The Works of John Hall-Stevenson ... Corrected and Enlarged. With Several Original Poems, Now First Printed, and Explanatory Notes. In Three Volumes |
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| TWO LYRIC EPISTLES:
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 | The Works of John Hall-Stevenson |  |
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TWO LYRIC EPISTLES:
OR, MARGERY THE COOK-MAID TO THE CRITICAL REVIEWERS.
I write a sad hand; but my Sister Margery, she writes better.
1762.
87
MARGERY TO THE REVIEWERS.
By the backside! good lack, good lack!
Chain'd to the chimney corner like a monkey,
You are as spiteful as a black,
That has been drinking drink for drunky.
Chain'd to the chimney corner like a monkey,
You are as spiteful as a black,
That has been drinking drink for drunky.
I think I see my Master leap and skip,
And whisk about his tail;
Just like a pinnace when she makes a trip,
And whisks about her sail.
And whisk about his tail;
Just like a pinnace when she makes a trip,
And whisks about her sail.
So have I seen a Highlander retire,
And turn about to court the wind,
Shot by a cinder leaping from the fire
Amongst his precious parts behind.
And turn about to court the wind,
Shot by a cinder leaping from the fire
Amongst his precious parts behind.
Laugh! no, he need not be afraid,
Though 'twould be comical, no doubt,
To see him squatting like a maid;
And making water like a spout.
Though 'twould be comical, no doubt,
To see him squatting like a maid;
And making water like a spout.
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But I should laugh at you Reviewers,
If I could view your buttocks bare,
Genteelly truss'd and pink'd with skewers,
And nicely larded like a Hare.
If I could view your buttocks bare,
Genteelly truss'd and pink'd with skewers,
And nicely larded like a Hare.
Nay, I could wish
To see your backsides sing'd and flead,
Just like your favourite dish,
A singged hede:
To smell them savoury and reeky,
Like Cocky Leaky.
To see your backsides sing'd and flead,
Just like your favourite dish,
A singged hede:
To smell them savoury and reeky,
Like Cocky Leaky.
And as your Cook, at a smith's forge,
Gives the fine flavour of the wool
To a sheep's skull,
Which makes you eat till you regorge;
Gives the fine flavour of the wool
To a sheep's skull,
Which makes you eat till you regorge;
So the communication is so great
Between your brains and your backside,
Between the seat
Of Laziness and seat of Pride,
Between your brains and your backside,
Between the seat
Of Laziness and seat of Pride,
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That tho' the brains of all you jokers
Never struck fire into a single joke,
Yet if your bums were sing'd with pokers,
Your brains perhaps, might yield a little smoke;
Never struck fire into a single joke,
Yet if your bums were sing'd with pokers,
Your brains perhaps, might yield a little smoke;
Spite of your heavy jokes,
That fall upon the head,
Like apoplectic strokes,
Or pigs of lead.
That fall upon the head,
Like apoplectic strokes,
Or pigs of lead.
We'll laugh, to see your Highland sparks,
Your Highland breeding, and good manners,
To see them strut about the parks,
With shirts display'd behind, like banners;
Your Highland breeding, and good manners,
To see them strut about the parks,
With shirts display'd behind, like banners;
Shewing our maids, and modest wives,
Such modest sights,
As make their husbands weary of their lives:
They make them pass such restless nights,
Such modest sights,
As make their husbands weary of their lives:
They make them pass such restless nights,
Our Lovers sicken and despair,
Dejection preys upon our beaux;
The expectations of our fair
Are rais'd so highly, by such shows.
Dejection preys upon our beaux;
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Are rais'd so highly, by such shows.
The Indians, I'm told, are more polite,
They don't produce their brawny powers,
They only shew their powers by candle-light,
Amongst their favourite squaws at certain hours.
They don't produce their brawny powers,
They only shew their powers by candle-light,
Amongst their favourite squaws at certain hours.
Good Sirs, if I aright can read,
You are design'd for books,
Just as your friends, beyond the Tweed,
For gardeners and cooks.
You are design'd for books,
Just as your friends, beyond the Tweed,
For gardeners and cooks.
