Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
The Lapdog Cured.
“Hunger's guid kitchen.”
—Scotch Proverb.
—Scotch Proverb.
The sweetest, fairest, country belle
Was Miss Sophini Bagatelle,
Whose feelings were more truly tender
Than any of her two-faced gender,
Which kept her in perpetual trouble,
For things as trifling as a bubble;
But nought her spirits so did clog,
As what befell her dear Lapdog.
Was Miss Sophini Bagatelle,
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Than any of her two-faced gender,
Which kept her in perpetual trouble,
For things as trifling as a bubble;
But nought her spirits so did clog,
As what befell her dear Lapdog.
This self-same pest, by name called Tiny,
Imported was from Cochin China,
As story went—but judges swore
The elf was bred in Labradore,
While others proved, by demonstration,
Its lineage was of our own nation.
But, leaving cavils to each critic,
Poor harmless pamper'd Tiny fell sick,
For which event Miss did so pine,
Some thought her threaten'd with decline;
So when Mamma heard this suspicion,
She call'd the village sage physician,
Who, being the family's true health warden,
Charged Miss to walk oft in the garden;
As nought could better banish sorrow
Than roaming in the fields of Flora.
Imported was from Cochin China,
As story went—but judges swore
The elf was bred in Labradore,
While others proved, by demonstration,
Its lineage was of our own nation.
But, leaving cavils to each critic,
Poor harmless pamper'd Tiny fell sick,
For which event Miss did so pine,
Some thought her threaten'd with decline;
So when Mamma heard this suspicion,
She call'd the village sage physician,
Who, being the family's true health warden,
Charged Miss to walk oft in the garden;
As nought could better banish sorrow
Than roaming in the fields of Flora.
One morn, as Miss, for recreation,
Began the day's perambulation,
With Tiny's case still fresh in mind,
She thus address'd her gard'ner hind—
A man who, though in humble station,
Knew more than nursing a carnation.
Began the day's perambulation,
With Tiny's case still fresh in mind,
She thus address'd her gard'ner hind—
A man who, though in humble station,
Knew more than nursing a carnation.
“O John, my Tiny now hath quite
Lost every spark of appetite;
For, though I've tried him o'er and o'er
With all that's nice within our door,
He eyes all with as little care
As he could live on common air:
And while I see him daily languish,
My heart is like to break with anguish!
And now, John, think you ought could be
Applied to set poor Tiny free
From trouble? I'd reward the wight
With twenty guineas, when my sight
Was bless'd in seeing Tiny eat
His wonted quantity of meat!”
Lost every spark of appetite;
For, though I've tried him o'er and o'er
With all that's nice within our door,
He eyes all with as little care
As he could live on common air:
And while I see him daily languish,
My heart is like to break with anguish!
And now, John, think you ought could be
Applied to set poor Tiny free
From trouble? I'd reward the wight
With twenty guineas, when my sight
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His wonted quantity of meat!”
While leaning foreward o'er his spade,
John fondly heard the offer made,
And thought within himself meanwhile,
He'd gain the sum with little toil.
Thrice o'er his face his hand he drew,
Then rubbed well his sweaty brow,
And seem'd as if in study lost
On what would take both skill and cost;
So, having hemm'd! his voice to clear,
He wheedled thus in Misses' ear:—
John fondly heard the offer made,
And thought within himself meanwhile,
He'd gain the sum with little toil.
Thrice o'er his face his hand he drew,
Then rubbed well his sweaty brow,
And seem'd as if in study lost
On what would take both skill and cost;
So, having hemm'd! his voice to clear,
He wheedled thus in Misses' ear:—
“You offer well, ma'am; yet, since I
Can boast but small proficiency
In physic, you, perchance may be
Averse to trust his cure with me;
Else would I try what skill I have
Your little fav'rite's life to save.”
Can boast but small proficiency
In physic, you, perchance may be
Averse to trust his cure with me;
Else would I try what skill I have
Your little fav'rite's life to save.”
“Good John,” cried Miss, “O try your best
To help the creature so oppress'd,
And if good fate should you succeed,
You shall receive the proffer'd meed!”
