Miscellanies in prose and verse on several occasions, by Claudero [i.e. James Wilson], son of Nimrod the Mighty Hunter. The Fourth Edition with large Additions |
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The wonderful Adventures and heroic Atchievements of Mad Tom.
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 | Miscellanies in prose and verse |  |
The wonderful Adventures and heroic Atchievements of Mad Tom.
The dog-star now rages, and Bedlam's broke out,
The madmen all run thro' our streets with a shout:
'Tis full moon and full sea, full tide in their head,
They threaten the poets, and fill them with dread!
Ye muses, be cautious what song ye inspire;
But let it be something with teeth and with fire:
Claudero, quite poor --- no poorer can be,
Yet values not madmen of any degree.
The madmen all run thro' our streets with a shout:
'Tis full moon and full sea, full tide in their head,
They threaten the poets, and fill them with dread!
Ye muses, be cautious what song ye inspire;
But let it be something with teeth and with fire:
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Yet values not madmen of any degree.
Mad Tom, the most dreadful of all the mad crew,
Has battled with drovers and butchers not few.
Thro' all the Grass Market he hath risked his skin;
Fought hostlers without doors, and stablers within.
Sore beat, and sore bruised, he's oftentimes been,
And kicked, and cuffed, and sent off with blue een:
By experience taught, he now gives the blow
(Like a traitor) behind, and knocks down the foe.
Has battled with drovers and butchers not few.
Thro' all the Grass Market he hath risked his skin;
Fought hostlers without doors, and stablers within.
Sore beat, and sore bruised, he's oftentimes been,
And kicked, and cuffed, and sent off with blue een:
By experience taught, he now gives the blow
(Like a traitor) behind, and knocks down the foe.
A captain, sore wounded, return'd from the war,
And supported by crutches, had many a scar,
Fell in with Mad Tom, --- a quarrel ensu'd,
But Tom durst not fight him; no, not for his blood.
Right slyly Tom watch'd, as he went to the door,
And snatching his crutch, threw him on the floor,
So maul'd him, and bruis'd him, he left him for dead,
Then ran, like a gentleman, home with full speed.
And supported by crutches, had many a scar,
Fell in with Mad Tom, --- a quarrel ensu'd,
But Tom durst not fight him; no, not for his blood.
Right slyly Tom watch'd, as he went to the door,
And snatching his crutch, threw him on the floor,
So maul'd him, and bruis'd him, he left him for dead,
Then ran, like a gentleman, home with full speed.
The length of my poem will not here admit
To tell more of his pranks, how many he's bit;
I shall only relate what I suffer'd myself,
Nor dread I his threats, although he has pelf.
To tell more of his pranks, how many he's bit;
I shall only relate what I suffer'd myself,
Nor dread I his threats, although he has pelf.
One time, when quite mad, he slipped his chain,
And ran from his keeper, as far as the Dean,
A sober preceptor he met on the way,
And murder'd the teacher, and thought it fine play,
His destitute children he views without pain,
Which inspireth the poet to sing in this strain.
My honest intention no critic will blame,
When the cure of a madman is all that I aim.
The Tarantula's bite our senses disarm;
But, striking the fancy with music's soft charm,
The patient will dance himself quite out of breath,
And thus he escapeth a Bedlamite's death:
If this hit Tom's fancy, then why may not I
Sing him to his senses the very same way?
And ran from his keeper, as far as the Dean,
A sober preceptor he met on the way,
And murder'd the teacher, and thought it fine play,
His destitute children he views without pain,
Which inspireth the poet to sing in this strain.
My honest intention no critic will blame,
When the cure of a madman is all that I aim.
The Tarantula's bite our senses disarm;
But, striking the fancy with music's soft charm,
The patient will dance himself quite out of breath,
And thus he escapeth a Bedlamite's death:
If this hit Tom's fancy, then why may not I
Sing him to his senses the very same way?
| Miscellanies in prose and verse | |