Your pride and laziness, I guess,
Disorder and torment your minds,
And bring your country to distress,
For want of labourers and hinds.
Disorder and torment your minds,
And bring your country to distress,
For want of labourers and hinds.
I think, like you, it is a shame,
That its best blood should now be bleeding;
And blame
The Government for such proceeding:
That its best blood should now be bleeding;
And blame
The Government for such proceeding:
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I would have sent the very worst,
I would have sent you all a packing;
You should have gone the very first,
You're good enough for a good thwacking.
I would have sent you all a packing;
You should have gone the very first,
You're good enough for a good thwacking.
But I am weary of inditing
Such letters;
And so I take my leave of writing;
And leave you to my betters.
Such letters;
And so I take my leave of writing;
And leave you to my betters.
92
EPISTLE THE SECOND.
You who assemble in disguise,
And take your stands in secret places,
Spitting into our mouths and eyes,
With a pretence to wash our faces!
And take your stands in secret places,
Spitting into our mouths and eyes,
With a pretence to wash our faces!
But, when you 'spy a Scotchman walking,
His air and manner is so pleasing,
That you immediately leave hawking,
And offer him a pickle of your sneesing.
His air and manner is so pleasing,
That you immediately leave hawking,
And offer him a pickle of your sneesing.
I do not want to rob you of your snuff,
Give it your countrymen, it likes me well
But do not fright us, like Macduff,
Calling aloud, to ring the alarum bell;
Suspend your purulence, swallow your spittle,
And listen to an Englishman a little.
Give it your countrymen, it likes me well
But do not fright us, like Macduff,
Calling aloud, to ring the alarum bell;
Suspend your purulence, swallow your spittle,
And listen to an Englishman a little.
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You know you spit at us, and hawk and cough,
As if you had a charter;
And also know we wipe it meekly off,
Like Charles the blessed Martyr.
As if you had a charter;
And also know we wipe it meekly off,
Like Charles the blessed Martyr.
Whilst you go on, abuse, and rail,
As if we were not fellow-creatures;
Laying about you like a flail,
And bruising all our English features;
As if we were not fellow-creatures;
Laying about you like a flail,
And bruising all our English features;
If we poor Englishmen but smile,
It is high treason,
Tho' we are smiling all the while
Both with good nature and good reason;
It is high treason,
Tho' we are smiling all the while
Both with good nature and good reason;
Not throwing dirt at a whole nation
,
But laughing at the folly of a few,
Whose prejudice and affectation
Become them just as they do you;
But laughing at the folly of a few,
Whose prejudice and affectation
Become them just as they do you;
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As if they were a chosen race,
Clear and exempted, by their birth
From all the vices that disgrace
All other children of the earth.
Clear and exempted, by their birth
From all the vices that disgrace
All other children of the earth.
I very readily excuse
Your want of complaisance
To my strange Muse,
Dress'd in the careless dress of France,
A la Fontaine,
A slattern, but quite plain.
Your want of complaisance
To my strange Muse,
Dress'd in the careless dress of France,
A la Fontaine,
A slattern, but quite plain.
According to your notions,
You must dislike the flimsy wench.
Her dress and all her motions
Are so intolerably French;
A graceless copy of a graceless hobbler,
Just like a gouty shoe made by a cobler.
You must dislike the flimsy wench.
Her dress and all her motions
Are so intolerably French;
A graceless copy of a graceless hobbler,
Just like a gouty shoe made by a cobler.
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You think the bagpipe's notes are sweeter
Than any pipe or any string;
The Ass preferr'd the Cuckow's song and metre
To all the Warblers of the Spring:
Either the organs or the soul
Of you and Asses are so droll .
Than any pipe or any string;
The Ass preferr'd the Cuckow's song and metre
To all the Warblers of the Spring:
Either the organs or the soul
Of you and Asses are so droll .
Your ignorance and want of Sense,
Your want of Ears, I do forgive;
But unprovok'd Malevolence
I'll never pardon whilst I live;
Such your attempt to prove me to the North
A foe to its acknowledg'd worth.
Your want of Ears, I do forgive;
But unprovok'd Malevolence
I'll never pardon whilst I live;
Such your attempt to prove me to the North
A foe to its acknowledg'd worth.
