Miscellanies in Prose and Verse By Mrs. Catherine Jemmat |
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A Description of a Cottage, rebuilt and fitted up in a Rustic Taste, by a Noble Lord.
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 | Miscellanies in Prose and Verse |  |
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A Description of a Cottage, rebuilt and fitted up in a Rustic Taste, by a Noble Lord.
Whilst others praise in pompous rhyme,
Villa's, and palaces sublime,
Chatsworth, that much applauded seat,
Romantic Stowe, or Blenheim great;
Let me attempt, in humbler strain,
To sing a cottage, neat and plain,
Where you, my Lord, not uninspir'd,
Chusing to be sometimes retir'd,
Have bid old Worth afresh to bloom,
And call forth Virtue from the tomb.
Villa's, and palaces sublime,
Chatsworth, that much applauded seat,
Romantic Stowe, or Blenheim great;
Let me attempt, in humbler strain,
To sing a cottage, neat and plain,
Where you, my Lord, not uninspir'd,
Chusing to be sometimes retir'd,
Have bid old Worth afresh to bloom,
And call forth Virtue from the tomb.
In days of pious persecution,
When saints would mend the constitution,
A loyal sage azylum chose
In this bless'd spot, from threat'ning foes.
Here, free from sacrilegious riot,
He study'd, pray'd, and liv'd in quiet;
Furnish'd with books, and rustic spade,
Alternately to dig and read,
By Death, and Time, tho' long since fell,
Both the good hermit, and the cell;
Yet you, my Lord (whose noble spirit
Still prompts you to distinguish merit)
The cot memorial now restore,
In simple plainness, as before;
And have supply'd all useful tools,
With huge arm'd chairs, and tall joint-stools.
When saints would mend the constitution,
A loyal sage azylum chose
In this bless'd spot, from threat'ning foes.
Here, free from sacrilegious riot,
He study'd, pray'd, and liv'd in quiet;
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Alternately to dig and read,
By Death, and Time, tho' long since fell,
Both the good hermit, and the cell;
Yet you, my Lord (whose noble spirit
Still prompts you to distinguish merit)
The cot memorial now restore,
In simple plainness, as before;
And have supply'd all useful tools,
With huge arm'd chairs, and tall joint-stools.
The door appears like coat of mail,
Emboss'd with heads of many a nail;
Then for to guard the habitation,
'Gainst witches, spells, and fascination,
A horse-shoe at the threshold lies,
And all unhallow'd feet defies.
Within, upon the walls, we see
Wainscot of ancient pedigree;
Here pannels smooth, there fluted traces,
With carved scrolls, and old mens faces;
Oak standing cupboards, black as jet,
Mock the bureau, and plate-beaufet,
And the long table's gloss may vie
With ebon or mahogany.
Emboss'd with heads of many a nail;
Then for to guard the habitation,
'Gainst witches, spells, and fascination,
A horse-shoe at the threshold lies,
And all unhallow'd feet defies.
Within, upon the walls, we see
Wainscot of ancient pedigree;
Here pannels smooth, there fluted traces,
With carved scrolls, and old mens faces;
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Mock the bureau, and plate-beaufet,
And the long table's gloss may vie
With ebon or mahogany.
Hail, ever venerable oak,
Beneath whose shade the Druids spoke;
Of misletoe, productive tree,
And sacred long, by prophecy;
Each British bard, thy fame should sing,
Who whilom sav'd a British king.
Beneath whose shade the Druids spoke;
Of misletoe, productive tree,
And sacred long, by prophecy;
Each British bard, thy fame should sing,
Who whilom sav'd a British king.
The porrengers, a glittering band,
All rang'd aloft, in order stand;
And maple trenchers, decent sight,
Rear'd on the shelves, display their white.
A looking-glass, with frame of red,
Still meets you at the window-head;
On side of which, just close together,
Hang razor-case, and strap of leather,
For things by use so near ally'd,
Not too great distance should divide;
An hour-glass plac'd upon a stand,
Pours out our time in streams of sand.
Above the high-rais'd rack behold
An implement of antique mould,
Where swords, by scabbards long forsaken,
Do fiercely guard some rusty bacon.
