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138

Maryland Eclogues in Imitation of Virgil's

By Jonathan Spritly, Esqr. Formerly a Worthy Member of the Assembly Revis'd & Corrected by his Friend Sly Boots


139

SPLIT-TEXT

Eclogue 1st.

Argument

Crape, a Virginian Clergyman, being turn'd out of his Living for Misdemeanours, comes to the House of Split-text in Maryland, where Split-text's happy Situation & Crape's Misfortune naturally beget the following Dialogue.

Crape, Split-text
Crape:
Beneath the Shade of these wide-spreading Trees,
Dear Split-text. You can smoke your Chunk

A small Planter's Pipe which some of the Clergy don't disdain to make use of.

at Ease;

I hapless Wretch! must bid such joys Adieu;
Strip't of my Credit, & my Income too;
Must leave my Glebe, which all my Bacon

The chief Food of the Marylanders.

fed,

(Bacon, my rich repast so often made)
While you, while chearful, Plenty round you dwells,
Can talk with D---y,

A numerous Family in the Province

how Tobacco sells.
Tityrus Ecloga 1ma Meliboeus, Tityrus
Mel:
Tityre, tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi
Silvestrem tenui Musam meditaris avena;
Nos patriae finis et dulcia linquimus arva;
Nos patriam fugimus; tu, Tityre
Formosam resonare doces Amaryllida Sylvas



Split-text:
Yes, Brother Crape—a gen'rous Chief bestow'd
On me these Blessings—all to him I ow'd.
For which I'll ne'er forget, each Sabbath-Day,
With hearty Zeal for my good Lord to pray:
He

Too just an Insinuation, that the true merit of a Clergyman is not considered here in his Promotion.

made me Parson here; & bids me fill

My Pipe & Bowl, as often as I will.
Tit:
O Meliboe, Deus nobis hoc otia fecit
illius aram
Saepe tener nostris ab obilibus imbuet agnus
Ille meas errare boves et ipsum
Ludere quae vellem calamo permisit agresti



Crape:
I envy not your Bliss, but wonder much
Their

The name of a Clergyman almost scandalous here; which proceeds from two Causes: the ill Conduct of some of them & the vast numbers of Roman Catholicks & Quakers, who, however wide in their Points of Belief & doctrine, both of them heartily join in aspersing the Teachers and Members Church of England.

Hate for Pray'rs & Parsons here is such!

Poor I am forc'd on this lank jade to ride,
Which often alate with hunger lik'd to 've died:
But yesterday she tumbled in the Dirt.
And 'gainst a white oak

A particular kind of oak very plentiful in this Province.

Stump my Forehead hurt,


140

Fool that I was!—I might have known my Fate;
But Man is conscious of his Faults too late;
My Vestry

The Vestries in Virginia have it in their Pow'r, if the minister behaves ill, to get rid of him; which the Maryland Vestries have not.

told me oft, they'd bear no more,

And now at length have turn'd me out of Door.
—But say how you have all this Favour got?
Mel:
Non equidem invideo, miror magis; undique totis
Usque adeo turbamur agris
Protinus aeger ago; hanc etiam vix, Tityre, duco
Hic inter densas corylos modo manque gamellos
Spem gregis, ah! silice in nuda connixa reliquit.
Saepe malum hoc nobis, Si mens non laeva fuisset,
De caelo tactas memini praedicere quercus.
Saepe sinistra cava praedixit ab ilice ornix
Sed tamen ille Deus qui sit, da, Tityre, nobis



Split-text:
Assurance & Good Luck:—what will they not?
A—

What Countryman my friend means, I can't exactly tell; however, am of opinion he had no Intention of aspersing any Country.

by Birth, I came a School to teach;

But little thought (God knows) I e'er should preach;
I found the Parsons here such Clods of Clay,
That soon to my Ambition I gave Way:
Why might not I, I said, harangue as well
As W---n or Wh---r or D-11?

These really are Gentlemen that bring a great discredit on their Funtion.


For we resemble those at Home no more,
Than Saints of Modern Days do Saints of yore.
Tit:
Sic canibus catulos similis,
Noram Haec tantum alias inter caput extulit urbes
Quantum lenta solent inter viburna cupressi.



Crape:
And pray, what made you to this Country come?
Mel:
Et quae tanta fuit Romam tibi causa videndi?



Split-text:
Faith! Poverty—I shou'd have starv'd at Home.
Soon as the Down 'gan on my Chin t'appear;
Ti:
Libertas, quae sera tamen respexit inertem.
Candidior postquam tondenti barba cadebat


I quite grew weary of my country Fare.
Oatmeal & Water was too thin a Diet,
To keep my grumbling Guts in peace & Quiet;
So fear of Starving, Hope of living better,
Made me have Heart enough to cross the Water.

Nec spes libertatis erat, nec cura peculi.



Crape:
I was surpris'd, that tho' you liv'd so well,
Me:
Mirabar quid maesta Deos, amarylli, vocares;


Your Carcase was so lank, you Phiz so pale;
The Cause is plain

The philosophy of this I don't pretend to assert; but I think Experience is plainly on our Side.

—your native, hungry Food

So gain'd th'Ascendant o'er your youthful Blood,
You look, as, if no meat cou'd do you good.

Split-text:
Twas Time then to some other place to roam,
And seek for better Fare than was at home;

141

Here then I came—but soon went back again,
The B[i]sh[o]p's Blessing, & my L[or]d's

Lord Proprietary of Maryland, who has all the Livings in his own Gift.

to gain

Soon both I got—I saw that noble P[ee]r,
For whom our Church puts up each week a Pray'r.

A very just Satyr I think on our Clergy for putting his lordship in our Pray'rs on a par with the Royal Family.


He bad me come, he bad me preach & pray,
And, if the Planters wou'd not, make 'em pay.
Tit:
neque servitio me exire licebat,
Nec tam praesentis alibi cognoscere divos.
Hic illum vidi juvenem, Meliboe, quotannis
Bis senos cui nostra dies altaria fumant.
Hic mihi responsum primus dedit ille pententi;
Pascite boves boves, pueri; submittite tauros.



Crape:
O happy Brother; happy is Thy Plight;
Mel:
Fortunate senex ergo tua rura manebunt;


Happy in all that can thy Soul delight;
Sure of the Forties,

The Clergy's Income is by forty Pound Wt of Tobacco a Head; & indeed little enough for those that are worthy of it; tho' occasion is taken from the Ill behaviour of some to represent their Income as a great Burthen on the Country.

Whate'er Loss betide

The Planter's Toil; since they must be supply'd.
O happy Brother—By this purling Rill
These shady Locusts,

A wood that grows by the Waterside, remarkable for its Hardness & it's long Continuance so that it is made use of much in their Gardens &c.

& that pleasant Hill,

What dost thou not enjoy?—the fanning Breeze
Comes sweetly breathing on thee thru the trees;
That busy Swarm with lulling sound compose
Thy wearied Soul to gentle, soft Repose;
Thy Negros, chanting forth their rustick Loves,
The melancholy Musick of the Doves;
The feather'd Choir, which, while they skim along
The liquid Plain, regale thee with a Song;
Nec Mala vicini pecoris contagia laedent.
Fortunate senex; hic inter flumina nota
Et fontes sacros frigus captabis opacum.
Hinc tibi, quae semper vicino ab limite saepes
Hyblaeis apibus florem depasta salicti;
Saepe levi somnum suadebit inire susurro
canet frondator ad auras,
Nec tamen interea raucae Palumbes
Nec gemere aeria cessabit turtur ab ulmo


All, all conspire to heighten ev'ry Bliss,
And make theee taste sincerest Happiness.

Split-text:
Planters Tobacco shall forget to smoke,
Hogs to love Mast and Peaches, Frogs to croak,
The Indians range, where flows the princely Thames,
And Duchess live nigh Potomack's

A fine large River, that divides Virginia & Maryland, tis reckond twenty miles wide at it's Mouth.

Streams,

'Ere from my Heart that smiling Mien I lose
Tit:
Ante leves ergo pascentur in aethere cervi,
Et freta destituent nudos in littore pisces;
Ante pererratis amborum finibus exul
Aut Ararim Parthus bibet aut Germania Tigrim,
Quam nostro illius labatur pectore vultus.


With which the gen'rous

Gen'rous indeed, since his Church Favours fall without Distinction, on any that ask for them.

Lord his Gifts bestows.


