Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies including The Chessiad, a Mock-Heroic, in Five Cantos; and The Wreath of Love, in Four Cantos. By C. Dibdin, the Younger |
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HORSES' BELLS;
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 | Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies |  |
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HORSES' BELLS;
OR, CUSTOM'S PREJUDICE.
Custom controls each human creature,
And ancient use is second nature.
Pope once declared, “I grieve to see
A post, though ere so old it be,
With which I've long acquainted been,
Displaced, howe'er improved the scene.”
Old customs have more meaning in 'em
Than half the whims imposed to thin 'em:
They sweet associations bring
To minds whence social feelings spring.
Let innovation, year by year,
With ancient custom interfere;
For gaining ground mistake mere movement,
And dub improvidence improvement;
Give me, for comfort, till life ends,
Old wine, old customs, and old friends.
And ancient use is second nature.
Pope once declared, “I grieve to see
A post, though ere so old it be,
With which I've long acquainted been,
Displaced, howe'er improved the scene.”
Old customs have more meaning in 'em
Than half the whims imposed to thin 'em:
They sweet associations bring
To minds whence social feelings spring.
Let innovation, year by year,
With ancient custom interfere;
For gaining ground mistake mere movement,
And dub improvidence improvement;
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Old wine, old customs, and old friends.
A farmer once, as story tells,
Aversion had to horses' bells;
Which, as the rustic team draws near,
Tingling in every road you hear:
Such music always sounds to me
Like symphonies of industry;
While every horse, as bell strikes louder,
See-saws his head, both sprack and prouder;
(Sprack is provincial, reader, know,
And means as much as comme il faut);
While John the carter joy gives vent,
Whistling ad lib. accomp'niment;
Or, haply, wedlock's joys is singing,
While jangling bells response are ringing.
Aversion had to horses' bells;
Which, as the rustic team draws near,
Tingling in every road you hear:
Such music always sounds to me
Like symphonies of industry;
While every horse, as bell strikes louder,
See-saws his head, both sprack and prouder;
(Sprack is provincial, reader, know,
And means as much as comme il faut);
While John the carter joy gives vent,
Whistling ad lib. accomp'niment;
Or, haply, wedlock's joys is singing,
While jangling bells response are ringing.
The man of whom my theme discourses
Banish'd the bells from all his horses;
While John, his carter, who demurr'd,
Thought horses without bells absurd;
Such music, to his rustic ears,
Was mundane “music of the spheres;”
He said fools only e'er could flout 'em,
And vow'd he ne'er drove well without 'em;
Thought it was antichristian art
From ancient customs to depart;
Ne'er to break one himself was known,
Which had from usage sacred grown;
Among them one which labouring men
Have sacred kept from long ere then,
Strictly as some keep church on Sunday,
Namely, to get drunk ev'ry Monday.
Of ancient customs thus tenacious,
John in their praise would prove loquacious;
And often hinted to his master,
That bells made horses travel faster;
But ne'er permission could obtain
To use “the bonny bells” again;
Which made him, though he “bore the brunt,”
For grief to sigh, or, rather, grunt;
But yet resolve (as he'd fain thrive),
Since lead he could not, still he'd drive,
But not a moment longer than
Th' year's end, which left him “his own man.”
Besides (which reconciled the hind
Somewhat), he found his master kind;
And gen'rous was his mistress too;
For, though suspected as a shrew,
To no one servant was't disaster—
She only ruled her lord and master.
Banish'd the bells from all his horses;
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Thought horses without bells absurd;
Such music, to his rustic ears,
Was mundane “music of the spheres;”
He said fools only e'er could flout 'em,
And vow'd he ne'er drove well without 'em;
Thought it was antichristian art
From ancient customs to depart;
Ne'er to break one himself was known,
Which had from usage sacred grown;
Among them one which labouring men
Have sacred kept from long ere then,
Strictly as some keep church on Sunday,
Namely, to get drunk ev'ry Monday.
