 | Poems of Freneau |  |
The New England SABBATH-DAY CHACE.
(Written Under the Character of HEZEKIAH SALEM.)
ON a fine Sunday morning I mounted my steed
And southward from HARTFORD had meant to proceed;
My baggage was stow'd in a cart very snug,
Which RANGER, the gelding, was destined to lug;
With his harness and buckles, he loom'd very grand,
And was drove by young DARBY, a lad of the land—
On land, or on water, most handy was he,
A jockey on shore, and a sailor at sea,
He knew all the roads, he was so very keen
And the Bible by heart, at the age of fifteen.
And southward from HARTFORD had meant to proceed;
My baggage was stow'd in a cart very snug,
Which RANGER, the gelding, was destined to lug;
With his harness and buckles, he loom'd very grand,
And was drove by young DARBY, a lad of the land—
On land, or on water, most handy was he,
A jockey on shore, and a sailor at sea,
He knew all the roads, he was so very keen
And the Bible by heart, at the age of fifteen.
As thus I jogg'd on, to my saddle confined,
With Ranger and Darby a distance behind;
At last in full view of a steeple we came
With a cock on the spire (I suppose he was game;
A dove in the pulpit may suit your grave people,
But always remember—a cock on the steeple)
Cries Darby—“Dear master, I beg you to stay;
Believe me, there's danger in driving this way;
Our deacons on Sundays have power to arrest
And lead us to church—if your honour thinks best—
Though still I must do them the justice to tell,
They would choose you should pay them the fine full as well.”
With Ranger and Darby a distance behind;
At last in full view of a steeple we came
With a cock on the spire (I suppose he was game;
A dove in the pulpit may suit your grave people,
But always remember—a cock on the steeple)
Cries Darby—“Dear master, I beg you to stay;
Believe me, there's danger in driving this way;
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And lead us to church—if your honour thinks best—
Though still I must do them the justice to tell,
They would choose you should pay them the fine full as well.”
The fine (said I) Darby, how much may it be—
A shilling or sixpence?—why, now let me see,
Three shillings are all the small pence that remain
And to change a half joe would be rather PROFANE.
Is it more than three shillings, the fine that you speak on;
What say you good Darby—will that serve the deacon.
A shilling or sixpence?—why, now let me see,
Three shillings are all the small pence that remain
And to change a half joe would be rather PROFANE.
Is it more than three shillings, the fine that you speak on;
What say you good Darby—will that serve the deacon.
“Three shillings (cried Darby) why, master, you're jesting!
Let us luff while we can and make sure of our westing—
Forty shillings, excuse me, is too much to pay
It would take my month's wages—that's all I've to say.
By taking this road that inclines to the right
The squire and the sexton may bid us good night,
If once to old Ranger I give up the rein
The parson himself may pursue us in vain.”
Let us luff while we can and make sure of our westing—
Forty shillings, excuse me, is too much to pay
It would take my month's wages—that's all I've to say.
By taking this road that inclines to the right
The squire and the sexton may bid us good night,
If once to old Ranger I give up the rein
The parson himself may pursue us in vain.”
“Not I, my good Darby (I answer'd the lad)
Leave the church on the left! they would think we were mad;
I would sooner rely on the heels of my steed,
And pass by them all like a Jehu indeed:—
As long as I'm able to lead in the race
Old Ranger, the gelding, will go a good pace,
As the deacon pursues, he will fly like a swallow,
And you in the cart must, undoubtedly, follow.”
Leave the church on the left! they would think we were mad;
I would sooner rely on the heels of my steed,
And pass by them all like a Jehu indeed:—
As long as I'm able to lead in the race
Old Ranger, the gelding, will go a good pace,
As the deacon pursues, he will fly like a swallow,
And you in the cart must, undoubtedly, follow.”
Then approaching the church, as we pass'd by the door
The sexton peep'd out, with a saint or two more,
A deacon came forward and waved us his hat,
A signal to drop him some money—mind that!—
The sexton peep'd out, with a saint or two more,
A deacon came forward and waved us his hat,
A signal to drop him some money—mind that!—
“Now, Darby, (I halloo'd) be ready to skip,
Ease off the curb bridle—give Ranger the whip:
While you have the rear, and myself lead the way,
No doctor or deacon shall catch us this day.”
Ease off the curb bridle—give Ranger the whip:
While you have the rear, and myself lead the way,
No doctor or deacon shall catch us this day.”
By this time the deacon had mounted his poney
And chaced for the sake of our souls and—our money:
The saint, as he followed, cried—“Stop them, halloo!”
As swift as he followed, as swiftly we flew—
And chaced for the sake of our souls and—our money:
The saint, as he followed, cried—“Stop them, halloo!”
As swift as he followed, as swiftly we flew—
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“Ah master! (said Darby), I very much fear
We must drop him some money to check his career,
He is gaining upon us and waves with his hat
There's nothing, dear master, will stop him but that.
Remember the Beaver (you well know the fable)
Who flying the hunters as long as he's able,
When he finds that his efforts can nothing avail
But death and the puppies are close to his tail,
Instead of desponding at such a dead lift
He bites off their object, and makes a free gift—
Since fortune all hope of escaping denies
Better give them a little, than lose the whole prize.”
But scarce had he spoke, when we came to a place
Whose muddy condition concluded the chace,
Down settled the cart—and old Ranger stuck fast
Aha! (said the Saint) have I catch'd ye at last?
We must drop him some money to check his career,
He is gaining upon us and waves with his hat
There's nothing, dear master, will stop him but that.
Remember the Beaver (you well know the fable)
Who flying the hunters as long as he's able,
When he finds that his efforts can nothing avail
But death and the puppies are close to his tail,
Instead of desponding at such a dead lift
He bites off their object, and makes a free gift—
Since fortune all hope of escaping denies
Better give them a little, than lose the whole prize.”
But scarce had he spoke, when we came to a place
Whose muddy condition concluded the chace,
Down settled the cart—and old Ranger stuck fast
Aha! (said the Saint) have I catch'd ye at last?
Caetera desunt.
1790
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