 | The Poems of St. George Tucker of Williamsburg, Virginia 1752-1827 |  |
TALES
Humps and Robin
A True Story
Oh muse, who didst ere while inspire
The merry strains of Matthew Prior,
Descend and to my pen indite
A tale, which Matt, alone, should write
The merry strains of Matthew Prior,
Descend and to my pen indite
A tale, which Matt, alone, should write
Travelers and poets long ago
Have claimed the privilege, you know,
Of changing persons, time and place,
To give their tales a better grace,
Or to conceal from observation
The real truth of their narration:
Resolved this method to pursue,
We mean to deal in fiction too,
As far as names and places go,
The rest our tale shall truly show.
Have claimed the privilege, you know,
Of changing persons, time and place,
To give their tales a better grace,
Or to conceal from observation
The real truth of their narration:
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We mean to deal in fiction too,
As far as names and places go,
The rest our tale shall truly show.
Near to a place whence royal George,
Of this rebellious land the scourge,
One of his oldest titles gains,
There lived a youth the pride of swains,
Whose swelling calf and back of brawn,
Might cause a dowager to pawn,
Her richest jewels for a sample
Of strength and nerve beyond example:
Yet sooth to say, our simple Humps,
Although he held a hand of trumps,
Knew not the value of his cards,
Nor thought them worth his least regards,
Until a lass of comeliest mold,
Who twice nine years had scarcely told,
His dormant faculties excited,
Whence, she in turn was well requited.
Of this rebellious land the scourge,
One of his oldest titles gains,
There lived a youth the pride of swains,
Whose swelling calf and back of brawn,
Might cause a dowager to pawn,
Her richest jewels for a sample
Of strength and nerve beyond example:
Yet sooth to say, our simple Humps,
Although he held a hand of trumps,
Knew not the value of his cards,
Nor thought them worth his least regards,
Until a lass of comeliest mold,
Who twice nine years had scarcely told,
His dormant faculties excited,
Whence, she in turn was well requited.
Humps like another Timon felt,
His heart for Iphigenia melt,
To Robin, first of wags, he goes
His strange condition to disclose,
The symptoms felt by youthful lovers:
Rob tells him, wedlock is the pool
In which his raging flames must cool;
Humps grinned assent. The lass, tho' coy,
At length consents to wed the boy.
His heart for Iphigenia melt,
To Robin, first of wags, he goes
His strange condition to disclose,
The symptoms felt by youthful lovers:
Rob tells him, wedlock is the pool
In which his raging flames must cool;
Humps grinned assent. The lass, tho' coy,
At length consents to wed the boy.
Suppose the wedding day arrived
And honest Humphrey fairly wived,
The dinner ate, the dancing ended,
The bride by all her maids attended,
Slip out unseen, and half undressed;
Robin who dearly loved a jest,
Once more takes honest Humps aside
T'instruct him how to greet the bride.
Quoth he—“What's to be done tonight,
“Friend Humphrey, is a solemn rite,
“At Hymen's altar 'tis expected
“That not one state should be neglected,
“Then let an offering go round
“For each, with due libations crowned.”
And honest Humphrey fairly wived,
The dinner ate, the dancing ended,
The bride by all her maids attended,
Slip out unseen, and half undressed;
Robin who dearly loved a jest,
Once more takes honest Humps aside
T'instruct him how to greet the bride.
Quoth he—“What's to be done tonight,
“Friend Humphrey, is a solemn rite,
“At Hymen's altar 'tis expected
“That not one state should be neglected,
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“For each, with due libations crowned.”
A message broke the conversation
And Humps retired to his station:
Like Milton, we too highly deem
Of nuptial beds to follow him.
Then here we choose to draw the curtain,
Nor dare to speak of things uncertain.
And Humps retired to his station:
Like Milton, we too highly deem
Of nuptial beds to follow him.
Then here we choose to draw the curtain,
Nor dare to speak of things uncertain.
With folded arms and settled gloom
Next morning Humps came in the room,
While Robin smoked his second pipe:
The wag, for mischief ever ripe,
Asks how the posset-bowl held out?
