The Poetic Writings of Thomas Cradock, 1718-1770

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,

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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;

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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.

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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!

University of Virginia Library

JEMIMA

[Eclogue 8th]

Argument