Of ancient customs thus tenacious,
John in their praise would prove loquacious;
And often hinted to his master,
That bells made horses travel faster;
But ne'er permission could obtain
To use “the bonny bells” again;
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For grief to sigh, or, rather, grunt;
But yet resolve (as he'd fain thrive),
Since lead he could not, still he'd drive,
But not a moment longer than
Th' year's end, which left him “his own man.”
Besides (which reconciled the hind
Somewhat), he found his master kind;
And gen'rous was his mistress too;
For, though suspected as a shrew,
To no one servant was't disaster—
She only ruled her lord and master.
John's year expired: the farmer said,
“Well, John, you 've such attention paid,
No fault I find, but justly praise,
And hence, next year, your hire I'll raise;
To stay then must be your election,
I think you can have no objection.”
“Habjection?” John replied, “to you
I can't ha' none; nor missus too;
You're both so koin'd, I'd like to stay,
But then, I doant knaw what to say.”
“Not know!” rejoin'd the master.—“Why,”
Said John, “I'd not offend, not I;
But there's a summat I doant like,
And, though main sorry, I mun strike.”
“Strike?” cried the farmer, with surprise;
“Ees, sir,” said John; “the matter lies
I' this'n: I's a simple chap,
But then I knaws what's what, may hap,
Will drive a team wi' ony he,
But, then, things decent like mun be.
My heart wi' sheer vexation swells
To drive a team without the bells;
So dunsh without 'em t' horses seem,
It's all like driving in a dream;
So, if you bells refuse, which strange is,
Why, I mysel' mun ring the changes.”
'Tween interest and inclination,
John's master suffer'd keen vexation;
To grant the bells annoy'd him sore,
But John to lose annoy'd him more.
“Well, John,” he cried, “I'll not deny 'em;
To-morrow you shall go and buy 'em.”
“Thank ye,” cried John, with joyful heart;
“Now you and I will never part.”
He bought the bells, and dress'd his team,
While master's kindness was his theme:
The hour was two, the weather storming,
The season, some call night, some morning;
For night, with those whom fashion wins,
When labour's morning wakes begins.
Four horses for the team John dress'd,
While his warm bed the farmer press'd—
For John and Giles, a boyish clown,
Had in the dark to drive to town—
The horses in their gear he decks,
Their leathern belfries graced their necks;
But John, to town ere he'd away,
Thought he a duty had to pay;
And was to show his master moved
How bells the horses' looks improved;
So brought 'em to the farmer's door,
And waked him up with knocks and roar.
The night was bitter cold; his master,
Dreaming no doubt of some disaster,
Leap'd, in his shirt, from sleep and bed,
And through the casement thrust his head—
“John, what's the matter?” trembling cried—
“Look, zur, now look'ee,” John replied:
“Look?” cried the farmer, “look at what?”
“At th' horses,” John rejoin'd; “I've got
'Em dress'd, and of 'em you may crack;
You never zeed nought half so sprack.”
“Blockhead!” the shiv'ring farmer said,
The window closed and jump'd in bed,
Like a large lump of ice, so cold,
That, touching Mrs. Farmer, she
(Who dreaming was of scalding tea),
Waked at the touch; yet could not scold,
But jump'd clean out of bed:—it hit her,
(She after own'd) Jack Frost had bit her.
“Well, John, you 've such attention paid,
No fault I find, but justly praise,
And hence, next year, your hire I'll raise;
To stay then must be your election,
I think you can have no objection.”
“Habjection?” John replied, “to you
I can't ha' none; nor missus too;
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But then, I doant knaw what to say.”
“Not know!” rejoin'd the master.—“Why,”
Said John, “I'd not offend, not I;
But there's a summat I doant like,
And, though main sorry, I mun strike.”
