The Works of John Hall-Stevenson :: :: University of Virginia Library

A taylor, bodkin-stitch, in a few years
Grew rich, and is increasing still,
By the nice conduct of his sheers,
And skill in drawing up a bill.
A bill, like any bill of Chancery,
Or my Lord North's bill of Fine—ansery—
His Budget like a giblet pie,
Furnish'd with gizzards, hearts and liver,
Pinions, necks, feet, and blood for ever,
And Goose-cap heads, that once look'd high.
Twelve miles from York, or thereabout,
Stitch bought a farm, he call'd Surtout—

211

His agent, every week that came,
Was sure to send him a stout hare,
Pigeons, and now and then some game,
With rabbits, taken in a snare.
In fine, Stitch liv'd like any Lord,
Any Lord Mayor that draws long corks—
Turkeys and geese smok'd on his board,
Like geese upon his board of works.
Besides, his farm produc'd him clear
In cash two hundred pounds a year.
Robin, a Farmer, was his factor,
The Taylor would not part with Hob,
So good a factor and transactor,
For the best regimental job;
Not to take measure of the King,
Although, perhaps, by such an honour,
His wife, a proud disdainful thing,
Might not take quite so much upon her:
A Knight's third cousin, where's the wonder
If Bodkin truckl'd and knock'd under;

212

Observe, that every Easter Sunday
Hob came to feast on paschal lamb,
And then return'd on Easter Monday
To tansy pudding and a ham.
The beds were full, when Robin came—
As harmless as his namesake bird,
Robin was forc'd to make a third,
And pig with Bodkin and his Dame.
Hob in his breeches went to bed,
And Mistress Stitch was in the middle,
Her face turn'd close to Bodkin's head,
To leather-breeches her bum-fiddle.
Bodkin's horn soon began to blow,
Hob was awake, and she also.
On certain signals from behind,
Hob his mask'd battery disclos'd,
Summon'd the fort, which was resign'd
Upon the terms that he propos'd.
They were oblig'd to take their leave,
At least for fear of a surprize,
Not without tears, you may believe,
And sleep in earnest clos'd their eyes.

213

Recruited with a few hours nap,
Hob gave her notice of his rising,
First at the door he gave a tap,
And then a rap that was surprizing:
As Madam Stitch in the conclusion
Receiv'd the coup-de-grace and was expiring,
Bodkin was wak'd by a contusion,
Studied the point and could not help admiring;
And then put back his hand, and lo!
He found Hob in the well below.
“Steal off,” said Stich, “and quit your ground,
'Tis well for you she sleeps so sound.
If my wife wakes and finds you got
Out of your road into her quarters,
She'll scratch your eyes out, she's so hot,
And strangle you in her Bath garters.”
“When I got there,” said Hob, “or how,
I know no more than you, I vow;
But in the well have got, through thick and thin—
Oft in my sleep I walk, they say,
And in my sleep must have walk'd in,
Said Hob, that must have been the way.”

214

Hob vanish'd—Mistress Stitch soon after
Furnish'd another scene for laughter;
She jogg'd her Spouse, and whisper'd low,
“Is Robin up and gone, or no?”
Bodkin replied, “At break of day—
Two hours ago he stole away.”
“I dreamt,” said she, and then awoke,
I thought 'twas you in such a cue,
I doubted whether it was you;
I thought you drove away like smoke:
I never felt so much delight,
Either in sleeping or awake—
I was afraid 'twas some mistake:
What would I give to dream it every night!
I was surpriz'd to find you grown
So lusty, and with so much bone,
And twice as strong, and stronger too,
Than when upon our wedding sheets,
For all that I could say or do,
You robb'd me of my virgin sweets.”

215

“'Twas but a dream,” said Stitch, “that's plain,
I'll try to make you dream again;”
He did his best, and Morpheus seiz'd her soon,
Bodkin got up at nine; she slept till noon.—

216

MORAL.

“The sex,” said a physician of the college,
“Like men, are either saints or sinners,
Like Eve, they long so much for knowledge,
They scarce have time to eat their dinners.”
The difference between them and us
Is this, the sex, both great and small,
All look as innocent as puss,
The greatest hypocrite of all.
But men oft glory in their shame,
And take our wives for lawful game.
Put not your trust in leather breeches,
Whether your wife's behind you, or before,
They all can tell, they are such witches,
Whether you sleep, or only feign a snore.
She knows her time, she gives an intimation
To Galligaskins; and, if he's inclined,
He will accept of madam's invitation,
Just as it suits, before you or behind.