Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

I've a yacht in the Island, the Sea Pink, of Ryde,
Not a craft in the Club can be better;
I own, when she goes very much on one side,
I'm afraid that the wind will upset her.
I belong to the Club, which is very genteel—
We ne'er let a Scamp or a Shab in;
But though it's the fashion, I own that I feel
More at ease in my Cab than my Cabin!

II

'Tis true, I know little of nautical ways,
And less about charts of the ocean;
And what's rather odd, on the quietest days
I always grow queer with the motion!
I've sunk a large sum on the toy, and 'tis well
If the toy and I don't sink together:
Oh! talking of sinking—nobody can tell
What I suffer in very bad weather!

III

When I sigh for the land, Sailors talk of “sea room,”
All sense of propriety lacking;
And they gave me a knock-me-down blow with the boom.
T'other day, in the hurry of tacking.

I sported one morning a water-proof cap,
And a Mackintosh—all India rubber;
And a Sailor cried, “Jack, look at that 'ere queer chap,
Did you ever see such a land-lubber?”

IV

What a bother the wind is! one day we were caught
In a bit of a breeze in the offing;
And we tack'd, and we tack'd, till I verily thought
Every tack was a nail in my coffin!
Cried one, “Never fear, we shall soon reach the shore,”
(To me that word reach is pathetic!)
I've heard of perpetual Blisters before,
But I've an eternal emetic!

V

The Captain and Crew are of course in my pay,
I expect them to pay me attention;
But they push me about, and they now and then say
Little words it would shock me to mention!
The smell of the tar I detest, and I think
That the sea-breeze quite spoils the complexion,
But the ladies all say, when they've seen the Sea Pink,
That her Owner's the Pink of Perfection.

THE POPPY.

I

“Oh proud am I, exceeding proud, I've mustered the Elite!
I'll read them my new Tragedy—no ordinary treat;
It has a deeply-stirring plot—the moment I commence,
They'll feel for my sweet heroine an interest intense;
It never lags, it never flags, it cannot fail to touch,
Indeed, I fear the sensitive may feel it over much.
But still a dash of pathos with my terrors I combine,
The bright reward of tragic Bard—the laurel will be mine!

II

“Place chairs for all the company, and, Ma'am, I really think
If you don't send that child to bed, he will not sleep a wink;
I know he'll screech like anything before I've read a page.
My second act would terrify a creature of that age:
And should the darling, scared by me, become an imbecile,
Though flatter'd at the circumstance—how sorry I should feel!
What! won't you send the child to bed? well, Madam, we shall see;—
Pray take a chair, and now prepare the laurel crown for me.

III

“Have all got pocket-handkerchiefs? your tears will fall in streams;
Place water near to sprinkle over any one who screams.
And pray, good people, recollect, when what I've said controls
Your sympathies, and actually harrows up your souls;
Remember, (it may save you all from suicide, or from fits,)
'Tis but a mortal man who opes the flood-gates of his wits!
Retain your intellects to trace my brightest gem, (my moral)
And, when I've done, I'm very sure you'll wreathe my brow with laurel.

IV

“Hem—Act the first, and scene the first—a wood—Bumrumptienters—
Bumrumpti speaks, ‘And have I then escaped from my tormentors?
Revenge! revenge! oh, were they dead, and I a carrion crow,
I'd pick the flesh from off their bones, I'd sever toe from toe!
Shall fair Fryfritta, pledged to me, her plighted vow recall,
And wed with hated Snookums, or with any man at all!
No—rather perish earth and sea, the sky and—all the rest of it—
For wife to me she swore she'd be, and she must make the best of it.’”

V

Through five long acts—ay, very long, the happy Bard proceeds;
Without a pause, without applause, scene after scene he reads!

That silent homage glads his heart! it silent well may be:
Not one of all his slumbering friends can either hear or see!
The anxious Chaperon is asleep! the Beau beside the fair!
The dog is sleeping on the rug! the cat upon the chair!
Old men and babes—the footman, too! oh, if we crown the Bard,
We'll twine for him the Poppy wreath—his only fit reward.

FORGET MY KNOT.

I

Forget my knot? forget my knot!
Oh, that I may defy!
Where'er you are, I'll haunt the spot,
Still pointing to the tie.

