The Ingoldsby Legends or, Mirth and Marvels. By Thomas Ingoldsby [i.e. R. H. Barham] |
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LAY OF THE NAIADS. |
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 | The Ingoldsby Legends |  |
LAY OF THE NAIADS.
“Away! away! to the mountain's brow,
Where the castle is darkly frowning;
And the vassals, all in goodly row,
Weep for their lord a-drowning!
Away! away! to the steward's room,
Where law with its wig and robe is;
Throw us out John Doe and Richard Roe,
And sweetly we'll tickle their tobies!”
Where the castle is darkly frowning;
And the vassals, all in goodly row,
Weep for their lord a-drowning!
Away! away! to the steward's room,
Where law with its wig and robe is;
Throw us out John Doe and Richard Roe,
And sweetly we'll tickle their tobies!”
The unearthly voices scarce had ceased their yelling,
When Rupert reach'd his old baronial dwelling.
When Rupert reach'd his old baronial dwelling.
What rejoicing was there! How the vassals did stare!
The old housekeeper put a clean shirt down to air,
For she saw by her lamp That her master's was damp,
And she fear'd he'd catch cold, and lumbago and cramp;
But, scorning what she did, The Knight never heeded
Wet jacket or trousers, nor thought of repining,
Since their pockets had got such a delicate lining,
But oh! what dismay, Fill'd the tribe of Ca Sa,
When they found he'd the cash, and intended to pay!
Away went “cognovits,” “bills,” “bonds,” and “escheats,”—
Rupert clear'd off all scores, and took proper receipts.
The old housekeeper put a clean shirt down to air,
For she saw by her lamp That her master's was damp,
And she fear'd he'd catch cold, and lumbago and cramp;
But, scorning what she did, The Knight never heeded
Wet jacket or trousers, nor thought of repining,
Since their pockets had got such a delicate lining,
But oh! what dismay, Fill'd the tribe of Ca Sa,
When they found he'd the cash, and intended to pay!
Away went “cognovits,” “bills,” “bonds,” and “escheats,”—
Rupert clear'd off all scores, and took proper receipts.
Now no more he sends out For pots of brown stout,
Or schnaps, but resolves to do henceforth without,
Abjure from this hour all excess and ebriety,
Enrol himself one of a Temp'rance Society,
All riot eschew, Begin life anew,
And new-cushion and hassock the family pew!
Nay, to strengthen him more in his new mode of life,
He boldly determines to take him a wife.
Or schnaps, but resolves to do henceforth without,
Abjure from this hour all excess and ebriety,
Enrol himself one of a Temp'rance Society,
All riot eschew, Begin life anew,
And new-cushion and hassock the family pew!
Nay, to strengthen him more in his new mode of life,
He boldly determines to take him a wife.
Now, many would think that the Knight, from a nice sense
Of honour, should put Lurline's name in the licence,
And that, for a man of his breeding and quality,
To break faith and troth, Confirm'd by an oath,
Is not quite consistent with rigid morality;
But whether the nymph was forgot, or he thought her
From her essence scarce wife, but at best wife-and-water,
And declined as unsuited, A bride so diluted—
Be this as it may, He, I'm sorry to say,
(For, all things consider'd, I own 'twas a rum thing,)
Made proposals in form to Miss Una Von—something,
(Her name has escaped me,) sole heiress, and niece
To a highly respectable Justice of Peace.
Of honour, should put Lurline's name in the licence,
35
To break faith and troth, Confirm'd by an oath,
Is not quite consistent with rigid morality;
But whether the nymph was forgot, or he thought her
From her essence scarce wife, but at best wife-and-water,
And declined as unsuited, A bride so diluted—
Be this as it may, He, I'm sorry to say,
(For, all things consider'd, I own 'twas a rum thing,)
Made proposals in form to Miss Una Von—something,
(Her name has escaped me,) sole heiress, and niece
To a highly respectable Justice of Peace.
“Thrice happy's the wooing That's not long a-doing!”
So much time is saved in the billing and cooing—
The ring is now bought, the white favours, and gloves,
And all the et cetera which crown people's loves;
A magnificent bride-cake comes home from the baker,
And lastly appears, from the German Long Acre,
That shaft which the sharpest in all Cupid's quiver is,
A plum-colour'd coach, and rich Pompadour liveries.
'Twas a comely sight To behold the Knight,
With his beautiful bride, dress'd all in white,
And the bridesmaids fair with their long lace veils,
As they all walk'd up to the altar rails,
While nice little boys, the incense dispensers,
March'd in front with white surplices, bands, and gilt censers.
So much time is saved in the billing and cooing—
The ring is now bought, the white favours, and gloves,
And all the et cetera which crown people's loves;
A magnificent bride-cake comes home from the baker,
And lastly appears, from the German Long Acre,
That shaft which the sharpest in all Cupid's quiver is,
A plum-colour'd coach, and rich Pompadour liveries.
'Twas a comely sight To behold the Knight,
With his beautiful bride, dress'd all in white,
And the bridesmaids fair with their long lace veils,
As they all walk'd up to the altar rails,
While nice little boys, the incense dispensers,
March'd in front with white surplices, bands, and gilt censers.