Crape:
But I alass!
Mel:
At nos hic &c.

no more my Glebe must view,

But to my once-lov'd Dwelling bid Adieu,
Go preach the Gospel in some Indian's Ear,

Ten to one! a great deal more Purpose; tho' tis observable all over America, Christianity makes very small Progress among the Indians, which is owing no doubt to the scandalous Lives of it's pretended Professors among them.


Who'll mind my Preaching, like your Planters here?
And must a Stranger—Parson rule the roost,
And Glean the Harvest I so stupid lost?
Impius haec tam cultra novalia miles habebit
Barbarus has Segetes En quo discordia civis
Perduxit miseros


What has my Guzzling & my Folly done?

142

Go, Planters, go, your quondam Parson shun;

Ite, meae, felix quondam pecus, ite capellae;


No more shall I with you rant, drink & smoke;
Toast baudy Healths, or crack a smutty joak;
Carmina nulla canum; non, me pascente Capellae
Florentem Cytisum & salices carpetis amaras.


No more in Bumbo, or in Cyder swill;

I'm sorry to say, the Satyr here too just. Indeed Ecclesiastical Authority is much wanted here; & till proper measures are taken, there will be some among the Clergy, whose Lives will be a Scandal to the rest.


Faith! all's o'er now—I may go where I will.

Split-text:
To night howe'er with me you'll foul a Plate;
A juicy fat Gammon & a Chick we'll get;
Wine I have none; Good Bumbo

Rum, Water and Sugar without Acid.

& small Beer,

Clean, tho' coarse Linnen, will be all your Fare.
This year of Cyder I but made one Stoup,

Cider very plentiful in this Country: but tis observable that the Trees bear but ev'ry other Year. We must suppose this then to be the scarce year.


One Night the Planters came & drank it up,
Walk in—the Chimney's Smoke's more plainly seen;
And Giant Shadows cross the dewy Green;
Tit:
Hic tamen hac mecum poteras requiescere nocte
Sunt nobis mitia poma
Constaneae molles et pressi copia lactis;
Et jam summa procul villarum culmina fumant
Majoresque cadunt altis de montibus umbrae


In louder Musick sing the marshy Frogs;

The frogs here are of various Kinds & have notes as various, which on a summer's Ev'ning make a musick not disagreable.


—Sambo, go, pen the Turkies, feed the Hogs.


150

DAPHNE

Eclogue 2d.

Argument

Pompey, a Negro Slave, is in love with Daphne, a fellow Slave that has gained the good Graces of her Master—He therefore in this Eclogue complains of her Cruelty, says all he can in his own Favour, & importunes her to come & live with him; till at last perceiving the Vanity of her Pretensions, he acknowledges his Folly, & is resolv'd to Trouble himself no more about her.

For Daphne's Charms did hapless Pompey

The Planters generally give to their Negroes the names of the greatest men of old, which I can't help thinking is doing a great outrage to the Heroes of antiquity.

burn,

In vain, She scorn'd to make him a Return;
The planter lov'd too well the coal-black Maid,

Tis very well known both Planters & their Wives have transgrest this Way.


Joy of his Eyes, & Partner of his Bed:
The gloomy Woods were all the Slave's Relief,
His toil once o'er, he'd solace there his Grief;
To echoing hills wou'd tell his piteous Tale,
And grumble to the trees—without Avail.
Alexis Ecloga 2da
Formosum pastor Corydon ardebat Alexin,
Delicias Domini; nec quid Speraret habebat.
Tantum inter densas, umbrosa cacumina, fagos
Assidue veniebat ibi haec incondita solus
Montibus et silvis studio jactabat inani


O cruel Daphne, must I die indeed,
Nor thou my Songs, my Cares, my Passion heed?
Our fleecy Flocks the breezy Cool enjoy;
Secure midst bushy Brakes the Lizards lie,
Kind Nell delicious Huomine

The negro's Food in the Winter, made of Indian corn and Beans boil'd in salt & water; & eat generally with Hog's fat.

prepares

For weary Cesar, & for lusty Mars.
But I, pursuing charming Thee in vain,
Constant with chirping Grashopper complain.
The haughty Airs of proud Mulatto Bess,
Was't not enough to bear—without redress?
True; she was yellow;—lovely black art thou;
Yet both coneur my Wonted Peace t'undo.
Trust not too much, my Tyrant, to thy Charms;
The whites are sometimes welcome to our Arms:
My Mistress oft invites me to her Bed,

See note a.


And, if thou'rt cruel still, she'll sure succeed.
O crudelis Alexi, nihil mea carmina curas;
Nil nostri miserere; mori me denique coges:
Nunc etiam pecudes umbras & frigora captant,
Thestylis & rapido fessis messoribus aestu
Nunc viridis etiam occultant spineta lacertos,
Allia serpyllumque herbas contundit olentis.
At mecum raucis, tua dum vestigia lustro,
Sole sub ardenti resonant asbusta cicadis.
Nonne fuit satius tristes Amaryllidis iras
Atque superba puti fastidia?
Quamvis ille niger, quamvis tu candidus esses.
O formose puer, nimium ne crede colori,
Alba liqustra cadunt. Vaccinia nigra leguntur.


151

Daphne, indeed you shun you don't know who;
A thousand Things at your Command I'll do.
Fullrich am I in Poultry, Turkies, Geese;
Cotton I gather, white as any Fleece;
Potatoes sweet shall be thy Winter-Fare,
And most delicious Fruits thy Summer's Share.
I sing as well as ever Negro sung.
Nor Sambo has a Banjar

A Negro Instrument, something like a Bladder.

better strung.
Despectus tibi sum, nec, qui sim, quaeris, Alexi.
Quam dives pecoris, nivei quam lactis abundans.
Mille meae Siculis errant in montibus agnae
Lac mihi non aestate, novum non frigore desit
Canto quae solitus
Amphion Dircaeus—


Nor am I so deform'd—alate I stood,
And view'd my shape in Choptank's

A River on the Western Shore of the Chesapeak.

Silver Flood

My Master's self, tho' we were judg'd by thee,
Can't boast a Body, Shape, or Limbs like me.
Nec sum adeo informis: nuper me in litore vidi,
Cum pacidum ventis staret mare; non ego Daphnim
Judice te, metuam

O might this humble Hut thy Charms receive;
With me the Piggies to their Accorns drive.
Our haughty Lord, tho' now so wondrous great,

Nothing more common than for the Convits that go over, if they prove anything careful, to get a handsome Livelihood; & buy Slaves themselves; which they are sure to use cruelly enough.


Once on Tobacco, & on Hogs did wait:
First toil'd like me, was next an Overseer;
So by Degrees grew what you've found him here.
Nor think it Scorn to use this gentle Hoe;
Once in his Life, twas more than he wou'd do.
O tantum libeat mecum tibi sordida rura
Atque humilis habitare casas,
Haedorumq gregem viridi compellere hybisco.—
Mecum una in sylvis imitabere Pana canendo.
Pan primus calamos cera conjungere plures.
Instituit—
Nec te paeniteat calamo trivisse labellum
Haec eadem ut Sciret, quid non faciebat Amintas?

Besides, within the Woods I lately found
Two lovely Fawns,

Deer range here in great Plenty, & anyone that will, may destroy them, tho now scarcer, especially in the more cultivated Part of the Country, than they were in the author's Time.

with White all Spotted round,

These have I kept for thee—Nell oft in vain
Has beg'd 'em of me; she'll her Suit obtain,
Since thou the Giver & the Gift disdain.
Praeterea duo nec tuta mihi valle reperti
Capreoli, sparsis etiam nunc pellibus ambo
quos tibi servo
Iam pridem a me illos abducere Thestylis orat:
Et faciet; quoniam sordent tibi munera nostra.
Huc Ades, O formose puer Tibi &c.

Come beauteous Girl—For thee each Brother slave
A Garland, mint of fairest Flow'rs shall weave,
For thee myself will Nuts & Peaches

Peaches are surprisingly plentiful here, so that in the Season they feed their Hogs with them.

get,

And Apples sweeter than thou'st tasted yet,
The Cedars too, their fragrant Boughs shall lend,
Thee from the Summer's Heat, or Winter's Cold to fend.
Ipse ego cana legam tenera langugine mala
Castaneasq nuces
Addam cerea pruna, & honos erit huic quoque Malo.
Et vos, O lauri, carpam, & te, proxima myrte
Sic positae quoniam suavis miscetis odores.

Ah, Pompey! she thy scoundrel—Presents scorns;
Thy Lord with nobler Gifts her Love returns;
What wou'd I have?—how wretched is my Lot?
The Hogs into my Cotton Patch have got.