Humps sheepish looked—then turned about,
And said, “Though not a drop was wasted,
“Nine times, alone, the cup I tasted:
“Four states, alas! unblessed remained,
“The posset-bowl was fairly drained.”
Quoth Robin—“Your libations's short,
“Indeed I fear, by half a quart;
“Tonight the matter may be mended,
“Take t'other bowl when one is ended.”
Humps thanked him for his good advice
And swore he'd drain the goblet twice,
Next morning Humps came in the room,
While Robin smoked his second pipe:
The wag, for mischief ever ripe,
Asks how the posset-bowl held out?
Humps sheepish looked—then turned about,
And said, “Though not a drop was wasted,
“Nine times, alone, the cup I tasted:
“Four states, alas! unblessed remained,
“The posset-bowl was fairly drained.”
Quoth Robin—“Your libations's short,
“Indeed I fear, by half a quart;
“Tonight the matter may be mended,
“Take t'other bowl when one is ended.”
Humps thanked him for his good advice
And swore he'd drain the goblet twice,
Next morn, again with clouded brow,
Humps meets with Robin at the plough.
“Alas,” he cries, “my worthy friend
“Where will my disappointments end?
“Though twice the posset-bowl was crowned,
“Nine times, alone, the toast went round;
“The vain attempt I must give o'er,
“I fear I ne'er can reach the score.”
Quoth Robin—“Though there's much to fear,
'Tis best to hope and persevere.”
Humps meets with Robin at the plough.
“Alas,” he cries, “my worthy friend
“Where will my disappointments end?
“Though twice the posset-bowl was crowned,
“Nine times, alone, the toast went round;
“The vain attempt I must give o'er,
“I fear I ne'er can reach the score.”
Quoth Robin—“Though there's much to fear,
'Tis best to hope and persevere.”
Thus Humps each morn did Robin shrive,
Until the score got down to five;
Then Humps, with looks more sad than ever,
“My friend, I've done my best endeavor
“My feeble force again to rally
“I can not rise beyond a tally,
“My dear, my lovely Iphigene
“Must surely sink into the spleen,
“Thus of expected bliss beguiled,
“She'll think she's wedded to a child:
“Nor here concludes my sad disaster
“I need a poultice, or a plaster,
“What was no larger than my wrist
“Is scarcely smaller than my fist.”
Until the score got down to five;
Then Humps, with looks more sad than ever,
“My friend, I've done my best endeavor
“My feeble force again to rally
“I can not rise beyond a tally,
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“Must surely sink into the spleen,
“Thus of expected bliss beguiled,
“She'll think she's wedded to a child:
“Nor here concludes my sad disaster
“I need a poultice, or a plaster,
“What was no larger than my wrist
“Is scarcely smaller than my fist.”
“Adzooks,” quoth Robin—“never mind,
“A hair of the same dog you'll find,
“A better poultice to apply,
“Than any plaster you can buy.”
“A hair of the same dog you'll find,
“A better poultice to apply,
“Than any plaster you can buy.”
Humps groaned assent—but doubted much
Whether the poultice he could touch.
Whether the poultice he could touch.
Two days had passed since Robin heared,
How now with honest Humps it fared,
At noon he finds him still in bed,
With rueful face, and drooping head,
To every kind enquiry dumb,
He neither finger raised nor thumb.
When Robin thus—“Why what a pother
“You make of things which any other
“Would think but very moderate duty.
“Would Iphigene, too, such a beauty!
“You should at least the score have doubled,
“Nor at a trifle thus be troubled.
“There's a neighbor Charles—ten years age gone
“Since duty was to him but fun;
“Eight bumpers are his common dose,
“Less will not lull him to repose,
“And if perchance he lacks his score,
“Next night he takes a bumper more.”
How now with honest Humps it fared,
At noon he finds him still in bed,
With rueful face, and drooping head,
To every kind enquiry dumb,
He neither finger raised nor thumb.
When Robin thus—“Why what a pother
“You make of things which any other
“Would think but very moderate duty.
“Would Iphigene, too, such a beauty!
