The Modern Dunciad Virgil in London and Other Poems [by George Daniel] |
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SAM TWIST.
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 | The Modern Dunciad |  |
251
SAM TWIST.
A LEGEND OF ST. BENNET-FINK.
Sam Twist was a tailor in Threadneedle-street,
His spirits were low, and his fever was high;
He lost all his gumption, by a gallopping consumption,
And though he didn't like it, he was like to die!
His spirits were low, and his fever was high;
He lost all his gumption, by a gallopping consumption,
And though he didn't like it, he was like to die!
“I dispose of, I'm so indispos'd, to my rib,
All the goods in my shop, and the money in my till;
Though oft, common case! I'd her claws in my face,
I sha'n't scratch her off, by a clause in my will!
All the goods in my shop, and the money in my till;
Though oft, common case! I'd her claws in my face,
I sha'n't scratch her off, by a clause in my will!
“My dear, I'll be dress'd like a buck, in my best,
Charon won't care a rap, if I'm wrapp'd in a shroud;
I'll march to his boat in my blue Sunday coat,
For fear Mr. Twist should be lost in the crowd!
Charon won't care a rap, if I'm wrapp'd in a shroud;
I'll march to his boat in my blue Sunday coat,
For fear Mr. Twist should be lost in the crowd!
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“And if you wed, ah me! a cher ami,
Your bed shall be haunted by dolorous tics;
My ghost shall knock as it strikes twelve o'clock,
And knock you both to spinnage, I swear by Styx!”
Your bed shall be haunted by dolorous tics;
My ghost shall knock as it strikes twelve o'clock,
And knock you both to spinnage, I swear by Styx!”
From top to toe Sam was rigg'd like a beau,
Lucy's courage screw'd up, to see him screw'd down;
“O, how my heart is beating! was there ever such a sweeting?
Except in Sweeting's Alley, where there lives Tom Brown!”
Lucy's courage screw'd up, to see him screw'd down;
“O, how my heart is beating! was there ever such a sweeting?
Except in Sweeting's Alley, where there lives Tom Brown!”
Now Tom, under favour, a good-looking shaver,
Earn'd his mutton and trimmings by the beards that he trimm'd;
His whiskers and jazey set all the women crazy,
And he clapp'd their hearts in limbo, he was so smart limb'd!
Earn'd his mutton and trimmings by the beards that he trimm'd;
His whiskers and jazey set all the women crazy,
And he clapp'd their hearts in limbo, he was so smart limb'd!
She put off her starch way, her high gait, and arch way,
They hob and nob buzz'd, till 'twas buzz'd thro' the town,
Some fine day in summer, as black did not become her,
Widow Twist, dress'd in white, would be chang'd into Brown!
They hob and nob buzz'd, till 'twas buzz'd thro' the town,
Some fine day in summer, as black did not become her,
Widow Twist, dress'd in white, would be chang'd into Brown!
253
So early in May, on a sun-shiny day,
They rose bright array'd, with the rays of the sun;
The bells of Bennet-Fink, wouldn't let 'em sleep a wink;
And splic'd by a canon, they were off like a gun!
They rose bright array'd, with the rays of the sun;
The bells of Bennet-Fink, wouldn't let 'em sleep a wink;
And splic'd by a canon, they were off like a gun!
They were up on the Downs, being flush of the browns!
Then Brown, off to France took his flame, for a flare!
He bought her some natty combs, and show'd her the Catacombs,
To Père-la-Chaise the pair drove in a chaise-and-pair.
Then Brown, off to France took his flame, for a flare!
He bought her some natty combs, and show'd her the Catacombs,
To Père-la-Chaise the pair drove in a chaise-and-pair.
254
'Twas rueful to view ev'ry street written “Rue,”
Ev'ry book seem'd to Tom, to be written by “Tom!”
So the lady and her barber return'd by Dover Harbour
To Threadneedle-street, which they'd been a month from!
Ev'ry book seem'd to Tom, to be written by “Tom!”
So the lady and her barber return'd by Dover Harbour
To Threadneedle-street, which they'd been a month from!
Not, tea-and-turn-out, but to dinner and rout,
They sent an invite for their neighbours to come:
To three fiddle-scrapers the company cut capers,
And the ear-piercing fife of their ears pierc'd the drum.
They sent an invite for their neighbours to come:
To three fiddle-scrapers the company cut capers,
And the ear-piercing fife of their ears pierc'd the drum.
With prime whiskey-toddy they moisten'd soul and body,
And Bishopsgate-without toasted Bishopsgate-within;
Mrs. Brown led her shaver down a dance, and through a quaver;
Merry was the dinner, and merrier was the din!
And Bishopsgate-without toasted Bishopsgate-within;
Mrs. Brown led her shaver down a dance, and through a quaver;
Merry was the dinner, and merrier was the din!
It chim'd twelve o'clock, when there came a loud knock,
As if Gog and Magog had rapp'd with their fist!
The Lane of Saint Bartholomew sent forth a dismal, hollow mew,
And in march'd Mister (or his ghost!) Sammy Twist!
As if Gog and Magog had rapp'd with their fist!
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And in march'd Mister (or his ghost!) Sammy Twist!
His mouth grinn'd so grimly, and it smok'd like a chimbley!
His nose flar'd red hot, 'twixt his eyes, like a link!
He rattled his dry bones, like a cart upon the stones!
And danc'd to the muffled bells of Saint Bennet-Fink!
His nose flar'd red hot, 'twixt his eyes, like a link!
He rattled his dry bones, like a cart upon the stones!
And danc'd to the muffled bells of Saint Bennet-Fink!
“Of Fish,” (cry'd Spirit Sammy,) “here's a pretty kettle, damme!
Cut your stick, and off to Styx; tide serves, the water's high;
A wherry's at the ferry, for a pleasant voyage, very!
And Lucifer, my Lucy fair! has other fish to fry!”
Cut your stick, and off to Styx; tide serves, the water's high;
A wherry's at the ferry, for a pleasant voyage, very!
And Lucifer, my Lucy fair! has other fish to fry!”
“'Tis high time you're below, hark! the cock begins to crow,
And fresh I scent the morning air—ere morn, I must away!”
When a loud clap of thunder made them both knock under,
And then there was old Charon, and the devil too, to pay!
And fresh I scent the morning air—ere morn, I must away!”
When a loud clap of thunder made them both knock under,
And then there was old Charon, and the devil too, to pay!
256
Safe landed they were at the Hotel d'Enfèr,
To the “Devil among the Tailors!” in darkness and mist,
Danc'd nine grisly sprites in their blue coats and tights,
Each claiming, while he licks her! his wife, Widow Twist!
To the “Devil among the Tailors!” in darkness and mist,
Danc'd nine grisly sprites in their blue coats and tights,
Each claiming, while he licks her! his wife, Widow Twist!
The Old one laugh'd like a new one, and quaff'd
His goblet of goblin Elixir, or ale.
“One man” (he cry'd) “at most, is a solitary ghost,
But Twist is a Tailor!”—And so ends my tale.
His goblet of goblin Elixir, or ale.
“One man” (he cry'd) “at most, is a solitary ghost,
But Twist is a Tailor!”—And so ends my tale.
| The Modern Dunciad | |