To help the creature so oppress'd,
And if good fate should you succeed,
You shall receive the proffer'd meed!”
At close of day, when toil was o'er,
John homeward pamper'd Tiny bore,
Well knowing, if the squeamish elf
Felt hunger as oft as himself,
No surfeit qualms had e'er assail'd him,
Nor frisky health had ever fail'd him.
Close-shut within a cellar dark,
This demi-god was left to bark
And whine; nor did John ope the prison
Till thrice the sun had set and risen.
By this time hunger bit so keen,
That carrion vile a feast had been
To suff'ring convalescent Tiny,
Who now, with fasting, had grown spleeny.
John homeward pamper'd Tiny bore,
Well knowing, if the squeamish elf
Felt hunger as oft as himself,
No surfeit qualms had e'er assail'd him,
Nor frisky health had ever fail'd him.
Close-shut within a cellar dark,
This demi-god was left to bark
And whine; nor did John ope the prison
Till thrice the sun had set and risen.
By this time hunger bit so keen,
That carrion vile a feast had been
To suff'ring convalescent Tiny,
Who now, with fasting, had grown spleeny.
Thrice every day Miss call'd on John,
Inquiring how the cure went on—
So, as the wily gard'ner knew,
Hunger had tamed the pining shrew,
He offer'd Miss an interview
With the lank patient, who, that morn,
Was from his sable cloister borne,
In purpose that Miss should not see
John's well-meant stern austerity.
Inquiring how the cure went on—
So, as the wily gard'ner knew,
Hunger had tamed the pining shrew,
He offer'd Miss an interview
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Was from his sable cloister borne,
In purpose that Miss should not see
John's well-meant stern austerity.
Tine was produced: says John, “Now, madam,
But three rounds of the sun I've had 'im,
And, without aid of cordial-drinks,
He's cured; and, sharp as any lynx,
You see he scents in quest of meat.
Cries Miss, “John, let me see him eat!”
John, from a pantry, forthwith drew
A mess that made Miss puke to view:
Sour broth, cold porridge, and hens' drummock,
That would have tried a stout sow's stomach.
Tine, heedless of the rank stale savour,
Deem'd it of most delicious flavour;
And lick'd and breath'd, and lick'd again,
Till he the whole contents did drain:
While Miss, o'erwhelm'd with wonder, stands,
With eyes a-stare and lifted hands,
Blessing the fate, so kind, so good,
That sent John to her servitude:
Then out her silken purse she drew,
To give the trusty hind his due,
And would have paid the proffer'd sum
Most cheerfully;—but John says, “Um!
'Tis far too much, ma'am—but one guinea
I charge for thus recov'ring Tiny;
Since little did the med'cine cost:
I've not the sting of conscience lost.
If the disease return again
To give the creature further pain—
Than three short days, let him no longer
Remain oppress'd: the cure is—hunger!”
But three rounds of the sun I've had 'im,
And, without aid of cordial-drinks,
He's cured; and, sharp as any lynx,
You see he scents in quest of meat.
Cries Miss, “John, let me see him eat!”
John, from a pantry, forthwith drew
A mess that made Miss puke to view:
Sour broth, cold porridge, and hens' drummock,
That would have tried a stout sow's stomach.
Tine, heedless of the rank stale savour,
Deem'd it of most delicious flavour;
And lick'd and breath'd, and lick'd again,
Till he the whole contents did drain:
While Miss, o'erwhelm'd with wonder, stands,
With eyes a-stare and lifted hands,
Blessing the fate, so kind, so good,
That sent John to her servitude:
Then out her silken purse she drew,
To give the trusty hind his due,
And would have paid the proffer'd sum
Most cheerfully;—but John says, “Um!
'Tis far too much, ma'am—but one guinea
I charge for thus recov'ring Tiny;
Since little did the med'cine cost:
I've not the sting of conscience lost.
If the disease return again
To give the creature further pain—
Than three short days, let him no longer
Remain oppress'd: the cure is—hunger!”
Thus Tine was cured, and John rewarded,
And Miss against consumption guarded.
And Miss against consumption guarded.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |