
“For Holy Writ, wherever found,
“Would e'en Old Nick himself astound;
“And Lawyer Tenfold now would wait,
“Till Judgement Day to meet his fate.
“—When the Curate told my master,
“In his droll way, of this disaster,
“Sick as he was, Nurse Jenkins said,
“He laugh'd until he shook the bed.
“Merry he was till Life was past:
“Old Betty nurs'd him to the last;
“And she to me has often said—
“What a fine Christian end he made.
“He was my Lady's Uncle John,
“A stately man to look upon;
“Just like my present Master stood—
“Like him was always doing good.
“The Doctor knows, as well as I,
“That when he died—no, not an eye
“In all the country round was dry.”
23
“Now, of this Curate and the Nurse,
“Whose worth his genius did rehearse,
“I have a curious wish to know
“All that your memory can bestow.”
Nurse.
“'Twas Betty Jenkins, and her name
“Has long been known to village fame;
“Nor will her humble virtues die
“Till all forget her Elegy.
“I know not scarce a cottage-wall,
“Where, or in print, or school-boy's scrawl,
“But there it is expos'd to view,
“While some have fram'd and glaz'd it too;
“And each Fair-day, 'tis always seen
“Among the ballads on the Green.
“—The Curate, Doctor, well you know,
“Is gone where all the good will go.
“You lov'd him, for you knew him well;
“And what a fate is his to tell!
“E'en though I feel o'erwhelm'd with joy,
“In clasping close this lovely Boy,
24
“When it comes 'cross my memory.”
Doctor.
“Madam,—before you saw the light,
“The Curate bade the world good night:
“He sunk beneath some secret pain
“Whose cause he never would explain:
“As the Nurse says, I lov'd him well,
“And oft entreated him to tell
“The cause of his deep-rooted woe,
“And why his tears should gush and flow.
“For oft, as we together sat
“In learned talk, or common chat,
“Sorrow its sudden course would take,
“And his heart beat as it would break;
“That heart, as I can truly tell.
“Where Goodness' self was known to dwell.
“—Whims, sometimes, would disguise his sense;
“But then they never gave offence:
“In them he dress'd Benevolence.
25
“He sometimes seem'd to play the fool:
“For such appear'd, to common eyes,
“His high-wrought sensibilities.
“He ev'ry path of Science trod,
“From Nature up to Nature's God:
“The truths that in the Gospel shine,
“He taught with energy divine.
“O, what a mind was his to own!
“What beams of genius in him shone!
“They flash'd, but as the lightnings glare,
“Heightened by clouds of gloomy care.
“—The old Beech, at the Green Lane's end,
“Sadly reminds me of my friend:
“There he would sit full many an hour,
“And Virgil's classic page devour.
“When on the mould'ring bridge I look,
“That throws its old arch o'er the brook,
“Where, with cross'd arms, he oft would seem
“To watch the eddies of the stream;
“Although so many years are past,
“Since I beheld him breathe his last,
26
“I almost think I see him there.
“—But see, my Lady B--- is come,
“And patients wait my going home:
“I leave to Nurse the tale to tell—
“She loves to talk, and knows it well.
| CHAPTER I. INFANCY. The Dance of Life | |