“You should at least the score have doubled,
“Nor at a trifle thus be troubled.
“There's a neighbor Charles—ten years age gone
“Since duty was to him but fun;
“Eight bumpers are his common dose,
“Less will not lull him to repose,
“And if perchance he lacks his score,
“Next night he takes a bumper more.”
Humps groaning raised his eyes and said,
“Ah! Robin—would that I were dead!”
Just then a tittering laugh betrayed
His Iphigene behind the bed.
“Ah! Robin—would that I were dead!”
Just then a tittering laugh betrayed
His Iphigene behind the bed.
Nov. 8, 1788
134
The Tobacco Pipe
The wag to mischief who's inclinedTo that, alone, gives up his mind,
And sacrifices foes or friends,
Without regret, to gain his ends.
Where Roanoke rolls its limpid tide
Through fertile fields on either side,
Not long ago there was a wedding,
Where guests were plentier far than bedding.
A stranger, I forget his name,
Who from a distant county came,
At all events must have a bed;
For Robin, Harry, George, and Ned,
A pallet on the floor was spread,
The clock struck twelve—to rest they went,
And till the morning slept content;
But Robin with the lark arose
In haste, and to the garden goes:
Then uprose Harry, George, and Ned,
The stranger, fast asleep, in bed,
Lay all uncovered on his face,
Not dreaming of his foul disgrace;
His hapless case when Harry found
He casts his wicked eyes around.
Takes Robin's pipe from off the shelf
(The stem a reed, the bowl was delft),
And to the stranger's nether eye
The taper point he doth apply,
And shoves it in, up to the bowl,
So well he understood the hole:
Dan Prior's ladle not more quick
In old Corisca's bum did stick;
Then out again the reed he takes,
Before the abused stranger wakes:
But had not time the stem to wipe
When Robin came to seek his pipe,
And presently begun to smoke,
Quoth Harry—“Don't you smell a joke?”
Robin threw down the pipe in haste,
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“They're both so strong—so may I thrive,
“They'll last as long as I'm alive.”
Nov. 27, 1788
The Faithful Mastiff
A True Story
At lukewarm, or at faithless friends
I've no design to rail:
An honest, but mistaken zeal,
The subject of my tale.
I've no design to rail:
An honest, but mistaken zeal,
The subject of my tale.
Yet think not, with a cynic's eye
That I regard mankind
Because in men and brutes, alike,
Some qualities I find.
That I regard mankind
Because in men and brutes, alike,
Some qualities I find.
To err is human—and that dogs
Can be mistaken too,
Most clearly follows from a tale
Which I can vouch is true.
Can be mistaken too,
Most clearly follows from a tale
Which I can vouch is true.
Ah! could I but as clearly prove
That men, like dogs, were true,
Full many a heart would now be blithe,
Which now their falsehood rue.
That men, like dogs, were true,
Full many a heart would now be blithe,
Which now their falsehood rue.
In Williamsburg, 'ere party rage
The capital removed,
Together lived three waggish sparks
Who mirth, and frolic loved.
The capital removed,
Together lived three waggish sparks
Who mirth, and frolic loved.
Their names are still remembered there;
For, still, some there remain,
To curse that policy that razed
Their city to the plain.
For, still, some there remain,
To curse that policy that razed
Their city to the plain.
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Their house by night from thieves to guard
A mastiff they had bred;
Yet, oft, did honest Towser go
The way their footsteps led.
A mastiff they had bred;
Yet, oft, did honest Towser go
The way their footsteps led.
For well he knew their waggish tricks
Might sometimes kindle rage,
And well he knew the argument
That passion to assuage.
Might sometimes kindle rage,
And well he knew the argument
That passion to assuage.
For he had found a single look
From him could peace command,
As readily as did the touch
Of Hermes' magic wand:
From him could peace command,
As readily as did the touch
Of Hermes' magic wand:
Or, as the intercessions strong
Of well-armed faithful friends,
Or, as the sheriff's puissant arm,
When posse com. attends.
Of well-armed faithful friends,
Or, as the sheriff's puissant arm,
When posse com. attends.
