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“LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.”
PETER PUMPKIN-HEAD DEFEATED BY TABITHA TOWZER.
CANTO I.
Pray list to my delicate ditty,
My verse like brass kettle shall ring,
Or sleigh bells, which gingle so pretty.
In this my fine cantering metre,
What virtues and graces abound
In Tabitha Towzer's friend Peter.
No guinea-pig ever was neater,
Like a hakmatak slender and spare.
And sweet as a mush-squash, or sweeter.
When dress'd in her pretty new tucker,
In quest of a mud pout, or sucker.
Ah! smoother than that, on my soul,
And turn'd, as a body may say,
Like a delicate neat wooden-bowl.
As straight as a carpenter's line,
For similes sure must be rare,
When we speak of a nymph so divine.
That never was sharen or shorn,
Nought equals the locks of my dear
But the silk of an ear of green corn.
With a sled-runner crook in the middle,
Was meant for the head of a fiddle.
Glass buttons shone never so bright,
Their love-lighted lustre outvies
The lightning-bug's twinkle by night.
She makes in my bosom a pother,
When leering politely askance,
She shuts one, and winks with the other.
As a hogshead of maple molasses,
And the ruby red tint of her cheek,
The gill of a salmon surpasses.
Nor ever describ'd in a novel,
Of a beautiful kind of pea-green,
And shap'd like a wooden-shod-shovel.
Were wings of a bat in perfection:
A dollar I never should grudge
To put them in Peale's grand collection.
At least till our language is richer,
Much fairer than ladle of tin,
Or beautiful brown earthen pitcher.
Never join'd head and body together,
Like nice crook'd neck'd squash on the ground,
Long whiten'd by winter-like weather.
To form an idea be able,
A couple of oranges view, air,
On a brownish mahogany table.
I might by some phrase that's improper,
Give modesty's bosom alarms,
Which I wouldn't do for a copper.
You might think I intended to banter;
She moves with more grace, you would swear,
Than a founder'd horse forc'd to a canter.
Which ravish'd you out of your senses:
A pig will make just such a noise
When his hind-leg stuck fast in the fence is.
CANTO II.
That your musical maker of metre
May set forth the graces in style
Of Tabitha Towzer's friend Peter.
But shrub-oak was never so nurly:
Like crab-apple juice was his mien,
And they christened him Peter the Surly.
But wrought on a farm in the summer;
Was not very far from a fool,
But made a most capital drummer.
Of novels some few, and romances,
Had courted of girls, one or two,
But never could tickle their fancies.
That the girls would have none of his fumbling,
But gave him the bag, with a slap,
And sent Mister Peter home grumbling.
A young man that wasn't so shabby,
The neighbours all thought it was droll,
If he wouldn't do for Miss Tabby.
That his prowess exceeded all praising,
There wasn't a lad thereabout
Could wrestle so well at “A Raising.”
And set the psalm well at a meeting,
But fell in love—ah, well-a-day!
With Tabitha Towzer, his sweeting.
When he'd got his new Sunday dress on,
But study'd to say what was right,
As school boy would study his lesson.
Lest he should appear to be stupid,
Of Venus and Dian, so smart,
And that little (what's his name) Cupid.
Quite up to the pink of the fashion,
With whiskey he made his heart stout,
Then went to give vent to his passion.
He arriv'd in good season to woo her,
But thought he, I'd rather be shot,
Than attempt to say any thing to her.
And follow'd her into the kitchen,
Then told her “Miss Tab, my insides,
“ Mr. Cupid like taylor is stitching.
“When by you I chance to be marching,
“My heart waxes hot as a coal,
“And hops like a pea that is parching.
“And be such a hard-hearted creature,
“Her humble-come-tumble to slight,
“Who loves her so well he could eat her.
“Though poets say she is divine,
“Outshine her as much as the sun
Does a torch-light that's made of pitch-pine.”
“And swear you will love till all's blue,
“You may coax, you may wheedle, and whine,
“But faith I'll not spark it with you.”
“If nothing should happen, a year hence,
“Will set out to live by my wit,
“And make a most dashing appearance.
“To make a grand college-learn'd lad o'me,
“And send me a month to the academy.”
“Of one who is caught in love's steel-trap,
“And arrows stuck into his heart,
“Like wooden-pegs into a heel-tap!”
That his rhetorick couldn't but please her,
(If a body may say it,) to squeeze her;
To think he should think to get round her,
And snatch'd up a ladie for broth,
And knock'd him down flat as a flounder!
In the New England states almost every farmer is possessed of a large conch shell, a species of the alatus, with a hole perforated through the end. The sound produced, by blowing into this, is very similar to that of a huntsman's horn, only much louder. It is usually lodged with the cook-maid, who, when dinner is prepared, applies her ruby lips to the “vocal shell,” and affords to the hungry labourer as delightful musick as does the echoing born to the sons of the chase.
That is principally composed of English dactylicks, like “Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum;” which Virgil says represents the running of a horse.
Mud-pout and sucker are two kinds of fishes of little value, common enough in muddy streams. The otter pursues these with peculiar avidity.
In New England every citizen, with a very few legal exemptions, is a soldier. Among the peasantry, playing the fife and drum are thought fine accomplishment.
“A Raising,” so termed in New England, is erecting the frame of a wooden building, of which description are most of the houses in the country. On such an occasion the athletick young men in the neighbourhood are invited to lend their assistance. After the business of the day is concluded, wrestling, hopping, and other gymnastick sports, are generally introduced by way of amusement.
This beautiful phrase is an abbreviation of “Your most humble-come-tumble down four-pair-of-stairs into-the-garret;” and is used by those, only, who practise the supreme bon ton of yankey politeness.
Is a phrase common among New England rusticks for tender tete a tete conversation between two persons of different sexes. The avocations of the peasantry render it, generally, inconvenient to attend to their fair ones in the day time. They consequently devote a portion of the night to that purpose. See Jonathan's Courtship.
It is fashionable in New England for the middling class of society, who cannot afford to give their sons a collegiate education, to send them to some one of their academies, of which there are, perhaps, too many for the good of community. Here they acquire a smattering of English grammar, and sometimes a little Latin. Proud of these accomplishments, our young gentlemen are apt to suppose themselves to be personages of too much consequence to return to their former laborious occupations, but either endeavour, without any of the requisite qualifications, to crowd themselves into the learned professions, or set up to live by their wits, in other words, turn swindlers, and nine times in ten fail for want of stock. This is, undoubtedly, one principal cause why New England has been almost proverbial for its multitude of sharpers.
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