II

All other ties may loosen'd be,
But mine must last till death!
And you I'll taunt incessantly,
Until I'm out of breath.

III

Each day delay on some pretence
Was artfully extended;
And so, to finish my suspense,
Myself I have suspended.

IV

At Hymen's altar, altered Fair,
You were a false defaulter;
And so, to end my deep despair,
I add an H to alter!

V

I could not live to hear you scoff,
Too fascinating elf;
So, when I found you turned me off,
I did turn off myself!

VI

No scissors will avail; we part—
On human aid I frown;
And though you cut me to the heart,
You shall not cut me down.

VII

I strive your inmost soul to grind,
And, if I strive in vain,
Hang me, if I for womankind
E'er do the like again.

VIII

They'll call me suicidal,
Because this knot I tied;
When Jack is dead, let Sue recall
How for his Sue he sigh'd!

IX

To do this melancholy thing,
Your garters I have got.
Adieu, false Sue, you'll have your swing;
And then—Forget my knot!

WATER LILIES.

I

A boat, a boat, an open boat,
On “the sea, the sea, the open sea!”
If e'er ye have been thus afloat,
There's nought could match your misery.

II

Pale Water Lilies, you'd suppose
Poor ladies, when such boats they enter;
The cheek, the pallid leaf; the nose,
The spot of yellow in the centre!

III

Such Lilies, “pining on the stem,”
Or on the stern, are more or less ill;
The smell of tar is bad to them,
And worse the pitching of the vessel.

IV

The spray, alas! no jasmine spray!
Is weighing down each best new bonnet;
The hair is out of curl; to-day,
The sea has all the curl upon it.

V

Old Ocean! thou art much too old,
To be so rough and so unsteady;
Is this now—may I make so bold—
A fit reception for a lady?

VI

Shallow thou'rt not; then recollect,
All this may seem more deep than clever.
Be calm awhile, and thou'lt reflect;
Don't play at pitch and toss for ever.

WALLFLOWERS.

“They call us Wall-flowers, my dear!
Because we spend the evening here,
All in a row against the wall,
Ne'er noticed by the men at all!”

“I'm sure it is no fault of ours,
We do not wish to be Wallflowers;
Not one of us that has not wanted
To be by somebody transplanted:
It never was our choice at all
To sit here ranged against the wall;
But, if the men, devoid of taste,
Will leave us here our sweets to waste,
Selecting silly pinks and roses,
To make their hymeneal posies,
'Tis very fit that here we sit,
And innocently chat a bit.”

“Look at Miss Rose, she's just come in,
Some people rave about her skin!
Her clear complexion! (how absurd!)
You know I never say a word,
But this I will say—(how she's scented!)
I always thought the Roses painted.”

“And here I vow's Miss Violet;
I ne'er could find her beauty yet.
And how they praise her! what a fuss!
Think of preferring her to us!
A little, dingy, paltry fright!
And what a gown for candlelight!”

“Do see the Miss Carnations, there—
Not two alike, I do declare—
They're showy, but my sister thinks
They are so like those little Pinks;
You see the likeness? to be sure;
The Pinks we never could endure.”

“See, from the valley comes Miss Lily!
Another beauty,—oh, how silly!
White as a sheet, and so petite,
No wonder we are obsolete!
For Wallflowers truly she's no fellow—
Men once were fond of brown and yellow!”

CHICK WEEDS.

I

“My dear, stay here! I'm quite in fear,
Unless you all keep very near;
My group's a little bit too large;
Nine daughters are so great a charge:
And though I know, where'er we go,
The people think us quite a show;
They say—(I hate satiric tricks)
Look at the hen and her nine chicks!

II

“Oh! there's Sir Charles; I'm certain he
Will wed one of the family;
And should he choose, let none refuse,
He's not at all the match to lose.
No wonder that he can't decide
Which daughter shall become his bride.
My charming girls, I'm bound to say,
Are all so perfect in their way.

III

“Don't stoop like that, my sweetest Rose;
Maria, dear, turn out your toes;
It gives me pain, my angel Jane,
To see your squint come back again!
Ann, what can make your nose so red?
Constantia, do hold up your head;
I wish Kate's ancles weren't so thick;
Bess, keep your mouth shut, there's a chick!