One evening in the month of June,
When sultry was the day
To Waller's Grove our youngest wag
Directs his lonely way:
When sultry was the day
To Waller's Grove our youngest wag
Directs his lonely way:
That Grove, where old Dodona's pride
Spread far and wide its shade
Till war and avarice allied
A cruel havoc made.
Spread far and wide its shade
Till war and avarice allied
A cruel havoc made.
His steps the faithful Towser marked
As on he saw him pass,
And followed lest perchance there lurked
Some snake beneath the grass.
As on he saw him pass,
And followed lest perchance there lurked
Some snake beneath the grass.
When night her sable mantle spread
The youth a cottage spied,
Where to solace from earth-born care,
With nimble pace he hied.
The youth a cottage spied,
Where to solace from earth-born care,
With nimble pace he hied.
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There, lived a nymph whose tender breast
Was ne'er assailed in vain;
Delighting pleasure to impart
To all who felt a pain.
Was ne'er assailed in vain;
Delighting pleasure to impart
To all who felt a pain.
Our weary pilgrim in the bed
Now sought a soft repose;
When Towser straight crept underneath,
And fell into a doze.
Now sought a soft repose;
When Towser straight crept underneath,
And fell into a doze.
The creaking bedstead roused him soon;
A rustling noise he hears
Of conflict fierce above his head,
And for his master fears.
A rustling noise he hears
Of conflict fierce above his head,
And for his master fears.
He bounces up—and seized the foe,
Beyond the bended knee,
Nor, heeds, that in the conflict, low,
And panting, laid was she.
Beyond the bended knee,
Nor, heeds, that in the conflict, low,
And panting, laid was she.
“Why how now, Towser!” cried the wag.
“Pray let us both alone:
“Your aid, just now, I do not want,
“My adversary's down.”
“Pray let us both alone:
“Your aid, just now, I do not want,
“My adversary's down.”
Dec. 24, 1789
138
The Author's Muse to the Reader
A Monitory Tale
In fair Barbados once there dwelt a dameOf special note, though I forget her name;
With flatulencies she was oft oppressed,
They soured her temper and disturbed her rest.
At length a grand specific she had found,
'Twas lemonade, with aqua-vitae crowned.
A nutmeg o'er the potion should you grate
'Twould make it punch; and punch the dame did hate.
One morning when the clock had just struck nine
She calls to Betty with a sickly whine.
“This dreadful colic—something I must take.”
“A little spirit, madam, shall I add?”
“Yes to be sure! Why sure the girl is mad!
“Can pungent acids with my colic suit
“Unless there's spirit to correct the fruit?”
“A little nutmeg, madam—will you try?”
“Punch in the morning! Gracious God, I die!
“Think you with nasty punch I would get drunk!
“Begone you vile, abominable punk!”
Now listen reader! punch if thou dost hate
Shut up the book before it be too late
'Twas wholesome lemonade I meant to brew,
But troth I fear there's nutmeg in it too.
So, gentle reader, if thou dost get tipsy
Pray call me not a saucy wanton gipsy.
Jan. 1, 1790
The Cynic
Whoever to finding fault inclines
Still misconceives the best designs:
Praxiteles in vain might try
To form a statue for his eye;
Appelles too would pain in vain,
And Titian's colors give him pain,
Palladio's best designs displease him,
And Handel's water piece would freeze him,
Not Tully's eloquence can charm,
Nor e'en old Homer's fire warm:
On all occasions still a beast
He frowns upon the genial feast,
Swears that Falernian wine was sour,
And rails at champagne for an hour,
Not Heliogabalus's cook
Could drop a dish at which he'd look.
Still misconceives the best designs:
Praxiteles in vain might try
To form a statue for his eye;
Appelles too would pain in vain,
And Titian's colors give him pain,
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And Handel's water piece would freeze him,
Not Tully's eloquence can charm,
Nor e'en old Homer's fire warm:
On all occasions still a beast
He frowns upon the genial feast,
Swears that Falernian wine was sour,
And rails at champagne for an hour,
Not Heliogabalus's cook
Could drop a dish at which he'd look.
Anticipating time and fate
He views all things when past their date,
Destruction in his noodle brewing
Turns palaces to instant ruin:
Speak but of Paris or of London
He tells how Babylon was undone:
Ask him, with Thais if he'll sup
He cries—“The worms will eat her up.”
He views all things when past their date,
Destruction in his noodle brewing
Turns palaces to instant ruin:
Speak but of Paris or of London
He tells how Babylon was undone:
Ask him, with Thais if he'll sup
He cries—“The worms will eat her up.”
Once at a merry wedding feast
A cynic chanced to be a guest;
Rich was the father of the bride
And hospitality his pride.
The guests were numerous and the board
With dainties plentifully stored.
There mutton, beef, and vermicelli
Here venison stewed with currant jelly,
Here turkeys robbed of bones and lungs
Are crammed with oysters and with tongues.
There pickled lobsters, prawn, and salmon
And there a stuffed Virginia gammon.
Here custards, tarts, and apple pies
There syllabubs and jellies rise,
Ice creams, and ripe and candied fruits
With comfits and eryngo roots.
Now entered every hungry guest
And all prepared to taste the feast.
Our cynic cries—“How damned absurd
To take such pains to make a ---!”
A cynic chanced to be a guest;
Rich was the father of the bride
And hospitality his pride.
The guests were numerous and the board
With dainties plentifully stored.
There mutton, beef, and vermicelli
Here venison stewed with currant jelly,
Here turkeys robbed of bones and lungs
Are crammed with oysters and with tongues.
There pickled lobsters, prawn, and salmon
And there a stuffed Virginia gammon.
Here custards, tarts, and apple pies
There syllabubs and jellies rise,
Ice creams, and ripe and candied fruits
With comfits and eryngo roots.
Now entered every hungry guest
And all prepared to taste the feast.
Our cynic cries—“How damned absurd
To take such pains to make a ---!”
Jan. 1, 1790
140
The Ass Turned Witness
A Tale—from La Fontaine
A painter jealous above measure,
The better to secure his treasure,
Above the keyhole of the place
That held it, paints a little ass.
The better to secure his treasure,
Above the keyhole of the place
That held it, paints a little ass.
The sequel how shall I reveal?
A brother painter came to steal;
The door unlocks—but in his haste
The ass was totally effaced,
Except the head; which would betray
That somebody had been that way:
In haste his pencil then he got,
And drew another on the spot.
A brother painter came to steal;
The door unlocks—but in his haste
The ass was totally effaced,
Except the head; which would betray
That somebody had been that way:
In haste his pencil then he got,
And drew another on the spot.
Now see our jealous painter come
To view his exhibition room.
“Ye Gods, what here! Upon my life
I'm robbed!” he bawls out to his wife.
“No mortal has been near the place,”
Quoth she.—“My witness is the ass.”
“The ass! you jade! My brains you'll addle:
Zounds! gypsy, who put on the saddle?”
To view his exhibition room.
“Ye Gods, what here! Upon my life
I'm robbed!” he bawls out to his wife.
“No mortal has been near the place,”
Quoth she.—“My witness is the ass.”
“The ass! you jade! My brains you'll addle:
Zounds! gypsy, who put on the saddle?”
Feb. 14, 1790
The Impossibility, or, Old Nick Outwitted
A Tale—from La Fontaine
A devil once, as stories tell,
The most malicious fiend in hell
In solemn form of compact made
A bargain with an amorous blade:
The spark was by his aid to gain
A nymph for whom he sighed in vain;
Old Nick no recompense would have
But to remain his humble slave,
The youth was only to command
Whenever Satan was at hand,
Nor must his orders be delayed
When smutty face his visit paid,
His sole condition was dispatch
For Satan's ever on the watch;
Herein, whene'er the lover faltered
The case should instantly be altered:
Old Nick might drag him to his hole
And roast his body with his soul.
