University of Virginia Library

Again the old dame rais'd her voice,
“Pray,” said the Doctor, “cease your noise,
Or else I fear you'll wake the dead,
Beneath the ground whereon you tread.”
The Sexton once more stopp'd his trade,
And spoke while resting on his spade:
“Your Rev'rence, please you, need not fear,
She'll recollect who's sleeping here:
'Twas one who gave her many a thwacking,
To punish her foul tongue for clacking.
Persuade her that her tongue would wake
Old Simon, and she ne'er would speak.
I knew old Simon Horner well, I dug his grave, I rung his knell,
Nay, well I know this is the spot Where his remains were left to rot;
And I do think, or I'm a fool, That this is honest Simon's scull;
And while I'm shov'ling 'mong these stones,
I bring to light his mould'ring bones.
Look dame and see how he is grinning,
To keep his wanton rib from sinning.”
“Have done,” the Doctor said, “have done,
Matthew this is too solemn fun;
If she will wed, why I must wed her, And let deriding folly bed her.
I cannot marry them to-day, So quickly send them both away.”
—Jack made appearance to resist,
Clench'd both his hands and shew'd his fist,
When the bold grave-man, at the meeting,
Gave the rude clown so sound a beating
That he forsook his hop'd-for bride,
While with his spade the conq'ror plied,
Stroke after stroke, the seat of shame,
Which blushing Muses never name,
And drove him, bellowing as he fled, From out the region of the dead.
Th'affrighted dame, pale and down-hearted,
To find that she was thus deserted,
Mutt'ring revenge, and swearing too,
Which she was sometimes apt to do,
While hobbling o'er sepulchral stones,
Was pelted by her husband's bones,
And Matthew chose to let her know
Whose bones they were at ev'ry throw.
And thus she pass'd amid the jeer Of all who were assembled there,
'Till of her cot she turn'd the latch And sought the shelter of her thatch.
Syntax, half smiling, said, “This tale
Will long be echoed through the vale;
And many here will lie and rot Before the story is forgot.”
Time passes on, whate'er our schemes,
Our waking or our sleeping dreams,
Whether life's pleasure or its pain Join in our course or form the train;
And it ran on until the hour Call'd Syntax to th'appointed Tour:
Nor had he ever yet been seen As to outward form and mien,
In all that gives exterior show, So near what might be styl'd a beau,
As when he bade his home adieu With one great object in his view,
To take for better or for worse Heav'n's best of gifts or direst curse,
Which adds a smile or frown to life, In the fix'd image of a WIFE.
All things were in fit style prepar'd,
With his known valet for his guard:
Well-curried Punch the Doctor bore,
Which Pat bestrode in former Tour;
While he a farmer's gelding rode, Of strength to bear the weighty load:
For prancing Phillis now was gone To canter through a honey-moon;
And Syntax hop'd to see the day
When Punch would trot the self-same way.
—The journey's secret had been kept,
And while each curious tattler slept,
At early dawn, in tranquil state, The Doctor pass'd the village gate,
Look'd cheerful, nay, seem'd quite delighted,
In hope his pains would be requited.
In our life's chase what various game
Becomes the mortal huntsman's aim!
And then, with what discordant views He that variety pursues!
They, who with independence bless'd,
And by no urgent wants oppress'd,
Who range at large and unconfin'd, Free as the impulse of the wind,
Are often driven to and fro By the various gusts that blow,
Unless calm reason checks her force
And keeps them in their steady course.
The passions are of life the gales;
Then keep the helm and watch the sails,
And with a clear and steady eye Look to the haven where you hie.
“Nay ought I not,” thought our Divine,
“To look to that which may be mine?
It seems, indeed, a pretty port, Where Cupid may, perhaps, resort,
And learning with the Graces three Is said to live in harmony;
And who knows it may be my fate
To nestle there and change my state!
Its Mistress I've ne'er chanc'd to see,
Nor have her eyes e'er look'd on me, Or my originality.
It is not that my form pretends To dash at matrimonial ends;
'Tis by my tongue I must succeed,
'Tis that must do th'important deed:
I must depend on classic vigour To give allurement to my figure;
And, watching her coquettish art, Make my way boldly to her heart.
'Tis not by canting or by whining, Or a long course of undermining,
That this fine fort can be obtain'd; By sudden storm it must be gain'd.
Throw out false colours to her eye, By weavings fine of flattery;
That she those weaker parts may show
Which will not stand a sudden blow.
If thus my powers should succeed 'Twill be a more than glorious deed.
And if I fail 'twill be no more Than many a one has done before:
E'en heroes of the first renown, Have had their hopes all tumbled down,
But then they did not strive in vain Bravely to build them up again,
While persevering ardours bless Their final darings with success.
Thus cheer'd by hope, my prospect's fair,
But for struggles I prepare, I snap my fingers at despair.
Of these so tempting fair-ones three One will be full enough for me;
And my work must be idly done If I do not secure that one—
And if dispos'd to be as kind As the old dame I left behind:
If I could find a Widow Horner Wealthy and willing in a corner,
Well-looking and dispos'd to cooing; O it would save a world of wooing!
And then I should re-visit home Without another wish to roam.”
Thus half in earnest, half in joke,
He in soft, mutt'ring whispers spoke.
—Of saunt'ring folk he would enquire The name of ev'ry village spire,
Who was the Parson, who the 'Squire;
Whether the one his virtues prov'd
By such good deeds as made him lov'd,
And if the other did excel In the first art of preaching well.
Nor did he ever fail to speak With those he chanc'd to overtake;
And even had they nought to say He was as well content as they;
So that they did well-pleas'd appear, And give his words a list'ning ear.
'Twas thus he fail'd not to beguile With pleasant chat the ling'ring mile.
Phœbus his course had almost run,
And soon would put his night-cap on,
Thus to prepare him for his nap On the soft down of Thetis' lap
When the embower'd spot was seen
Of which Ma'am Omicron was Queen.
—A chance companion on the road, Who liv'd not far from her abode,
And happ'd to know the Doctor well,
Propos'd her mode of life to tell.
The Doctor too was glad to hear, And op'd an interested ear.