IV

“How are you, dear Sir Charles? so near—
Your praises did you overhear?
All female hearts you seem to touch;
My sweet girls praise you over much:

Kate in particular; poor Kate
Has looked a leetle pale of late—
Nay, now so red! why whisper ‘Hush!’
What have I said to make her blush?

V

“You'll come to tea, Sir Charles? you'll see
A most harmonious family.
Bess plays the lute, Ann the guitar,
Jane learns the harp of sweet Labarre;
Rose and Maria, if they're prest,
Make use of Broadwood's very best;
Constantia sings, indeed we all
Love music. You are musical?”

VI

“I'm musical,” Sir Charles replied,
And took his hat, and hem'd, and sigh'd;
“I'm musical, and charmed to view
Such harmony. Dear Ma'am, adieu.
Oh what an orchestra for me,
Could I wed all the family.
Farewell—temptation let me shun,
'Twould spoil the band to marry one.”

THE HARE BELLE.

I

No Hare Belle for me when the harriers run—
If a lady pursue them, that lady I shun:
When she leaves her own door, bring her shawl and her clogs
If she follow the hounds, she may go to the dogs.

II

Away with the Hare Belle—the leaps that I see,
No thought of a lover's leap wakens in me;
For a gate of five bars will most certainly prove
An effectual bar to my being in love.

III

Away with the Hare Belle, her habit, and hat;
No lady shall win me with habits like that;
Bear Blue Belle and Hare Belle far hence o'er the flood;
The first with her study, the last with her stud!

IV

Away with the Hare Belle, when fair lips I see
Discoursing of coursing sounds coarsely to me;
And the smack that I doat upon (talking of lips)
Is not, I assure you, the smacking of whips.

JOHN QUILL.

I

John Quill was clerk to Robert Shark, a legal man was he,
As dull, obscure, and technical as legal man could be;
And, perch'd before his legal desk, Quill learnt the legal rules
That give high principles to all who sit upon high stools.
John Quill with skill could doubt distil where all before was clear,
One would suppose that he was born with a pen behind his ear.
Though merely clerk to Robert Shark, so great was his address,
That many really thought J. Q. as knowing as R. S.

II

John Quill, however small the job, huge drafts of deeds could draw,
A puzzle quite to common sense, according to the law;
With vulgar, vile tautology to indicate his skill,
He did “enlarge, prolong, extend, and add unto” the bill!
And thus he did “possess, obtain, get, have, hold, and enjoy”
The confidence of Robert Shark, who called him worthy boy.
Birds of a feather were the pair, the aim of both their breasts,
To pluck all others, plume themselves, and feather their own nests.

III

But 'tis a theme too dark for jest; oh! let him who embarks
Upon the troubled waters of the law—beware of Sharks;
And such my dread of legal Quills, I readily confess
That Quills of “fretful porcupine” would terrify me less.
When poor men seek a legal friend, the truth the fable tells,
The lawyer eats the oyster up, the client has the shells;
And could the shells be pounded to a palatable dinner,
The legal friend might swallow that, and clients might grow thinner.

CORN FLOWERS.

I

“The weather will change,” cries my Lady, in pain,
“My feet are in torture, I'm sure there'll be rain;
The Admiral whispered he'd take me in tow,
And he glanced at my feet as he said it, I know:
But now down at heel must my slipper be worn!
'Twill end in a cut—Oh, this horrible corn!”

II

A tight fit from Hoby the Captain has got,
Engaged to walk out with Miss Laura Lamotte,
But oh! in his boot a barometer lies!
His corn a sad change in the weather implies;
To limp is distraction! “Oh! why was I born?
In the flower of my youth I'm cut up by a corn!”

III

The Belle is preparing to grace the Race Ball,
Her foot is in anguish, her shoe is too small!
So partial to dancing, what is to be done?
How horrid the hopping and carrying one!
Cinderella's famed slipper of glass might be worn
As a weather-glass now! what a terrible corn!

IV

There's a moral in this which is found without trouble;
The light step of youth may get into a hobble.
The shoe may be silken, the sole may be thin,
While the soul of the wearer is tortured within;
Where roses are sweetest most sharp is the thorn,
And Terpsichore's harvest is—cutting a corn!

BULL RUSHES.

I

The Fancy Fair! The Fancy Fair!
The fair I fancy governs there;
And fairest of the fair is she
Who don't deny she fancies me.
Among the fair sex, recollect
Fair dealings you must not expect;
Whatever trash is to be sold,
They give no change for notes or gold!