In every country I despise
A heart that's arrogant and narrow,
As much as I esteem and prize
David Hume and David's marrow.
Now to conclude,
I am yours Reviewing or Review'd.
A heart that's arrogant and narrow,
As much as I esteem and prize
David Hume and David's marrow.
Now to conclude,
I am yours Reviewing or Review'd.
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But as my Fables are not to your liking,
Witness the Fable of last year ,
I send you something that's more striking,
Concise and clear:
I think you call it in your brogue
An apologue.
Witness the Fable of last year ,
I send you something that's more striking,
Concise and clear:
I think you call it in your brogue
An apologue.
According to the Reviewers the greatest pleasure that the whole English nation enjoys, is to see their brethren of North Britain in their theatres represented as a parcel of scoundrels.
The Reviewers say that the Verses in the Fables for Grown Gentlemen hobble strangely, from fourteen to two syllables: that may partly be owing to their want of ears; they must have the same objection to Fontaine.
97
THE APOLOGUE.
Some folks get no more by their reading
And meditations;
Than Apes and Monkeys by their breeding
And observations:
This, I agree,
May be applied either to you or me.
And meditations;
Than Apes and Monkeys by their breeding
And observations:
This, I agree,
May be applied either to you or me.
The Fable that comes after
Can only be applied to you;
If it excites a little laughter,
It answers all my view.
Can only be applied to you;
If it excites a little laughter,
It answers all my view.
An Ape, by trade an imitator,
Had spent the best part of his days;
Like a Reviewer or Translator
Of Farces, Interludes, and Plays;
For ever copying, and itching
To shew his talents in the kitchen.
He would divert you, if you were not nice
And difficult to please,
By cracking lice,
And catching fleas;
Which he would chaw,
And cram into a kitten's maw.
Had spent the best part of his days;
Like a Reviewer or Translator
Of Farces, Interludes, and Plays;
For ever copying, and itching
To shew his talents in the kitchen.
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And difficult to please,
By cracking lice,
And catching fleas;
Which he would chaw,
And cram into a kitten's maw.
In short,
Jacko had studied many a trick,
Which tricks, instead of making sport,
Would oft'ner make you sick:
Yet he would make you, now and then,
Laugh like the foolishest of men.
Jacko had studied many a trick,
Which tricks, instead of making sport,
Would oft'ner make you sick:
Yet he would make you, now and then,
Laugh like the foolishest of men.
The Cook-maid by the fire was fast asleep,
No kind of harm suspecting,
Jacko, the Ape, was playing at bopeep,
Reviewing and reflecting,
Whether from liquor or from whim,
The Cook-maid laid in a strange trim.
Hard-by a razor left upon a chair
By Jackanapes was quickly seiz'd.
No kind of harm suspecting,
Jacko, the Ape, was playing at bopeep,
Reviewing and reflecting,
Whether from liquor or from whim,
The Cook-maid laid in a strange trim.
Hard-by a razor left upon a chair
By Jackanapes was quickly seiz'd.
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The Cook-maid's beard, expos'd and bare,
The grinning villain rubb'd and greas'd;
Then snapp'd his fingers and look'd grave;
Flourish'd his razor, and began to shave.
The grinning villain rubb'd and greas'd;
Then snapp'd his fingers and look'd grave;
Flourish'd his razor, and began to shave.
Jacko proceeded without dread,
Chatter'd, and did not care a fig:
Poor Margery was hack'd and bled,
Like an assassinated Pig.
Chatter'd, and did not care a fig:
Poor Margery was hack'd and bled,
Like an assassinated Pig.
Rous'd by her pains, like frantic sleepers,
She snatch'd a pan of boiling broth,
Bubbling and running o'er with froth,
And threw it into Jacko's peepers;
Which blinded him, and spoil'd him past all cure,
Both for a Shaver and Reviewer.
She snatch'd a pan of boiling broth,
Bubbling and running o'er with froth,
And threw it into Jacko's peepers;
Which blinded him, and spoil'd him past all cure,
Both for a Shaver and Reviewer.
| The Works of John Hall-Stevenson | |