“Strike?” cried the farmer, with surprise;
“Ees, sir,” said John; “the matter lies
I' this'n: I's a simple chap,
But then I knaws what's what, may hap,
Will drive a team wi' ony he,
But, then, things decent like mun be.
My heart wi' sheer vexation swells
To drive a team without the bells;
So dunsh without 'em t' horses seem,
It's all like driving in a dream;
So, if you bells refuse, which strange is,
Why, I mysel' mun ring the changes.”
'Tween interest and inclination,
John's master suffer'd keen vexation;
80
But John to lose annoy'd him more.
“Well, John,” he cried, “I'll not deny 'em;
To-morrow you shall go and buy 'em.”
“Thank ye,” cried John, with joyful heart;
“Now you and I will never part.”
He bought the bells, and dress'd his team,
While master's kindness was his theme:
The hour was two, the weather storming,
The season, some call night, some morning;
For night, with those whom fashion wins,
When labour's morning wakes begins.
Four horses for the team John dress'd,
While his warm bed the farmer press'd—
For John and Giles, a boyish clown,
Had in the dark to drive to town—
The horses in their gear he decks,
Their leathern belfries graced their necks;
But John, to town ere he'd away,
Thought he a duty had to pay;
81
How bells the horses' looks improved;
So brought 'em to the farmer's door,
And waked him up with knocks and roar.
The night was bitter cold; his master,
Dreaming no doubt of some disaster,
Leap'd, in his shirt, from sleep and bed,
And through the casement thrust his head—
“John, what's the matter?” trembling cried—
“Look, zur, now look'ee,” John replied:
“Look?” cried the farmer, “look at what?”
“At th' horses,” John rejoin'd; “I've got
'Em dress'd, and of 'em you may crack;
You never zeed nought half so sprack.”
“Blockhead!” the shiv'ring farmer said,
The window closed and jump'd in bed,
Like a large lump of ice, so cold,
That, touching Mrs. Farmer, she
(Who dreaming was of scalding tea),
Waked at the touch; yet could not scold,
82
(She after own'd) Jack Frost had bit her.
Well, John and Giles trudged on, both singing,
The horses neighing, bells all ringing,
Through frost and snow for four long miles,
And cheek by jowl went John and Giles.
Close by the leader's head they walk'd,
And oft of master's whimsies talk'd.
John so delighted was to hear
The bells again “salute his ear,”
He scarce had known that night throughout,
For rapture, what he'd been about;
And Giles, who'd imitate John's courses,
Thought, too, of nothing but the horses.
Said John, “Our measter brains mun lack,
To see the team so vary sprack,
And never to show satisfaction,
But call I blockhead; 'twere an action
That stoundies me; but, never mind,
I'ze sure i' th' county you 'll not find
Four nicer cattle; how they draw!
The cart to them seems like a straw,
Though loaded up tip-top; that tells
The sarvice, Giles, o' horses' bells.”
“We'll soon reach town at this fair trot.”
Said Giles (who now i' th' rear had got),
“The horses may, friend John, add rot un!
But for the cart, why, we've forgot un.”
The horses neighing, bells all ringing,
Through frost and snow for four long miles,
And cheek by jowl went John and Giles.
Close by the leader's head they walk'd,
And oft of master's whimsies talk'd.
John so delighted was to hear
The bells again “salute his ear,”
He scarce had known that night throughout,
For rapture, what he'd been about;
And Giles, who'd imitate John's courses,
Thought, too, of nothing but the horses.
Said John, “Our measter brains mun lack,
To see the team so vary sprack,
And never to show satisfaction,
But call I blockhead; 'twere an action
That stoundies me; but, never mind,
I'ze sure i' th' county you 'll not find
83
The cart to them seems like a straw,
Though loaded up tip-top; that tells
The sarvice, Giles, o' horses' bells.”
“We'll soon reach town at this fair trot.”
Said Giles (who now i' th' rear had got),
“The horses may, friend John, add rot un!
But for the cart, why, we've forgot un.”
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