II

Each stall by some fair dame is graced,
Her store of toys before her placed:
And as mere traders, lest they fail
To raise the wind, must puff the sale.
So with these trading amateurs
A sigh attracts, a smile allures;
And can young men pay down too much
For trifles hallow'd by their touch?

III

What fills the traders with affright?
What puts the customers to flight?
Why is the scene so sadly changed?
A Bull, exceedingly deranged,
Alarms the fairest of the fair!
Bull rushes here, Bull rushes there!
No wonder each sweet voice he hushes—
'Tis a toss up where Mad Bull rushes!

DEADLY NIGHTSHADE.

I

I lay within a strange abode, and on a curtain'd bed,
The lamp upon the tapestry a ghastly glimmer shed;
I could not doze, I could not sleep, I heard the rats and mice;
My head was like a furnace, and my hands and feet like ice.
I thought of all my evil deeds, and wished them all undone,
I longed to hear the merry lark, and see the rising sun;
I heard the hooting of the owl, the ticking of the clock,
And the door did shake, while something seem'd to fidget with the lock!

II

I wanted much to ring the bell to summon man or maid,
I did not thrust a finger forth because I was afraid;
I longed to call out lustily, but not a word I said,
I grasped the blankets and the sheets, and held them o'er my head.
I heard a most alarming noise, I never heard the like,
Just as the turret-clock struck twelve! a horrid hour to strike!
And down my chimney screeching came a most malignant fiend—
I sat up trembling in my bed—good gracious, how he grinn'd!

III

Upon the marble mantelpiece there flared a globe of flame!
And in it danced distorted forms, too horrible to name!
And on the hearth the fiend still sat—I fainted with affright!
But rose next morn to trace the cause the moment there was light.
The fiend was but a tabby cat; the globe of flame I saw,
A shade of paper for the lamp—such as my sisters draw!
'Twas traced with ghosts and skeletons from charnel-houses damp!
It isn't nice to have a Deadly Nightshade for one's lamp!

HEARTS-EASE.

I

I've peeped at Parisian bowers,
I've rambled to Naples and Rome;
But weary of costlier flowers,
I now gather HEARTS-EASE at home:
No hotbed henceforth shall be tried,
It grows best by my own fireside.

II

I think a fat man is a fool,
Who goes voyaging and coaching about;
The foreigners call him John Bull,
As if all the English were stout!
In London I'm sure people stare,
I'm a great curiosity there!

III

At Dover they rumpled my best coat,
And swore, like unmannerly brutes,
I had contraband lace in my waistcoat,
And Eau de Cologne in my boots!
In vain I cried, “Why will you doubt me?
I've nought unsubstantial about be.”

IV

My bootmaker yearly enlarges
His bill, with the growth of my calf;
And my tailor increases his charges
And books me “a coat and a half!”
He can't raise my small-clothes, how can he?
Small clothes! why I never wear any!

V

My friend Doctor Camomile offered
To cure my rheumatic attack;
But he laughed when I said that I suffered
A pain in the small of my back!
Ah me! he did nothing but quiz it:
“The small of your back! pray where is it?”

VI

If ever they put me in fetters,
My bondage eternal must be;
For if they enlarge other debtors,
I'm sure they will not enlarge me!
They'll make light of my claims if they will,
Yet I shall look big at them still.

VII

Young Cupid will never o'ertake me,
No, no, I must pine on the shelf;
If ever I'm match'd, he must make me
A Fatima fat as myself.
But never again will I roam,
I'm content with my Hearts-ease at home.

VIII

I'm sure I don't envy the lovers
Of sport, though inactive and lame;
I've not far to go for the covers,
Under which the Cook places my game;
Three courses I manage myself,
And I've got my preserves on a shelf!

IX

In France, for this exquisite dinner,
A nap. they would charge me at least;
But here, after all, I'm a winner,
A nap I secure by the feast.
And of the past dreaming, at last,
Recollection becomes a repast!

X

My dogs either beg a tit-bit,
Or curl themselves up on the rug;
And I in my easy chair sit,
Luxurious, silken, and snug:
And my HEARTS-EASE I trust is secure,
For I have not forgotten the poor.