The most malicious fiend in hell
In solemn form of compact made
A bargain with an amorous blade:
The spark was by his aid to gain
A nymph for whom he sighed in vain;
Old Nick no recompense would have
But to remain his humble slave,
The youth was only to command
Whenever Satan was at hand,
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When smutty face his visit paid,
His sole condition was dispatch
For Satan's ever on the watch;
Herein, whene'er the lover faltered
The case should instantly be altered:
Old Nick might drag him to his hole
And roast his body with his soul.
Our lover laughed at the condition;
“Command is easier than submission:
“Obedience were another thing:
“What evil from command can spring!”
“Command is easier than submission:
“Obedience were another thing:
“What evil from command can spring!”
Old Nick was faithful to his word
The lover shortly was preferred,
And 'midst his amorous caresses
His sooty benefactor blesses.
The lover shortly was preferred,
And 'midst his amorous caresses
His sooty benefactor blesses.
Think of him and his horns appear:
Old Nick was straightway at his ear;
The lover sends him on an errand,
'Twas presently performed I warrant;
Whether to Italy or Spain
Satan was quickly back again.
Returned—our lover bids him go
And bring some gold from Mexico;
Then sends him off across the line
For jewels from Golconda's mine:
Behold, at once, a monstrous hoard
Of gold and jewels on the board!
Next sends to Canada for furs,
Satan was not in need of spurs:
A centaur's hide—a dragon's claw,
A mermaid's skin—a griffin's paw,
A craken's tooth—a phoenix' nest,
In turn, were instantly possessed.
“What! here again! Nay, this is Malice;
Go—build a temple or a palace.”
Not Pandemonium more quick
Was raised without the aid of brick.
Our frighted lover now bethought him
That Satan in his trap had caught him;
For not a moment did he lose,
Nor leave the lover time to choose.
What service next to send him on
Before the last command was done.
The promised feast he scarce had tasted
And half the night in vain was wasted,
Nor could he hope by night or day
To keep the smutty fiend away,
And while he thought upon his talons
He lost all appetite for dalliance,
Thus with perpetual care oppressed
He to the nymph the whole confessed.
Old Nick was straightway at his ear;
The lover sends him on an errand,
'Twas presently performed I warrant;
Whether to Italy or Spain
Satan was quickly back again.
Returned—our lover bids him go
And bring some gold from Mexico;
Then sends him off across the line
For jewels from Golconda's mine:
Behold, at once, a monstrous hoard
Of gold and jewels on the board!
Next sends to Canada for furs,
Satan was not in need of spurs:
A centaur's hide—a dragon's claw,
A mermaid's skin—a griffin's paw,
A craken's tooth—a phoenix' nest,
In turn, were instantly possessed.
“What! here again! Nay, this is Malice;
Go—build a temple or a palace.”
Not Pandemonium more quick
Was raised without the aid of brick.
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That Satan in his trap had caught him;
For not a moment did he lose,
Nor leave the lover time to choose.
What service next to send him on
Before the last command was done.
The promised feast he scarce had tasted
And half the night in vain was wasted,
Nor could he hope by night or day
To keep the smutty fiend away,
And while he thought upon his talons
He lost all appetite for dalliance,
Thus with perpetual care oppressed
He to the nymph the whole confessed.
“And is this all!” she smiling said,
“That has our mutual Bliss delayed!
Here—bid him straighten this”—she cried,
“And lay your silly fears aside.”
Then put into his hand a hair
Which she had plucked the Lord knows where;
Whether from cushion, or from wig,
Or from stuffed hoop so round and big,
Or from her eyebrow, or from her temple,
'Tis certain it was but a sample;
As by the sequel will appear.
Old Nick was in a moment there;
For now he thought, that half an hour,
Would give his prey into his power.
“Here straighten this”—the lover cried,
Old Nick t'his mouth the hair applied:
The hair curled not a whit the less.
Ha! this won't do! We'll try a press.
A press, a vice, a weight in turn
He tries in vain—he's yet to learn;
He souses it into the ocean,
He might as well have drunk a potion.
In his own element he tries it,
Then on an anvil stoutly plies it;
Nor fire, nor water, press nor weight
Could make the curling tendril straight:
'Tis vain to tamper with it longer
It only makes the buckle stronger.