With a gracious air, and a smiling look,
Mess John had opened his awful book,
And had read so far as to ask if to wed he meant?
And if “he knew any just cause of impediment?”
When from base to turret the castle shook!!!
Then came a sound of a mighty rain
Dashing against each storied pane,
The wind blew loud, And a coal-black cloud
O'ershadow'd the church, and the party, and crowd;
How it could happen they could not divine,
The morning had been so remarkably fine!
Still the darkness increased, till it reach'd such a pass
That the sextoness hasten'd to turn on the gas;
But harder it pour'd, And the thunder roar'd,
As if heaven and earth were coming together:
None ever had witness'd such terrible weather.
Now louder 'it crash'd, And the lightning flash'd,
Exciting the fears Of the sweet little dears
In the veils, as it danced on the brass chandeliers;
The parson ran off, though a stout-hearted Saxon,
When he found that a flash had set fire to his caxon.
Though all the rest trembled, as might be expected,
Sir Rupert was perfectly cool and collected,
And endeavour'd to cheer His bride, in her ear
Whisp'ring tenderly, “Pray don't be frighten'd, my dear;
Should it even set fire to the castle, and burn it, you're
Amply insured both for buildings and furniture.”
But now, from without, A trustworthy scout
Rush'd hurriedly in, Wet through to the skin,
Informing his master “the river was rising,
And flooding the grounds in a way quite surprising.”
He'd no time to say more, For already the roar
Of the waters was heard as they reach'd the church-door,
While, high on the first wave that roll'd in, was seen,
Riding proudly, the form of the angry Lurline;
And all might observe, by her glance fierce and stormy,
She was stung by the spretæ injuriâ formæ.
What she said to the Knight, what she said to the bride,
What she said to the ladies who stood by her side,
What she said to the nice little boys in white clothes,
Oh, nobody mentions,—for nobody knows;
For the roof tumbled in, and the walls tumbled out,
And the folks tumbled down, all confusion and rout,
The rain kept on pouring, The flood kept on roaring,
The billows and water-nymphs roll'd more and more in;
Ere the close of the day All was clean wash'd away—
One only survived who could hand down the news,
A little old woman that open'd the pews;
She was borne off, but stuck, By the greatest good luck,
In an oak-tree and there she hung, crying and screaming,
And saw all the rest swallow'd up the wild stream in;
In vain, all the week, Did the fishermen seek
For the bodies, and poke in each cranny and creek;
In vain was their search, After aught in the church,
They caught nothing but weeds, and perhaps a few perch;
The Humane Society Tried a variety
Of methods, and brought down, to drag for the wreck, tackles
But they only fish'd up the clerk's tortoise-shell spectacles.
Mess John had opened his awful book,
And had read so far as to ask if to wed he meant?
And if “he knew any just cause of impediment?”
When from base to turret the castle shook!!!
Then came a sound of a mighty rain
Dashing against each storied pane,
The wind blew loud, And a coal-black cloud
O'ershadow'd the church, and the party, and crowd;
How it could happen they could not divine,
The morning had been so remarkably fine!
36
That the sextoness hasten'd to turn on the gas;
But harder it pour'd, And the thunder roar'd,
As if heaven and earth were coming together:
None ever had witness'd such terrible weather.
Now louder 'it crash'd, And the lightning flash'd,
Exciting the fears Of the sweet little dears
In the veils, as it danced on the brass chandeliers;
The parson ran off, though a stout-hearted Saxon,
When he found that a flash had set fire to his caxon.
Though all the rest trembled, as might be expected,
Sir Rupert was perfectly cool and collected,
And endeavour'd to cheer His bride, in her ear
Whisp'ring tenderly, “Pray don't be frighten'd, my dear;
Should it even set fire to the castle, and burn it, you're
Amply insured both for buildings and furniture.”
But now, from without, A trustworthy scout
Rush'd hurriedly in, Wet through to the skin,
Informing his master “the river was rising,
And flooding the grounds in a way quite surprising.”
He'd no time to say more, For already the roar
Of the waters was heard as they reach'd the church-door,
While, high on the first wave that roll'd in, was seen,
Riding proudly, the form of the angry Lurline;
And all might observe, by her glance fierce and stormy,
She was stung by the spretæ injuriâ formæ.
What she said to the Knight, what she said to the bride,
What she said to the ladies who stood by her side,
What she said to the nice little boys in white clothes,
Oh, nobody mentions,—for nobody knows;
For the roof tumbled in, and the walls tumbled out,
And the folks tumbled down, all confusion and rout,
The rain kept on pouring, The flood kept on roaring,
The billows and water-nymphs roll'd more and more in;
Ere the close of the day All was clean wash'd away—
One only survived who could hand down the news,
A little old woman that open'd the pews;
She was borne off, but stuck, By the greatest good luck,
37
And saw all the rest swallow'd up the wild stream in;
In vain, all the week, Did the fishermen seek
For the bodies, and poke in each cranny and creek;
In vain was their search, After aught in the church,
They caught nothing but weeds, and perhaps a few perch;
The Humane Society Tried a variety
Of methods, and brought down, to drag for the wreck, tackles
But they only fish'd up the clerk's tortoise-shell spectacles.
| The Ingoldsby Legends | |