Ev'ry Planter allows his Negro a little spot of ground to raise some little Truck for himself, such as Cotton, Potatoes, Negro Peese, &c.


Surely our Huts you scorn'st not; lest you're mad;
Our Master's self at first no better had.
Rusticus es, Corydon: nec munera curat Alexis;
Nec si muneribus certes, concedat Iolas.
Ehue! quid volni misero mihi Floribus Austrum
Perditus & liquidis immisi fontibus Apros.
Quem fugis ah! demens! habitarunt di quoque sylvas
Dardaniusque Paris.


152

The Wolf with greedy Eyes the Lamb pursues,
The Gentle Lamb the Glade with rapture views.
I follow thee, My Daphne; thee alone;
All follow that they want to make their own.
See my returning Mates—their Toil is done,
The Shadows now attend the setting Sun:
Yet I'm burnt up with Love—What yet could prove
Lupis ipse capellam
Florentem cytisum sequitur lasciva capella
Te Corydon, O Alexi; Trahit sua quemque voluptas.
Aspice, aratra jugo referunt suspensa juvenci,
Et Sol crescentes decendens duplicat umbras:
Me tamen urit amor—quis enim modus adsit Amori?

Sufficient Guard against the Flames of Love.
Ah Pompey, say! thy Mind what Frenzy sways?
And yet no Boughs support thy drooping Peas:
Why rather does thou not those Things prepare
Which both for thy wants & ease more needful are?
Another court, since thou must do without her;
Ah Corydon, Corydon! quae te dementia cepit?
Semiputata tibi frondosa vitis in ulmo est.
Quin tu aliquid saltem potius, quorum indiget usus,
Viminibus mollique paras detexere junco.
Invenies alium, si te hic fastidit, Alexim.

Make no more Rant, nor vex thyself about her.

Good advice truly; & follow'd by the Generality of the Province, for from the Counsellor to the Slave, there was never an instance of true gen'rous Courtship; The Refinement of that noble Passion being what they are wholly Strangers to.



159

SHOAT

Ecloga 3

Argument

After a Squabble, as too usual among Convicts, Scape-Rope & Cutpurse challenge one another to sing, & make their Shipmate Shoat Judge of the Performance.— If the Poetry of this Eclogue seems in some Places worse than ordinary, you must consider how hard it is, to make such Persons Speak in Character.

Scape-Rope, Cut-Purse, Shoat
Scape-Rope:
Ho! Cutpurse, say, whose starveling Kine are these?

Cutpurse:
My Master Foists;—They brousing on the Trees.

Scape-Rope:
Ay, so it seems, while any slut he'll court,
Who picks his Pocket, & laughs at him for't
You, Scoundrel as you are, his Corn destroy,
And the few Cows he has with Hunger die.

Cutpurse:
Good Words become you; or I'm much mistaken;
Who late was caught a filching Dobson's Bacon?

Scape-Rope:
Rascal! I did not kill my Neighbour's Trees;
They're Rogues like you, that play such Pranks as these.


160

Cutpurse:
Not you, be sure—poor Hodges best can tell;
'Cause he his Master pleas'd & serv'd him well;
A Jacket his Reward—You, envious Wight!
To Pieces tore it, purely out of Spite.

Scape-Rope:
Sirrah! I caught thee late—thou know'st, I did.
The Dog betray'd thee—in the Bushes hid;
And when I cried; Beward the Turkies,

Turkies surprisingly plentiful & the best I ever eat in my life.

ho!

Aside the Rails you scamper'd—Is't not so?

Cutpurse:
The Turkey's mine; twas by a Song I won it;
And tho' he kept it from me, Bumpkin own'd it.

Scape-Rope:
Heigh! thou pretend to sing—sure never yet
Cou'd Voice like thine one Tart by singing get,
Tis true, thou scar'st the Wild-Cats by thy yell;
For thy shrill Roar's enough to frighten Hell.

Cutpurse:
Ha! darst thou try, which of us best can sing?
This Dog I prize 'bove any earthly Thing;
Better than ought of thine—yet this I'll lay—
Tis plain, thou dar'st not—dar'st thou, Scoundrel, ha!

Scape-Rope:
Dogs I have none; My Mistress well you know
To Dogs e'er since her Loss has been a Foe;
By them her hapless Lover was betray'd,
And thro' her Husband's Rage an Eunuch made;
And now she hates them with the utmost Spite,
And the least Howl still puts her in a Fright.

A true story, & just as it is related here.


But since thou art resolv'd the Fool to play;
The only Thing I have, I'm free to lay:
This Knife, last Instance of that nimble Art,

161

Which liked to have plac'd me in the fatal Cart
This I have valued long—& yet I'll stake it,
And if thou win'st it from me, thou must take it.

Cutpurse:
And I've a Spoon too, Sukey to me gave,
That last sad Day we took our parting Leave;
O keep it for my Sake, she fondly cry'd,
While round her neck the Noose the Hangman tied,
Yet tho' I value't much, you see, I stake it,
And if you win it from me, you must take it.

Scape-Rope:
Agreed!—I'll make thee own thy Folly soon,
And to my Knife will add thy Sukey's Spoon
See Shoat, that grinning Knave does trudge this Way,
Let him be judge, who sings the better song.

Cutpurse:
Begin then Strait, thy very awkward Song;
I promise, not to be behind thee long.
Come neighbour Shoat, tis not of little Weight;
Mind which of us sings best; & judge aright.

Shoat:
Ay, ay, My Lads; begin; so cold's the Day,
No Danger that your Cows too far will stray;
Or if they do, they'll come to feed at night.

There is no tending of Cattle in the summer after April, but they range at Liberty, where they will; And about the middle of November they begin to feed them night & morning; at which Time the Season begins to grow cold.


Come make a Fire, & let us all sit by't;
You, Cutpurse, first; then you, in answer sing;
And I'll soon tell which merits most the String.

Cutpurse:
Be Rum

Rum suppos'd to destroy as many here for the number of the People, as Spirits of all Kinds do at Home.

'bove ev'ry Earthy Thing my Choice;

Rum makes me work & animates my Voice.

Scape-Rope:
To me good Cyder's the more welcome Draught;
If I've enough of that, I'm thankful for't.


162

Cutpurse:
'Tis me black Juno pats, the wanton Queen;
Then hides herself, & twitters to be seen.

Scape-Rope:
But Jenny oft aside with me has gone;
Myself not to my Cows am better known

Cutpurse:
Ribbons to Juno, fine Ones I design;
Ribbons I'll buy her, when the money's mine.

Scape-Rope:
Kerchiefs to Jenny I've already given;
Tho' yet she 'as had but three, I'll make 'em even.

Cutpurse:
O what kind Whispers from the Slut I've heard;
Tho! lest her Dame shou'd catch her, much afraid.

Scape-Rope:
When on poor Jenny's Hide the Lash I hear;
Her Smart's not less, tho' I the Torment Share.

Cutpurse:
Soon shall I have my Dues; ye Lasses, come
And Jovial Lads; I'll glut you all with Rum.

When the Convicts have serv'd out their seven years they have certain dues allow'd them by an Act of Parliament; which they very commonly spend in an Entertainment on their Friends.



Scape-Rope:
I shall in Time be free—Arriv'd the Day;
Ye Lads & Lasses, we wll sing & play.

Cutpurse:
My Overseer I've oft a Cuckold made,
And his Wife tells me, I'm a clever Lad.


163

Scape-Rope:
And dost thou brag of that; thou silly Elf;
My Master out, I kiss my Dame herself.

A Case common among the lower Tribe of Planter's wives. Nay indeed, not twenty years ago the major Part of a whole Bench of justices in a Certain County were not only open adulterers, but as remarkable Cuckolds!



Cutpurse:
My Master loves to hear My Fecund Song,
For this I work with Pleasure all Day long.

Scape-Rope:
My Master sings himself; so glad's his Heart,
That in each drunken Catch he'll bear a Part.

Cutpurse:
Who loves the honest Planter, may he swill
In Bumbos

A common Word in Maryland.

& in Cyder, when he will.


Scape-Rope:
And he who likes the man that sings unwell;
Let him d[a]mn'd & Anthems chant in Hell.

Cutpurse:
Ha! Rascals, while you lurk to steal all Night
Take Care you do not get a Whipping by't.

Scape-Rope:
Forbear my Lads, in Time, & be not mad;
For I now suffer for the filching Trade.

