 | The Poems of St. George Tucker of Williamsburg, Virginia 1752-1827 |  |
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
| The Poems of St. George Tucker of Williamsburg, Virginia 1752-1827 | |