“That has our mutual Bliss delayed!
Here—bid him straighten this”—she cried,
“And lay your silly fears aside.”
Then put into his hand a hair
Which she had plucked the Lord knows where;
Whether from cushion, or from wig,
Or from stuffed hoop so round and big,
Or from her eyebrow, or from her temple,
'Tis certain it was but a sample;
As by the sequel will appear.
Old Nick was in a moment there;
For now he thought, that half an hour,
Would give his prey into his power.
“Here straighten this”—the lover cried,
Old Nick t'his mouth the hair applied:
The hair curled not a whit the less.
Ha! this won't do! We'll try a press.
A press, a vice, a weight in turn
He tries in vain—he's yet to learn;
He souses it into the ocean,
He might as well have drunk a potion.
In his own element he tries it,
Then on an anvil stoutly plies it;
Nor fire, nor water, press nor weight
Could make the curling tendril straight:
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It only makes the buckle stronger.
No wonder if our spark was pleased
To find himself at length released,
For Satan came no more that night
But stayed until the morning light.
“Here, take your hair!” The tempter cries,
“It both my toil and skill defies;
Our bargain now is at an end.”
The lover laughed and said—“Old friend
You're in a hurry to give o'er
I've just now found ten thousand more.”
To find himself at length released,
For Satan came no more that night
But stayed until the morning light.
“Here, take your hair!” The tempter cries,
“It both my toil and skill defies;
Our bargain now is at an end.”
The lover laughed and said—“Old friend
You're in a hurry to give o'er
I've just now found ten thousand more.”
Feb. 18, 1790
144
The Discontented Student
A True Story
Returned from college R--- gets a wifeTo be the joy and comfort of his life:
But ere the honeymoon was in the wane
He sighs for college and his books, again
To his thought on all occasions flock:
Like Madam Shandy, thinking of the clock.
But, sad mishap! when Phoebus gilds the skies,
If to his favorite authors he applies,
Bright Venus throws her cestus o'er the book;
In vain he tries upon the page to look;
As Cupid blind, the classic page no more
Delights his raptured sight as heretofore.
Like that sagacious beast, who placed between
Two cocks of hay—one dry, the other green,
Can neither taste; our scholar every night
Thinks of his books; and of his bride by light.
Untasted joys breed always discontents;
Thus to his sire, his rage the scholar vents.
“Would that in Italy I had been born,
And, early, of each vile encumbrance shorn,
Which now seduces all my thoughts away
From Classic studies or by night, or day.
Uninterrupted then I might have read
Or in my elbow chair, or in my bed;
Till drowsy grown, and nodding o'er the book
Upon the enchanting page I craved to look
And then in rapturous dreams renewed the joy
Till taking, I resumed the blest employ.
But now in vain I quit the genial bed,
My wife—a plague!—keeps running in my head
In ev'ry page I read my raging fires
Portray her yielding to my fierce desires.”
“G--- d--- your books!” the testy father said
“I'd not give --- for all you've read.”
145
The Judge With the Sore Rump
“Serva tibi minas!”
To a judge who was seated on high;
As (for some fatal crime)
He devoted some time
To prepare the poor culprit to die.
To a judge who was seated on high;
As (for some fatal crime)
He devoted some time
To prepare the poor culprit to die.
“What's that about mine a---e?”
(Says the judge to Aquinas,
And turned up his rump as he spoke)
“I've a boil on my bum,
Thrice as large as my thumb:
And see here!—the boil has just broke!”
(Says the judge to Aquinas,
And turned up his rump as he spoke)
“I've a boil on my bum,
Thrice as large as my thumb:
And see here!—the boil has just broke!”
Says Aquinas—“I find
That your tortures behind,
Are more than you threaten, by far:
So here end your farce,
And take care of your a---e;
And let me get out of the bar.”
That your tortures behind,
Are more than you threaten, by far:
So here end your farce,
And take care of your a---e;
And let me get out of the bar.”
Jan. 27, 1819
| The Poems of St. George Tucker of Williamsburg, Virginia 1752-1827 | |