Cutpurse:
Ho! Sambo, drive those oxen from the Spring;
Myself will Time enough their Fodder bring.

Scape-Rope:
Lads, feed the Cows; if they Shou'd once go dry;
Milk wou'd be wanting to our Huomini.

Hominee of two Sorts; the Small Hominee eat with Milk.




164

Cutpurse:
L-as! see yon butting Bull is wondrous lean;
Love makes the Herdsman & the Herds look thin.

Scape-Rope:
That's not the Cause the Yearlings are so poor;
They're sure bewitch'd by some old ugly Whore.

Cut-Purse:
Tell us the reason when we at home again,
We yet our itching Fingers can't restrain.

Tis been observed that even those Convicts that have Liv'd honestly here, & have prov'd good and faithful Servants to their masters, have, when they have gone Home, either been hang'd or return'd, in a short Time; & I myself have known two or three, who had a good character of their masters, & who have sold the dearest from that Character, a third Time brought into the Country.



Scape-Rope:
Say, when the Girls with eating Chalk are pale,
Say, what will make them ruddy fresh & hale.

Shoat:
You've both perform'd so ill, I can't say which
Doest most deserve the Honours of the Switch.
Might I advise, who first of you shall sing,
Shall make his Exit in a hempen String.
For shame! ha' done—I ne'er heard such before;
And Heav'n forefend, I e'er should hear you more.


166

THE M[ARYLAND]D-D[IVIN]E

Ecloga 4th

Argument

The Satyr here is on those of the Clery, who, after they have try'd in vain, to get a gentile Maintenance in another Profession, fly to the Church as their last Refuge, & are too apt (as Experience sadly shews) by their imprudent Behaviour to bring a Disgrace upon their Office.

Ye Severn

Severn, a River on the mouth of which Annapolis the Metropolis of Maryland is built; & this Eclogue seems to have a particular Eye on sev'ral Places to that polite Place.

Nymphs, attempt a nobler song;

Tho' meaner Themes delight the vulgar Throng,
Slaves, Convicts, scoundrel Subjects please not all;
Sublimer Minds for loftier Numbers call.
Such then I'll sing, wou'd Baldus

Baldus—This & the other names in this Ecologue have much puzzled me; but I presume they are Gentleman, which sometimes or other have distinguish'd themselves in the Author's Company: Baldus especially appears to be one of extraordinary note.

lend an Ear,

As Baldus' self wou'd not disdain to hear.
Now, now's arrived the long expected Time
Old Hoeus had foretold in tuneful Rhime.
Now M[arylan]d a Set of Priests

This must not be understood of them all; for there are really sev'ral of them that have done Honour to their Profession, & tis observ'd the Gentleman that come over alate, have had more Learning & Piety too that their Predecessors

can boast

To slavish Principles of Truth not lost:
Whose golden Tongues true Freedom shall restore
And make those cease to pray, who pray'd before.
And so the Doctrines of our Faith explain,
As serves make th' Observance of 'em vain.
Caress them, Baldus, great to them thy Debt;
For faith! thyself & they are nicely met.
To thy auspicious Rule all Bliss we owe,
And Epochas of Blessings wait us now.
Our Leader thou; if any Marks remain
Of blind Subjection to the Priestly Chain,
These deep Divines the Darkness shall remove,
In Freedom's Cause Hiberno's self shall prove;
Thomaso's Genius shall their Breasts inspire,
And fill them with his own persuasive Fire.
O happy Priest! Your Forties shall be paid,
And old Hybernio too, shall give his Aid,
Hybernio who at Parsons long has growl'd,
And rail'd at Bishops like an errant Scold.

167

But make a jest of Jesus & his Laws,
And he without a Fee will plead you Cause.
To you the Fair in Clusters shall repair,
The glorious Doctrines that you teach to hear.
E'en all the Church & Parson shall entoll;
And why, 'cause now twill be no Church at all.
Now Tindal's System's ev'ry where received,
And Collins, Morgan, Whoolstan all believ'd,
Now sits great Sh[aftesbury] on each Heart enthron'd,
And Mandevil's with highest Honour's crown'd.

I myself have heard these Gentlemen's Systems approv'd by some of the Clergy.


Some few Remains of Truth howe'er shall be,
Some stubborn Souls won't with these Schemes agree,

There are indeed some worthy Gentlemen, who, spite of the Politeness that prevails, still think the Truths in that exploded Book the Bible serious, & fashion their Lives according to the Rules it gives us.


Will own a Saviour, & will think him God.
Of honest Faith will Still endure the Load:
Will think the Sacraments art awful Things,
And great the Transports true Religion brings.
In short, in Spite of all these Sons of Reason,
Will still be Godly, tho' tis out of Season.
No more than Britain need our Parsons come,
Enough we have, that better know at Home.

The common Cant of a great many of the polite Marylanders.


No more the beardless Boy Damnation fears,
But at such Old Wive's Fables nobly sneers;
The tim'rous Girl that wont to fear an Oath,
And trembled at the Thought of Breach of Troth,
Now smiles at Perjuries—the Reason's plain
By Gospel-Laws who wou'd themselves restrain?

This has an Eye to the mercenary Temper of the young Girls, who after the most solemn Promises to one Lover, never scruple to marry another that is richer, & has the approbation of the generality for it.


They socrn, with self-sufficient Wisdom fraught,
By Bibles or by Parsons to be taught.
Thus spoke they to each other; 'now's the Time,
‘Let's to the Honours of the Forties climb;
‘Tho 'tis a Trade, tis yet a gainful Trade;
‘Better help on the Cheat, than not have Bread,
‘Both Law & Physick Starves, too well we know,
‘And tho' we've hardly common sense, twill do.’
O had I strength but equal to my will,
These glorious Wights shou'd be my Subject still;
Nor shou'd e'en L[ewi]s poor, unhappy Bard,

A Gentleman who had a pretty Vein in Poetry, & like other sons of Parnassus, was very poor; he was also a fine Gentleman, & laught at Religion with the rest.


Be read with more Delight or more Regard.
L[ewi]s, on whom the Muse her Favours Shed
And yet to Want her Favourite betray'd.
Nay, M[arylan]d, Spite of herself, Shall own,

168

Their Preaching by my Poetry out done;
I'd paint them out, just in the Light I ought;
And shew the wondrous Lessons they have taught.
Go on; as yet you hardly know your Pow'r;
Harangue 'gainst sacred Doctrines ev'ry Hour;
With Love of Truth, with Love of Freedom fill'd,
To moral Systems bid the Bible yield;
So shall his fav'rite Priests great Baldus make ye;
And to his inmost Soul & Counsels take ye.

170

TOSS-POT

Eclogue the 5th

Argument

Love-Rum & Ever-Drunk, two planters, meeting together, to take a Morning's Draught, resolve to divert one another with a Song; But think none so proper, as what relates to their old Companion, Toss-pot, whose Worth, the Loss they receive by his Death, & his Admission into the happy Shades of honest Topers they merrily sing.

Love-Rum, Ever-Drunk
Love-Rum:
Since, Everdrunk, we're here so nicely met
Beneath these Trees let's take a Morning's Wet;
And as we're both old Dabsters at a Song,
A merry Catch won't make it seem too long.
Daphnis; Ecloga 5ta Menalcas, Mopsus
Me:
Cur-non, Mopse, boni quoniam convenimus ambo,
Tu calamos inflare leves, ego dicere versus,
Hic corylis mixtas inter consedimus ulmos.



Ever-Drunk:
Agreed—We two such bon Companions are,
If you once bid me sing, I can't forbear:
Say, shall we sit beneath these shady Boughs,
Or wou'd you rather walk into the House?
Mo:
Tu major; tibi me est aequum parere, Menalca
Sive sub incertas Zephyris motantibus umbras,
Sive antro potius succeedimus—



Love-Rum:
I think in all our Country there's but one,
Can sing with you, & that is Boozy John.
Mo:
Quid si idem certet Phoebum superare canendo?



Ever-Drunk:
Why; e'en at church he makes so great a roar,
The Clerk declares he'll sing the Psalm no more.


171

Love-Rum:
Begin then First; No Love-song have you got
'Bout Nancy's Charms? the brave & valiant Scot,
Or bouncing Nell most woundily wou'd please—
Cato, I see, is cropping round the Trees.—
Me:
Incipe Mopse prior, si quos aut Phillidus ignes,
Aut alconis habes laudes aut jurgia Codri.
—Pascentis servabit Tityrus haedos.



Ever-Drunk:
I'll give you then a Song I lately made;
From Boozy John, a Better you ne'er had.
Mo:
Imo haec, in virdidi nuper quae cortice fagi
Carmina descripsi—
Experiar; tu deinde jubeto certet Amintas.



Love-Rum:
Pho! Man; he sing with you; I'd think as soon,
Twas lighter far at Midnight than at Noon;
Or that a Weevil's

A very small Insect that does great damage to Corn & Bread.

larger than a Mouse.
Me:
Lenta salix &c. judicio nostro tantum tibi cedit Amintas.



Ever-Drunk:
Enough, old Lad—Come, walk into the House—
—When Tosspot died, Lord! What a do we made;
The planters round lamented, he was dead:
While 'bout his Clay-cold cor[p]se poor Susy hung,
And sigh'd so deep, she cou'd not use her Tongue.
Mo:
Sed tu desine plura, successimus antro.
Extinctum Nymphae crudeli funere Daphnim
Flebant—
Cum complexa sui Corpus miserabile nati;
Atque deos atque vocat crudelia Mater.


None now our Guts with Ham & Chicken fill;
Nor can we in our much-lov'd Bumbo swill;
Toss-pot, there's not an honest Lad alive,
But t' have thee here again, his Soul wou'd give.
Toss-pot wou'd make the wisest Man a Fool,
And give new Life, if we were e'er so dull;
Wou'd make us drink, till we cou'd drink no more,
But cover'd with our Carcases the Floor.
Daphni, tuum Poenos etiam in gemuisse leones
Interitum
Daphnis & Armenias curru subjungere tygres
Instituit; Daphnis Thiasos inducere Baccho,
Et foliis lentas intexere Mollibus hastas.
Vitis ut arboribus &c.


As of all Liquors Rum delights the best,
And 'midst all Food, good Ham excels the rest;
So 'mongst us Planters there was none became,
So well the Business, or deserv'd the name.
His Death of all our fud[d]ling Bouts bereft us,
Sober, we've gone to Bed, since he has left us.
Where wont the Silver Tankard to be brought,
With Nutmeg'd Cyder for a Morning's Draught,
Tu deccus omne tuis. Postqum te fata tulerunt
Ipsa Pales agros, atque ipse reliquit Apollo
Grandi saepe &c.


Now can we scarce regale on thin small Beer,
And Ten to One! that's dead—& never clear.
For the full Bowl, Obedient to our Call,

172

Alass! What meet us now? Faith! nought at all.
Come, Brother Planters, dance we round his Grave;
Such Honours fit it is our Friend shou'd have;
Each bring his Song & Bowl & toss 'em off;

Spargite humum Foliis &c.


Our Value, our great Regard, we can't shew enough,

For him we ne'er can show Regard enough.


His Influence still shall warm us, when we meet,
And, tipsy, we shall think, we have him yet.

Formosi pecoris custos, formosior ipse.



Love-Rum:
As, when confounded drunk, a Nap to take
Makes me quite gay and spritely when I wake;
As in the Morning—Drunkards then are dry—
Small-Beer does e'en a grateful Draught supply:
So does thy well-made Song delight me now;
Nor e'er a better have I heard, I vow.
Me:
Tale tuum carmen nobis,
Quale Sopor fessis in Gramine, quale per aestum
Dulcis aquae saliente Sitim restinguere rivo.


But I must have my Song, as well as you,
And I've a good One—'Tis on Tosspot too—
The honest Fellow lov'd me, as his Life—
—I'm sure, much better than he did his Wife.
Nos tamen haec quocunque mod tibi nostra vicissim
Dicemus, Daphninque tuum tollemus ad astra.
—amavit nos quoque Daphnis.



Ever-Drunk:
You can't oblige me more—Friend Rumps declar'd,
A feater Song than yours he never heard;
And well poor Toss-pot merited our Lay's,
Since 'Twas his continual care his Friends to please.
Mo:
An quicquam nobis tali sit munere majus;
Et puer ipse fuit cantari dignus, & ista
jam pridem stimicon laudavit carmina nobis.



Love-Rum:
When Toss-pot's Spirit left his breathless Clay,
And to more solid Pleasures wing'd away;
Where he, with happy Topers, gone before,
Might swallow Nectar, & more nobly roar;
With joy ourselves & Mates all gather'd round
And all our sorrows in our Bumpers drown'd:
Me:
Candidus insuetum &c.
Ergo alacris silvas & cetera rura voluptas
Panaque postoresque tenet, Dryadasque puellas.


Our Negroes all their Hardships quite forgot,
Our Overseers the Seasons heeded not;

Times for the managing of Tobacco, which can never be medled with, but in the rain.


Toss-pot lov'd Ease & Indolence—So we
To go the Road he led us, all agree.
With Toss-pot's Name the neighbouring Woods resound,
And distant Mountains eccho back the Sound:
A Saint we've made him & his constant Task's

173

To hover o'er the Punch-Bowls & the Flasks.
For which we'll yearly Honours to him pay,
For his sake drink our very souls away.
Ipsi laetitia voces
Deus, Deus ille,
Sis bonus O felixque tuis En quatour aras
Pocula bina &c.

As oft as boozy thy old Friend shall be,
My Catches, Toss-pot, shall be all of Thee;
With soaking Tom, & toping Hodge I'll join,
And make thy mem'ry & thy Fame divine.
Yes while in Woods fell Wolves shall chuse to rove,
While Humming-Birds

Very small and a very beautiful Bird that is seen all over America in the Summer; flying and humming about the flow'rs.

& Bees sweet Blossoms love,

Thy name, thy Praise, thy Honour shall remain,—
Gad! if they don't I'll ne'er get drunk again.
Cantabunt mihi Damoetas & Lyctius Aegon.
Dum juga montis aper,—
Dumque thymo pascentur apes—
Semper honos nomenque tuum laudesque manebunt.


Ever-Drunk:
What does thy Song deserve? A North-West Wind
In Summer's Heat can't better Welcome find;
Not yon green Waves, that grumble 'gainst the Shore,
Nor that smooth murm'ring Stream, delight me more.
Mo:
Quae tibi, quae tali reddam pro carmine dona?
Nam neque me tantum venientis Sibilus Austri
Nec percussa juvant fluctu tam littora, nec quae
Saxosas inter decurrunt flumina valles.



Love-Rum:
This, 'Baccostopper first do thou receive;
Me:
Hac te os fragili donabimus ante cicuta.


The same I thought t' our Parson once to give;
But faith! I think it better here bestow'd,
And I'll assure it made of stoutest Wood.

Ever-Drunk:
And here's a Gourd the neatest of the Sort,

Gourds here grow very large; & of great use; on various accounts, the great ones, to keep Fat, Flow'r, &c., the less, for water.


Old jerom Crump bad me a Shilling for't,
Tho', being an Assembly-man his wound is great,
Mo:
At tu sume pedum, quod me cum Saepe rogaret
Non tulit Antigenes (et erat tum dignus amari
------.


I'd rather you the Triffle wou'd accept.


180

CELSUS

Eclogue 6th

Argument

The great Progress of Infidelity gives rise to this Poem; & I can hardly call it even an Imitation of the Eclogue.

The Imitation so small, that I shan't think it worth my while to mark out the few Places, where I have follow'd the Poet.

I cou'd wish there was no Occasion for the Satyr in it; & am sorry to say some very great men make the important Truths of our holy Religion the daily Subjects of the wanton Raillery! The Author will venture to affirm, That nothing is here suppos'd to be said by Celsus, but what he has actually heard often & vehemently maintained in common Conversation.

The first was I, who thought it worth my while,
Of Mary-Land to Speak in any Style;
Nor bless'd my Muse—a modest girl you'll say—
Her wondrous Sons to sing in rustick Lay—
Assembly Men, & Counsellors, & jars

Surely our Author is here upon the Sneer, for I never knew one Squabble they ever had that was worth a wise Man's regarding at all; or even a Bavius's making an Epigram on.


In highflown Numbers thought I to rehearse;
No; she reply'd;—too ventrous are the Themes;
Nor dare you triffle with those glorious Names.
What Worth they have, deserving nobler Rhimes,
Some, tuneful Bard shall sing in blither Times.
Thy humbler Verse of Celsus' Worth shall tell,
Celsus, who is Himself's own Parallel;
Celsus, whose large capacious Soul's too great,
Things sacred with the least Regard to treat:
He keeps with W---n, M---n strict Alliance,
And holds Priests, Prophets, Gospels, at Defiance!
'Gainst Creeds with what persuasive Force he raves;
How scorns the Wretches Priestly, Pow'r enslaves?
Yet when, Himself his Rheth'rick flings about,
And gives 'gainst Heav'n & Ch[urch] his dictates out;
Whate'er he says, his Hearers must believe;
What he calls Truth implicitly receive.
Thus is the Wight the very Priest, he blames,

This the case of too many of the Maryland Gentry, who, without any Education still fancy themselves wiser than all the great Men that went before 'em, & expect all they say to be receiv'd as Oracles.


And the same Track pursues that he condemns.
On then, my Muse—Once visited the Sage,
Thoughtless & Rakely, Youths of equal Age,

181

Of equal Warmth in Reason's mighty Cause,
Of like Invet'racy to Tyrant-Laws.
Oft had he promis'd to their longing Heart
A Schedule of his fav'rite, Scheme t' impart.
They now demand it—He with gracious Eyes
Benignly to their fond Request replies:
‘Children, I'll all your doubtings joyful clear;
‘just is the Boon you ask; attentive Hear.’
He said, & strait a Silence most profound,
Still as the Dead of night reign'd all around.
E'en Crab, his fav'rite Foist,

Foist, a name for a little dog.

was quite struck dumb,

Nor Puss has stir'd, tho' Mouse, had crost the Room.
As serious as Dan: Burgess did he look,
As grave as Nailor's were the Words he spoke.

Well does our Author sneer those two Enthusiasts, for to their followers is in great measure owing the Infidelity of the Marylanders; whom having too much sense to be Quakers & too much Pride to submit to the Establish'd Church, set up for Free Thinkers & drown what Sense they have in an arrogant Self-Conceit.


First, then he sung how this round Spacious Ball
Once on a Time, was a huge Chaos all;
Till Chance, a mighty Pow'r, but who or what,
Was far beyond this Ken—that matter'd not—
Bad Order from Confusion to arise,
And thus form'd Lands & Seas, & liquid Skies.
Next, [God] he sung, but such a [God] as shew'd

I'm afraid this may be thought treating a serious Subject in too ludicrous a Manner. Certain I am, the Author had the highest Veneration not only to the divine Being consider'd as his Creator; but with regard to ev'ry Relation he bears to us according to the Christian Scheme.


He thought he very little to him ow'd;
Too great, too glorious, & too unconfin'd,
The paltry Bus'ness of our Earth to mind,
And therefore left poor Mortals to their Passions,
To do what suited best their Inclinations.
Then sacred Story was his Scoundrel-Theme,
And wondrous wisely did he now declaim:
Adam & Eve Non-Entities were made;
No Serpent yet a Woman e'er betray'd;
Noah's a Blockhead, & Cham Serv'd him right,
T'expose, His Weakness to his Brother's Sight;
Abr'ham's great Faith was nothing but a name,
And Moses cheated Israel with a Sham:
Sampson's vast Strength deserves our Ridicule,
David's a Villain, Solomon a fool;

David in particular is sadly maul'd, & a certain—himself have been known to call him the grandest Villain that ever liv'd: But no wonder, he meets with no better Treatment from a Common Sharper.


By childish whims were fill'd the Prophets all,
No more inspir'd by H[eave]n, than by Baal.
And the whole Bible's a notorious Cheat,
A Maintenance for lazy Priests to get.

182

The Gospel next his Eloquence commands,
And now he loudly Ch[rist] himself arraigns.
A pack of Sots is ev'ry Ch[ri]st[ia]n, Nation,
And gull'd the World had been, e'er since the Passion.
And they, who his Absurdities believe,
A just Pretence alone to Wisdom have.
—But hark! the Muse is shock'd

Shock'd indeed; Ev'ry serious Ear must be shock'd at the daily Conversation of our pretended Solomons.

—She bids me cease

These Outrages against the Prince of Peace:
And to those other glorious Tenets haste,
Which wondrous Celsus to the Youths exprest.
The Sacraments he made of equal Force
To save a Ch[ri]st[ia]n, as to save a Horse:
No sacrifice of Praise did H[ea]v[e]n require,
And fruitless, needless all were Forms of Pray'r.
By Consequence no Need there was of Teaching,
And P[a]r[s]ons shou'd be planting, instead of preaching.

The constant Part of 'em all to a Man—Indeed we are so unhappy, that not a few of our Clergy wou'd become a Hoe, better than a Pulpit.


In short, Religion was the Child of Pow'r,
To keep poor ign'rant Man from knowing more,
Than what their wise Forefathers knew before.
Hence then, this Inference he plainly drew,
Our Passions shou'd be all submitted to;
Pray why were they bestow'd if not employ'd,
And what are Blessings, that are not enjoy'd?
Come then, indulge where Humane Laws permit,
Hell, Devil defy, these School-boy Fears forget,

Hell & Devil now are old antiquated Notions & as such Laugh'd at here, as ever they were at St. ---'s.


Dare any Act, but what may cause you swing:
Libel your G[od], your Country & your King;
Debauch a diff'rant Fair one ev'ry Night;
The Nuptial Tie's an Imposition quite.
Go Bravely on—No After-Reck'ning fear,
With which old Dreamers frighten Children here
When Death invades, the Humane Frame's no more,

This is really the Doctrine they teach, & endeavour to persuade themselves of, in Spite of that unwelcome Monitor, their Conscience, who is always telling them quite the Reverse.


Than just the empty nought it was before.
Souls we've no more, than has a Bug, a Mite,
And all is wrapt in one eternal Night:
No Heav'n, no Hell will be hereafter seen,
But we shall be, as tho' we' had never been.
He ceas'd—the list'ning Youths around him bow'd,
And grateful own'd what mighty Thanks they ow'd.
His fine Harangue, enraptur'd Hearts approv'd,
While Tray began to bark, & puss remov'd:

183

Some farther Time in friendly Converse spent,
Away well-pleas'd with Blasphemy they went!

185

JEMIMA

[Eclogue 8th]

Argument

Jemima, forsaken by her Lover Crocus, goes to Granny, an old Midwife, famous among Planter's Wives & Daughters for her great Skill in Charms & Enchantments; where Jemima complains much of her Lover's Cruelty & Perfidiousness; & then Granny endeavours to get the disconsolate fair One another, tho' alas! for once she fails & loses her Labour.

Poor sad Jemima's

Jemina, a name extremely common in this Country.

doleful Plaints I sing;

And the kind of Comfort Granny strove to bring:
At which grave Puss, unmindful of her Prey,
Stood so aghast, the Vermin stole away.
Nay, e'en the Fire, (if all was said, is true)
Struck with sage Granny's magick Force, burnt blue.
Thou, Celia,

Any body, whom the Reader, pleases.

deign to listen to the Theme,

Thou Glory of my Lays, from whence their Influence came.
By Crocus

By Crocus one wou'd think he meant some ship surgeon, of which this Country is full, where they administer their Poysons under the pompus name of Doctors.

long Jemina had been woo'd,

At last he'ad gain'd the Point he'ad long persued.
Her kind Consent was one—the happy Night's
Appointed to begin Connubial Rites.
When, basely treach'rous to th'expecting Maid,
He left her, a more wealthy Fair to wed;
And now he revels in Dorinda's Charms,
Forgetful of Jemima's vacant Arms.
While the poor Girl pours forth her vain Complaints,
And 'gainst the perjur'd Wretch her Curses vents.
True;—oft she'ad thus been us'd by other Men;
But thought it wondrous hard, to be so us'd again.
Twas Night; the grateful Dew carest the Glade,
When to old Granny's Hut repairs the Maid;
Granny, fam'd matron, vers'd in midnight Lore;
O'er Ghosts & Stars & Devils great her Pow'r,

186

Such she to whom for Ease Jemima run;
She wip'd her blubber'd Cheeks, & thus begun.
Jemima
O Chearful God of Day, restore the Morn,
While I with fruitless Love for Crocus burn:
Crocus, who soon my easy Heart deceiv'd;
Ye Pow'rs! ye know it, tho' ye've not reliev'd:
Witness you are of my Distress in vain:
Begin, my Heart, begin the Plaintive Strain.
Crocus is married to Dorinda fair,
What Lover now has Reason to despair,
Let Sc[o]ts & Buckskins

A Name, given the Country-born in Derision, from the great number of Deer in the Country.

now together join,

And cleanly Polecats mix with cleanlier Swine;
Dorinda go; the nuptial Candle light;
Perhaps one Candle he'll allow to Night;
Too great th' Expence for him t'indulge again,

From this & sev'ral other Hints, tis plain this Eclogue has it's Foundation on Truth.


Begin, my Heart, begin the Plaintive strain.
O better match'd, than thou cou'dst e'er expect,
While thus you treat me with unjust Neglect;
While thus my Face once flatter'd you despise,
And view my Features with ill-natur'd Eyes,
You think the Gods to punish you disdain;
Begin, my Heart, begin the plaintive Strain.
First, when I saw you twas with Captain Grim
Strait, strait I lov'd, you look'd so gay & trim:
Then were my years I think scarce twenty four;

A great age for an unmarried woman in Maryland.


Happy indeed, had I ne'er seen you more.
I saw, was lost, siez'd with the raging Pain;
Begin, my Heart, begin the plaintive Strain.
I know thee, Love; a savage Life thou'st led;
In some hard Highland Rock with Crows bred;
None of our Buckskin Blood runs in thy Veins;
Begin, my Heart, begin the plaintive strains.
'Tis Love, hard-hearted Love, has oft imbrued
The mother's Hands in her poor Infant's Blood;
Such Mothers sure must bear a cruel Heart:
Yet, Cupid! Thou by far more cruel art;

187

To thy vile Ends such hapless nymphs to gain;
Begin, my Heart, begin the plaintive strain.
Now fly the Wolf at the young Lamb's Pursuit
Produce the knotty Oak delicious Fruit;
With tuneful Mocking-Birds

A remarkable Bird, whose Musick equals any of the feather'd Choir, & has this peculiar to it, that it can imitate any other Bird it hears.

let Owls contend,

Their Lives let Planters thro' D-ll's

See Eclogue the first

Preaching mend,

And free from scandal let our Priests remain;
Begin, my Heart, begin the plaintive Strain.
Ye woods, farewel; let all be Seas around;
My Sorrows soon shall in their Waves be drown'd,
My faulting Tongue no longer shall complain,
But, my Heart, cease at once the plaintive Strain.
She ceas'd—Old Granny pitied much her Case,
And sooth'd with sof'ning words her great Distress;
Bad her be calm, nor for one Youth run mad,
If Charms cou'd do't another shou'd be had;
Jemima beg'd that she might have one soon;
The mumping Beldam grin'd, & thus begun.

Granny
Bring Water, & this Circle sprinkle round,
With Greens & Ribbands be this Threshold burn'd,
Tho' I your former Lover can't restore,
Court the desponding Maid, one Lover more.
What wondrous Things my pow'rful Charms have done,
How oft against her Will brought down the Moon?
E'en Snakes themselves I've stiffen'd many a Score;
Court the desponding Maid, one Lover more.
This particolour'd Ribband, fair One, take,
And true Love Knots of various Fashion make;
Tie, tie 'em fast & Venus' Aid implore;
Court the desponding Maid, one shepherd more.
As this Wax Image melts afore the Fire,
With Love of Thee some Youth shall yet expire;
Thou want'st a Husband—all thy Wants are o'er;
Court the desponding Maid, one Lover more.

188

For am'rous Transports such thy wondrous Love,
That Sows themselves not greater Longings prove,

I can't help owning, that this Simile, tho strong, is yet too coarse; yet if we consider the Plenty of Hogs in this Country, & how nearly allied in nature the People are to this useful animal, we shall the more readily excuse the author.


When thro' the Woods they seek the foamy Boar;
Court the desponding Maid, one Lover more.
These Presents, which the faithless Lover left,
Pledges of Love, tho' of that Love bereft,
Hide deep beneath the Threshold of the Door.
Court the desponding Maid, one Lover more.
To me these Poisons an old Negro gave,

Negroes, especially the saltwater ones, remarkable for their skill in Poysons, of which they sometimes gives too fatal Instances.


Mighty his knowledge in them, tho' a Slave,
Strange Things with them he'as done, strange Changes made,
As if all Hell itself came to his Aid.
With these the very Graves can I explore;
Court the desponding Maid, one Lover more.
Within this Door, Jemima, Ashes bring,
And o'er thy Head into that Riv'let fling;
Look not behind; some shepherd thou shalt see,
If there is Truth or in my Charms or me:
Ha! Sure I am, I never fail'd before;
O Court the hapless Maid, one Lover more.
See how in vain I all my Arts have tried;
My sullen Sprites have all the Aid denied;
Ah! poor Jemima! all thy Hopes are o'er,
Die an old Maid, nor think of Lover more!


190

Gachradidow

Eclogue the 9th

Argument

Tachanoontia, & Gachradidow, two Indians, meeting together, bewail the common Loss of their Lands, usurp'd by the English; thence are led to celebrate the Worth of Shuncallamie, one of their Chiefs; & at last, Gachradidow sings in Praise of that Liberty which in the most severe Distresses they are still resolv'd to enjoy.

Tachanoontia, Gachradidow,
Tachanoontia:
Hoa, Gachradidow, whither art thou going?
Moeris: Ecloga 9a Lycidas, Moeris
Ly:
Quo' te, Moeri, pedes? an quo via ducit in urbem?



Gachradidow:
To Town, to pay some Skins

Deer Skins;—the Indians kill a great many, & sell the skins for Triffles to the Traders.

I've long been owing.

—O Tachanoontia, see our Wayward Fate;
Strangers how Lord it, where we liv'd alate,
‘Away, you Scoundrels, you've no Business here;’
Are Sounds which once we thought to hear.
Now driven far distant from our native Lands,
(So Heav'n ordains—that Heav'n, which all commands).
We live in Want, in Poverty, in Pain,
And part with all our Skins for little Gain.
Mo:
O Lycida, vivi pervenimus, advena nostri,
(Quod nunqm veriti sumus) ut possessor agelli
Diceret: Haec mea sunt; veteres migrate coloni.
Nunc victi, tristes, quoniam fors omnia versat,
Hos illi mittimus haedos.



Tachanoontia:
Surely I've heard—if what I've heard, is true—
That by our Indian Road a Line they drew,
Which Line by Treaty was the Barrier made,
For both, all future Wranglings to evade.
Ly:
Certe equidem audieram, qua se subducere colles
Incipiunt &c.
Omnia carminibus vestrum servasse Menalcan



Gachradidow:
'Twas Truth;—But what will Treaties e'er avail

191

With Christian-Whites, whose Av'rice grasps at all?
As wisely might you hope, the plaintive Dove
The hungry Eagle's empty Maw might move.
Mo:
Audieras & fama fuit: sed carmina tantum
Nostra valent, Lycida, tela inter Martia quantu
Chaonais dicunt aguila veniente, columbas.


Soon they encroach'd upon us, kill'd our Deer
And, did they not our wild Resentment fear,
Of all our Lands we'ad quickly been depriv'd,
And must without our Venison have liv'd:
Your Gachradidow wou'd have wanted Pone,

Bread made of Maize or Indian Corn.


And what wou'd great Shuncallamie ha' done?

Nec tuus hic Moeris, nec viveret ipse Menalcas



Tachanoontia:
Shuncallamie? Wou'd he to Ills submit,
Whose stubborn Soul ne'er knew a Master yet?
Ly:
Quis caneret Nymphas? quis &c.


Who then should teach our brawny youth to sling
The hissing Stone, or missive Shaft to wing?
Who bid 'em, with loud chearful Cries, advance
Against the hostile Fort, in Warlike Dance?
Who sing our Warriours in melodious Strains,
How they with Villain Blood have died the Plains;
How with Katawby

A nation of Indians ever in war with the Indians of the Six Nations; who are the Borderers on Mary Land, Penn. & New York. At the last Treaty between Virg & Mard with the S Nat, when the Virginians would have made Peace between them, our Indians said the Kat had so affronted them that they never wou'd, & had called them women & not men; whereas themselves were men & double men for they had two—.

—Furies they've engag'd,

And War unequal, tho' successful wag'd?

Gachradidow:
Or rather, who our Liberty shall sing,
Of all the joys we yet retain, the Spring?
That we have yet—& oh! while that we have,
Distresses, e'er so great; we'll nobly brave.
Tho' Swarms of Ch[ri]stian-Scoundrels round us roam,
Afraid, at least, asham'd, to stay at Home,

In good Truth; the case of most of us.


In strains as sweet as Mocking-bird's we'll shew,
Mo:
Imo haec quae Varo canebat
Vare, tuum nomen.
Cantantes sublime ferent ad sidera cycni


Our gen'rous Hearts with Love of Freedom glow.

Tachanoontia:
So 'gainst hoary Winter's nipping Cold,
Mayst thou ne'er Match Coat

The Indian's dress in the Winter.

want, thy Limbs t' enfold;

So from the Scorching Sun's impetuous Heat
Thy Feet conduct thee to some cool Retreat:
Begin—in Freedom's grateful Theme rejoice,—
I've my Song too—They say I have a Voice—
Tho' unharmonious to a skilful Ear,
Yet oft, when Red-Birds

A Bird of the Bigness of an English Sparrow—all over Red & Sings finely.

sing, the Raven's Croak you hear.
Ly:—
Incipe, & me fecere poetam
Pierides; sunt & mihi carmina; me quoque dicunt
Vatem Pastores
Neque adhuc vario videor nec dicere Cinna
Digna, sed argutos inter strepere anser olores




192

Gachradidow:
I will—nor shall my Song unworthy be
Of what we hold most dear, blest Liberty.
Here then, O Goddess, midst our Tribes remain;
With Us, thy faithful Race, for ever reign;
Mo:
Id quidem ago
neque est ignobile Carmen.
Hec ades, O Galatea
Hic ver purpureum &c.


Poor as we are, our wide-extended Waste,
Our Christal Streams, which yield a cool Repast,
Our lofty Forests all shall witness be,
How much we love, how greatly honour thee.
Let vile Injustice

Indeed it is reckon'd among the Indian Traders, no Crime to cheat an Indian; & yet these Wretches call themselves Christians.

& base Slav'ry sway

Insani feriant sine littora fluctus.


The Christian Plans—we neither will obey—
What Wonder that these Wretches seek our Shore,
Since Wealth, not Thee, O Freedom, they explore?
Nor wou'd they come, did not each fruitful Field
Large golden Crops of our Tobacco yield.—
—What will not Age—My Mem'ry once was strong,
And, when a Boy the live-long Day I sung;
Now I've my Lays forgot, my Voice I've lost;
—Surely my Eyes some Rattlesnake

A Serpent illegible well known; there are sev'ral odd notions about it, & this among the rest.

hath crost!
Omina fert aetas saepe ego longos
Cantando puerum memini me condere Soles.
Nunc oblita mihi tot carmina; vox quoque Moerim
Jam fugit ipsa; lupi Moerin videre priores.


Tachanoontia:
Why do you rob me of Delight so soon?
You've Time enough—As yet tis scarcely Noon.
The town's not far—Besides, the Winds are still,
Without a Murmur glides this gentle Rill;
Et nunc omne tibi stratum silet aequor, & omnes
ventosi, ceciderunt murmuris aurea

Shrill sounds you Voice along this gloomy Shade—
—Or if you're of yon low'ring Cloud, afraid,
Sing as we walk—less tedious is the Road—
Sing as we walk—I'll help to bear your Load.
tamen veniemus in urbem;
Aut si, nox pluviam ne colligat ante veremur,
Cantantes licet usque (minus via laedit) eamus;
Cantantes ut eamus, ego hoc te fasce levabo


Gachradidow:
No more—we see Shuncallamie to Night;
His Voice will give you more sincere Delight.
Mo:
Desine plura, puer
Carmina tunc melius, cum venerit ipse, canemus.




198

WORTHY

Ecloga the 10th

Argument

Worthy, a young Maryland Gentleman, had long courted Flavia, & was kindly receiv'd by her, so far, that he gain'd her consent, & only waited proper Time for the Ceremony. Being oblig'd the meanwhile to make a Voyage to England & a richer match offering, Flavia very prudently accepted of it & left poor Worthy to his fruitless complaints. This Poem was writ, it seems, at the very Time the affair was in agitation, Worthy being an Intimate Friend of the Authors.

This my last Labour, gentle Goddess, aid,
To Worthy due, by Flavia hapless made;
Be such the Song, that she the Bard approve,
And listen to the honest Planter's Love.
To Worthy who their Measures can refuse?
The best in Maryland deserves the Muse.
So shall thy Bard acknowledge still thy Sway,
And when thou bid'st the Song, attune the Lay.
Begin—his gen'rous Passion let us sing,
While warbling Mock-Birds usher in the Spring
Nor think the cheerful, spritely Labour vain
The waving Woods will echo back the Strain!
What Groves, my jolly Girls, your forms conceal,
When Worthy burns with Love, without Avail?
What tow'ring Hills such grateful Prospects shew,
Or what meandring Rills so sweetly flow,
Your unkind absence from the Youth t'excuse,
Not Woods themselves their gen'rous Plaints refuse;
E'en Mountains sympathize with him in Grief,
And stony Rocks can wish him kind Relief.
His faithful Overseer his Task forgets,
And every Slave at his misfortune frets:
Poor Brother Philip comes to sooth his Pains:
All kindly ask what Nymph his suit disdains.

199

E'en Thickscull, 'mongst his Neighbors wondrous wise,
Gives him a helping hand, & bravely cries;
‘Pho Man!’ why makst thou such a mighty Pother,
‘Scorn the false Jade, & briskly court another.’
Kind neighbor Twanhum, by his Tresses known,
To join his honest Grief with his rides down;
Good Parson Saygrace his lov'd Bumbo leaves,
Tho' he small Comfort to the Lover gives;
Saygrace whose fiery Phiz more brightly shines,
Than Lay'rs of Gold in rich Peruvian Mines.
‘Where will this end? he cries, too cruel Love,
‘No skill what'er can from our Hearts remove:
‘As well teach deists faith, & Lawyers Truth,
‘Give Sense to Coxcombs, & to old Maids Youth.’
He sorrowful returns—Yet, gentle Swains,
In doleful Ditties sing my am'rous Pains;
Some little Ease my harrass'd Soul may feel
My hapless Tale in Rhime to hear you tell.
O that an Overseer I'ad only been,
This cruel Creature I shou'd ne'er have seen;
Some Convict-Girl full well had serv'd my Turn,
Black Bess at least with equal Flame wou'd burn;
And what tho' black she is—The Crabs

Crabs very plentiful in the seaside, tho no Lobster.

brave food,

Tho' it's Form's hideous, yet the meat is good:
O Flavia, by this Riv'let's purling stream,
These woods, these flow'ry Meads (thy Charms my Theme)
O blest with Thee, with that dear Shape & Face,
Be me disclaimed, Eternity might pass.
Now furious Love boils up my heated Blood,
And I cou'd revel in a purple Flood,
Cou'd feast on murders & in rapes delight,
And 'gainst my dearest Friend for madness fight.
Thou far from me the greatest Woes wou'dst dare,
Rather than live with me in safety here:
O Cruel! Still let not thy haughty Scorn
Bring on thy pitiless Soul a like Return:
Now, now, of Lover's fatal Woes I sing,
And Charms, of Sorrows like my own, the Spring.
Yes—in the Woods midst Bears & Wolves I'll roam,

The Author here has the advantage of the Bardling at Home, for here are both Bears & Wolves in great Plenty.


And think no more of Flavia & of Home:
There shall the Trees my fatal Passion wear,
The Marks of my fond Love their Barks shall bear.

200

Meanwhile, Scotch-Irish

Great numbers of these Gentry in the back Parts of the Provinces & tis hard to say whether the Indians or they are greater Savages.

shall my socials be,

Wild as they are, quite good enough for me.
Or 'gainst the grizley Bear my Rage I'll vent,
To trace his Haunts in Freezing Cold content.
Now over Rocks & ecchoing Woods I fly,
The friendly Indians all my arms supply,
As if by this my Soul a Cure cou'd gain,
And Heav'n had taught me thus to ease my Pain.
Now neither Nymphs nor Songs can yield me Peace,
And all the Charms the woodland's gave me, cease;
Not all my Cares can change the Tirant-Boy;
My Summer's Thirst Patuxent

A River on the Western Shore, on which the suppos'd false one lived.

may alloy;

Winter's most piercing Cold I might endure;
But Love still governs all, & will not know a Cure.
Enough has Worthy mourn'd—enough I've sung,
Due Thanks, ye Planters, to my Lays belong;
No more my Pipe with spritely Strains shall swell;
Go mind your Hogs & Crops,—& so farewel.

My friend here has finish'd, but has left out not imitated the seventh Eclogue of Virgil; What can be Reason; I'm at a Loss; But tis most likely that he died before he had finish'd his Design, for certainly had he liv'd longer, he would have imitated that & left these Poems, he has done, more perfect than they are.