Rop'd onions there are hung in view,
Of anchorites the high ragout;
These valu'd erst in Hebrew ages,
Are us'd in modern hermitages:
This strengthening food, in early days,
Stupendous pyramids could raise;
And now its od'rous poignant taste,
Affords our hinds a rich repast.
All rang'd aloft, in order stand;
And maple trenchers, decent sight,
Rear'd on the shelves, display their white.
A looking-glass, with frame of red,
Still meets you at the window-head;
On side of which, just close together,
Hang razor-case, and strap of leather,
For things by use so near ally'd,
Not too great distance should divide;
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Pours out our time in streams of sand.
Above the high-rais'd rack behold
An implement of antique mould,
Where swords, by scabbards long forsaken,
Do fiercely guard some rusty bacon.
Rop'd onions there are hung in view,
Of anchorites the high ragout;
These valu'd erst in Hebrew ages,
Are us'd in modern hermitages:
This strengthening food, in early days,
Stupendous pyramids could raise;
And now its od'rous poignant taste,
Affords our hinds a rich repast.
Nor do andirons of old size,
Or pots and kettles, 'scape our eyes;
Whose brazen covers shining bright,
Like Pallas' shield, reflect the light.
A tinder-box, of fire secure,
With all its wonted furniture,
Hangs, near the rush-light candles ty'd,
Good useful neighbours, side by side.
Or pots and kettles, 'scape our eyes;
Whose brazen covers shining bright,
Like Pallas' shield, reflect the light.
A tinder-box, of fire secure,
With all its wonted furniture,
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Good useful neighbours, side by side.
Nor shall thy worth unsung remain,
O Wassail-bowls, of fashion plain;
Thy pleasing bev'rage can inspire
The clown with glee, the bard with fire,
Thou source of many a midnight tale,
When fill'd with spice-enriched ale.
O Wassail-bowls, of fashion plain;
Thy pleasing bev'rage can inspire
The clown with glee, the bard with fire,
Thou source of many a midnight tale,
When fill'd with spice-enriched ale.
In the small gardens, weeded clean,
Clipp'd box, and yew, look ever green;
Here rosemary and sweet briars grow,
And sav'ry pot-herbs in a row,
With parsley, not unknown to fame,
Priz'd garland at Olympic game!
Near these, a little pond contains,
Like eastern reservoirs, the rains;
Clear pool, which never soaks away,
Lin'd with impenetrable clay.
Clipp'd box, and yew, look ever green;
Here rosemary and sweet briars grow,
And sav'ry pot-herbs in a row,
With parsley, not unknown to fame,
Priz'd garland at Olympic game!
Near these, a little pond contains,
Like eastern reservoirs, the rains;
Clear pool, which never soaks away,
Lin'd with impenetrable clay.
Here you, my Lord, oft condescend,
T'advise and entertain a friend;
Or with a knowing neighbour scan,
Some mapp'd domain, or drawing plan,
Hear what your tenants have to say,
Of stacks of corn, or ricks of hay;
Here lay aside all forms of state,
The splendid harness of the great;
Read and converse with whom you please,
And live in philosophic ease,
Yet exercise your ample mind
T'instruct and to delight mankind.
T'advise and entertain a friend;
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Some mapp'd domain, or drawing plan,
Hear what your tenants have to say,
Of stacks of corn, or ricks of hay;
Here lay aside all forms of state,
The splendid harness of the great;
Read and converse with whom you please,
And live in philosophic ease,
Yet exercise your ample mind
T'instruct and to delight mankind.
Great Dioclesian thus withdrew,
Scipio and Cincinnatus too,
And truly triumph'd then, much more,
Than all their conquests did before.
Scipio and Cincinnatus too,
And truly triumph'd then, much more,
Than all their conquests did before.
Life's a mere farce; and much he's blest,
Who worldly bustles quits for rest;
Who finds a calm tranquil retreat,
In rural cot, or bow'ry seat,
Can rightly there his thoughts engage,
And slight the follies of the age.
Who worldly bustles quits for rest;
Who finds a calm tranquil retreat,
In rural cot, or bow'ry seat,
Can rightly there his thoughts engage,
And slight the follies of the age.
| Miscellanies in Prose and Verse | |