The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton with an essay on the Rowley poems by the Rev. Walter W. Skeat and a memoir by Edward Bell |
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SLY DICK. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton |  |
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SLY DICK.
Sharp was the frost, the wind was high,
And sparkling stars bedecked the sky,
Sly Dick, in arts of cunning skilled,
Whose rapine all his pockets filled,
Had laid him down to take his rest
And soothe with sleep his anxious breast.
'Twas thus a dark infernal sprite,
A native of the blackest night,
Portending mischief to devise,
Upon Sly Dick he cast his eyes;
Then straight descends th'infernal sprite,
And in his chamber does alight:
In visions he before him stands,
And his attention he commands.
Thus spake the sprite: “Hearken, my friend,
And to my counsels now attend.
Within the garret's spacious dome
There lies a well stored wealthy room,
Well stored with cloth and stockings too,
Which I suppose will do for you;
First from the cloth take thou a purse,
For thee it will not be the worse,
A noble purse rewards thy pains,
A purse to hold thy filching gains;
Then, for the stockings, let them reeve,
And not a scrap behind thee leave;
Five bundles for a penny sell,
And pence to thee will come pell-mell;
See it be done with speed and care.”
Thus spake the sprite and sunk in air.
And sparkling stars bedecked the sky,
Sly Dick, in arts of cunning skilled,
Whose rapine all his pockets filled,
Had laid him down to take his rest
And soothe with sleep his anxious breast.
'Twas thus a dark infernal sprite,
A native of the blackest night,
Portending mischief to devise,
Upon Sly Dick he cast his eyes;
Then straight descends th'infernal sprite,
And in his chamber does alight:
In visions he before him stands,
And his attention he commands.
Thus spake the sprite: “Hearken, my friend,
And to my counsels now attend.
Within the garret's spacious dome
There lies a well stored wealthy room,
Well stored with cloth and stockings too,
Which I suppose will do for you;
First from the cloth take thou a purse,
For thee it will not be the worse,
5
A purse to hold thy filching gains;
Then, for the stockings, let them reeve,
And not a scrap behind thee leave;
Five bundles for a penny sell,
And pence to thee will come pell-mell;
See it be done with speed and care.”
Thus spake the sprite and sunk in air.
When in the morn, with thoughts erect,
Sly Dick did on his dream reflect,
Why faith, thinks he, “'tis something too,
It might—perhaps—it might—be true,
I'll go and see.” Away he hies,
And to the garret quick he flies,
Enters the room, cuts up the clothes,
And after that reeves up the hose;
Then of the cloth he purses made,
Purses to hold his filching trade.
Sly Dick did on his dream reflect,
Why faith, thinks he, “'tis something too,
It might—perhaps—it might—be true,
I'll go and see.” Away he hies,
And to the garret quick he flies,
Enters the room, cuts up the clothes,
And after that reeves up the hose;
Then of the cloth he purses made,
Purses to hold his filching trade.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton | |