The Wiccamical Chaplet a selection of original poetry; comprising smaller poems, serious and comic; classical trifles; sonnets; inscriptions and epitaphs; songs and ballads; mock-heroics, epigrams, fragments, &c. &c. Edited by George Huddesford |
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 | MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, FRAGMENTS, &c. |
 | The Wiccamical Chaplet |  |
183
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, FRAGMENTS, &c.
185
THE BRITISH THEATRE.
A PRIZE-POEM AT BATH-EASTON.
When first was rear'd the British Stage,
Rude was the scene and weak the lay;
The Bard explor'd the sacred Page,
And holy Mystery form'd his Play.
Rude was the scene and weak the lay;
The Bard explor'd the sacred Page,
And holy Mystery form'd his Play.
Th'affections of the Mortal Breast
In simple Moral next he sung,
Each Vice in human shape he drest,
And to each Virtue gave a Tongue.
In simple Moral next he sung,
Each Vice in human shape he drest,
And to each Virtue gave a Tongue.
Then 'gan the Comic Muse unfold
In coarser jests her homely art:
Of Gammar Gurton's loss she told,
And laugh'd at Hodge's awkward smart.
In coarser jests her homely art:
Of Gammar Gurton's loss she told,
And laugh'd at Hodge's awkward smart.
Come from thy wildly-winding stream,
First-born of Genius, Shakespeare, come!
The listening World attends thy Theme,
And bids each elder Bard be dumb.
First-born of Genius, Shakespeare, come!
The listening World attends thy Theme,
And bids each elder Bard be dumb.
186
For Thou, within the human Mind
Fix'd, as on thy peculiar throne,
Sit'st as a Deity inshrin'd;
And either Muse is all thine own!
Fix'd, as on thy peculiar throne,
Sit'st as a Deity inshrin'd;
And either Muse is all thine own!
Yet shall not Time's rough hand destroy
The Scenes by learned Johnson writ:
Nor shall Oblivion e'er enjoy
The charms of Fletcher's courtly wit:
The Scenes by learned Johnson writ:
Nor shall Oblivion e'er enjoy
The charms of Fletcher's courtly wit:
And still in matchless Beauty live
The Numbers of that Lyric Strain
Sung gayly to the Star of Eve
By Comus and his jovial Train.
The Numbers of that Lyric Strain
Sung gayly to the Star of Eve
By Comus and his jovial Train.
Here sunk the Stage:—and dire alarms
The Muse's voice did overwhelm;
For wounded Freedom call'd to arms,
And Discord shook th'embattled Realm.
The Muse's voice did overwhelm;
For wounded Freedom call'd to arms,
And Discord shook th'embattled Realm.
But Peace return'd; and with her came
(Alas, how chang'd!) the tuneful Pair:
Thalia's Eye should blench with shame,
And her sad Sister weep to hear
(Alas, how chang'd!) the tuneful Pair:
Thalia's Eye should blench with shame,
And her sad Sister weep to hear
187
How the mask'd
Fair, in Charles's reign,
Her lewd and riotous Fancy led
To Killigrew's debauchful scene,
While hapless Otway pin'd for Bread.
Her lewd and riotous Fancy led
To Killigrew's debauchful scene,
While hapless Otway pin'd for Bread.
Thus the sweet Lark shall sing unheard,
And Philomel sit silent by;
While every vile and chattering Bird
Torments the grove with ribald Cry.
And Philomel sit silent by;
While every vile and chattering Bird
Torments the grove with ribald Cry.
And see what flashy Bards presume
With buskin'd Fools to rhyme and rage;
While Mason's idle Muse is dumb,
And weary Garrick quits the Stage.
With buskin'd Fools to rhyme and rage;
While Mason's idle Muse is dumb,
And weary Garrick quits the Stage.
Her “Needle” is the oldest English Comedy, the Distress of it arises from the loss of the Needle, which at last is discovered in her man Hodge's Breeches.
The custom of that time, for fear of hearing Indecencies, otherwise too gross to be supported. Vid. The Parson's Wedding.
188
FRAGMENT.
[O for the thousand Flowers that erst did bloom]
O for the thousand Flowers that erst did bloomIn that Sicilian Valley wild,
Where golden Ceres left her Child
Conceal'd from all the Sons of Jove;
So to elude th'inevitable doom
Of Fate, and stronger Love!
In vain.—The grisly Monarch of the Dead,
Stern Dis, uprears his gloomy head
Mid the black smoke and ruddy flames that wrap
Around old Ætna's smould'ring top;
There, as the wandering Nymph he view'd,
Awhile in blank amaze he stood,
Till Love to Fury rouz'd his blood.
He call'd his ebon Car and Steeds of fire:
They came, and with the headlong torrent's speed
Down to the lily-spangled mead
They bore their mighty Sire:
Swift in his arms the fainting maid he took,
Then drove impetuous on, while all Sicilia shook. [OMITTED]
189
GRATULATORY LINES,
Written and left upon the Road for a College Friend, (Then about Thirty Years of Age), Descriptive of a Morning in April on which he was married.
The morning lowr'd—nor, ere broad day,
Sung the dull lark his matin lay:
The storm o'erpast, I ride along:—
She greets me with her rapturous song.
Sung the dull lark his matin lay:
The storm o'erpast, I ride along:—
She greets me with her rapturous song.
Health and fair Fortune aye betide
The Bridegroom and the gentle Bride!
What tho', of Heav'n's prime Blessing lorn,
Monkish, ungenial rise the morn,
Sullen in clouds! yet ere mid-day
Timely fair Nature's Choir shall sing:
And timely heard, around, above,
The Voice of Harmony and Love
Brighten the unshed blooms of Spring,
And gild the Evening Ray.
The Bridegroom and the gentle Bride!
What tho', of Heav'n's prime Blessing lorn,
Monkish, ungenial rise the morn,
Sullen in clouds! yet ere mid-day
Timely fair Nature's Choir shall sing:
And timely heard, around, above,
The Voice of Harmony and Love
Brighten the unshed blooms of Spring,
And gild the Evening Ray.
190
TO A LADY,
Who wished that some Complimentary Verses had included MORE of her Family.
Have you ne'er seen a Country Lad,
Mounted upon a sturdy Pad,
With much good-nature and some pride
Call to the Boys to come and ride?
“Here's a brave Horse! Isn't he, Jack?
“I'll help Thee up upon his back;
“You get behind me; Tom before;
“Can't we make room for any more?
“Sit forward, Lads! now, Harry, jump,
“There's a good seat upon his Rump.”
Mounted upon a sturdy Pad,
With much good-nature and some pride
Call to the Boys to come and ride?
“Here's a brave Horse! Isn't he, Jack?
“I'll help Thee up upon his back;
“You get behind me; Tom before;
“Can't we make room for any more?
“Sit forward, Lads! now, Harry, jump,
“There's a good seat upon his Rump.”
See, now the heavy Beast moves on,
He carries four as well as one;
It makes no diff'rence in his gait,
A lazy, flound'ring Cart-horse rate:
No whip or spur can make him gallop
If there's but One, or if they're all up.
He carries four as well as one;
It makes no diff'rence in his gait,
A lazy, flound'ring Cart-horse rate:
No whip or spur can make him gallop
If there's but One, or if they're all up.
Now, Madam, to apply, 'tis thus—
Your pad, the Poet's Pegasus,
Bears, in ten lines, your praises sweet—
Or flounders on, on fifty Feet.
Poor, hackney'd jade, with every bone
Worn bare, by often riding on;
Yet ne'er, I warrant, spar'd an inch,
He carries twenty at a pinch.
Your Sister only rides with you,
Because the Poet saw but Two;
But, had he seen your Aunts and Cousins,
He would have set 'em on by dozens.
Your pad, the Poet's Pegasus,
Bears, in ten lines, your praises sweet—
Or flounders on, on fifty Feet.
Poor, hackney'd jade, with every bone
Worn bare, by often riding on;
Yet ne'er, I warrant, spar'd an inch,
He carries twenty at a pinch.
Your Sister only rides with you,
Because the Poet saw but Two;
But, had he seen your Aunts and Cousins,
He would have set 'em on by dozens.
191
IMPROMPTU.
A LADY'S ANSWER to A LITTLE UGLY ATHEIST,
Who, while he was adjusting his Cravat before a Looking-glass, endeavoured to persuade her that the World was made by Chance.
Quoth Asmodeus, “The World was, I'm sure, made by Chance;“A Chaötical jumble, Atomical Dance.”—
No wonder, indignant cries Jane, such a wretch,
A mere Caliban's spawn, a vile Grub, a Jack Ketch,
When he looks in a Mirror, should draw a conclusion
That a Figure like his was the work of Confusion!
FRAGMENT. ON THE DEATH OF GRAY.
Well was he skill'd in old Poetic Lore—
Not such alone as Greece or Latium sung—
He dar'd thro' Gothic Darkness to explore;
And strike the Lyre shat Runic Bards had strung.
Not such alone as Greece or Latium sung—
He dar'd thro' Gothic Darkness to explore;
And strike the Lyre shat Runic Bards had strung.
Heard ye that sound!—Alas! who has not heard?
The magic Voice still vibrates in my ear,
What time great Odin's sable Form appear'd,
And Hela's Confines trembled at his Spear.
[OMITTED]
The magic Voice still vibrates in my ear,
What time great Odin's sable Form appear'd,
And Hela's Confines trembled at his Spear.
192
ON TWO PUBLICATIONS, INTITLED EDITIONS OF TWO OF OUR POETS.
When Critic Science first was known,
Somewhere upon the Muse's ground
The PRUNING KNIFE OF WIT was thrown;
Not that which Aristarchus found:
Somewhere upon the Muse's ground
The PRUNING KNIFE OF WIT was thrown;
Not that which Aristarchus found:
That had a stout and longer blade;
Would at one stroke cut off a limb,
This knife was delicately made,
Not to dismember, but to trim.
Would at one stroke cut off a limb,
This knife was delicately made,
Not to dismember, but to trim.
With a short harmless edge a-top,
'Twas made like our prize-fighting swords,
Pages and Chapters 'twould not lop,
But cut off syllables and words.
'Twas made like our prize-fighting swords,
Pages and Chapters 'twould not lop,
But cut off syllables and words.
Well did it wear; and might have worn
Full many an age, yet ne'er the worse;
Till Bentley's hand its edge did turn
On Milton's adamantine verse.
Full many an age, yet ne'er the worse;
Till Bentley's hand its edge did turn
On Milton's adamantine verse.
Warhurton seiz'd the blunted Tool,
Scarce fit for Oyster-opening Drab:
For Critic use 'twas now too dull,
But tho' it would not cut, 'twould stab.
Scarce fit for Oyster-opening Drab:
For Critic use 'twas now too dull,
But tho' it would not cut, 'twould stab.
193
Then Shakespeare bled, with every friend
That lov'd the Bard:—he threaten'd further.
And God knows what had been the end,
Had not Tom Edwards cried out “Murder!”
That lov'd the Bard:—he threaten'd further.
And God knows what had been the end,
Had not Tom Edwards cried out “Murder!”
Confounded at the fearful word,
Awhile he hid the felon steel;
Now gives it Mason, lends it H---;
Ah! see what Gray and Cowley feel!
Awhile he hid the felon steel;
Now gives it Mason, lends it H---;
Ah! see what Gray and Cowley feel!
FRAGMENT. THE TEARS OF THE EAGLE,
On the Death of his Master, at --- College, Oxford, 1775.
How gloomily, behind yon Eastern GroveFrom the dark Chambers of the Night, looks out
The purple eye of Morn! Ev'n so befits
Her rising suited to my woe! for mine,
That wont to court Hyperion's burning kiss
And drink the rich effulgence of his beam,
Is dim with Sorrow. [OMITTED]
194
FELICITATION
To the Public on the Return of Peace and Plenty,
By the exuberant Mr. Titus Tagg, Laureate and Improvisatore to the Poet's Corner of the --- Evening Post.
[_]
(The two first following Couplets were displayed on a Transparency at Mr. Tagg's Garret Window on the Night of the Illumination for signing the Preliminaries of Peace in 1801. The dimensions of the Window were too limited for the display of the Remainder.)
Let's drink their healths, by way of motto,
“Here's to Lord Hawkesbury and Monsieur Otto!”
Since I approve the Peace in toto
May he that breaks it first be shot-o!
'Twill in his 'scutcheon make a blot-o:
'Tis Peace that makes us boil the Pot-o,
And cut up Sirloins piping-hot-o.
Now to Forestallers I cry, “What, ho!
“Your grain, whether you will or not-o,
“At length our markets must be brought to,
“And soon you'll not be worth a groat-o.”
“Here's to Lord Hawkesbury and Monsieur Otto!”
Since I approve the Peace in toto
May he that breaks it first be shot-o!
'Twill in his 'scutcheon make a blot-o:
'Tis Peace that makes us boil the Pot-o,
And cut up Sirloins piping-hot-o.
Now to Forestallers I cry, “What, ho!
“Your grain, whether you will or not-o,
“At length our markets must be brought to,
“And soon you'll not be worth a groat-o.”
Their desp'rate cause must stink and rot-o
Against Old England's weal who plot-o;
Then, if they can't abide this spot-o,
Botany Bay, Sirs, let 'em trot to.
Against Old England's weal who plot-o;
Then, if they can't abide this spot-o,
Botany Bay, Sirs, let 'em trot to.
195
But let each man who knows what's what-o,
Each married dame, and each old Trott-o,
As yellow as an apricotto,
Who ne'er was ask'd to tye the knot-o,
Exult, from palace to the cot-o,
For we shall see rare times, I wot-o,
For which I shout and strain my throat-o;
And therefore take a dram I ought to
To lubricate my Epiglotto.—
Claret or Port, if I had got-o,
Vinous libations they should flow to
Lord Hawkesbury and Monsieur Otto:
But, tho' I soar in rhime and thought too,
I eat cow-heels and porter poto.
Each married dame, and each old Trott-o,
As yellow as an apricotto,
Who ne'er was ask'd to tye the knot-o,
Exult, from palace to the cot-o,
For we shall see rare times, I wot-o,
For which I shout and strain my throat-o;
And therefore take a dram I ought to
To lubricate my Epiglotto.—
Claret or Port, if I had got-o,
Vinous libations they should flow to
Lord Hawkesbury and Monsieur Otto:
But, tho' I soar in rhime and thought too,
I eat cow-heels and porter poto.
Given, diabolunculo
to,
From my aërial Grubstreet Grotto.
From my aërial Grubstreet Grotto.
TO A LADY
Who desired some Specimens of the Author's Poetry.
Let not Eliza bid me now rehearseTh'unvalued rhimes that long-forgotten lie;
For all unfit is my rude-fashion'd Verse
To meet the censure of her curious eye:
But for her sake a subject could I chuse
To draw down fame and envy on the Bard,
Thy lovely Self should be my theme and Muse,
And thy sweet smile, Eliza, my reward.
196
THE SCUTTLE FISH.
A CHARACTER.
Critics, who Nature's Depths explore,
Tell us she still in Pairs increases;
That each Sea-monster finds on shore
It's very Counterpart, like Leases.
Tell us she still in Pairs increases;
That each Sea-monster finds on shore
It's very Counterpart, like Leases.
There is a queer Fish and a cunning
Which, when his Adversary traps him,
Lets fly his Filth as he's a-running,
And in the nasty cloud escapes him,
Which, when his Adversary traps him,
Lets fly his Filth as he's a-running,
And in the nasty cloud escapes him,
By Stebbing, Wingfield, Sykes pursued,
With Scholar's learning, Critic's art,
Midst language vile and manners rude,
Not so escapes the Counterpart.
With Scholar's learning, Critic's art,
Midst language vile and manners rude,
Not so escapes the Counterpart.
This Counterpart is call'd th'Ink-s---,
In Latin, Warburtonus Noster:
Who, to avoid each Critic Writer,
Div'd in Fleet-ditch and rose in Glóster.
In Latin, Warburtonus Noster:
Who, to avoid each Critic Writer,
Div'd in Fleet-ditch and rose in Glóster.
197
ANSWER TO AN OLD LADY OF OXFORD,
Who sent to the Writer some Verses begging Mulberries.
To prove how much your Rhymes I prize,
O for a World of Mulberries!
Or of such sort, if not such store,
That you might eat 'em ten times o'er,
And every time a relish find
Like what your Verses leave behind!
O for a World of Mulberries!
Or of such sort, if not such store,
That you might eat 'em ten times o'er,
And every time a relish find
Like what your Verses leave behind!
Alas! in vain I wish to suit
With such choice lines such vulgar fruit!
Your Verses will not be forgotten
When all my Mulberries are rotten.
With such choice lines such vulgar fruit!
Your Verses will not be forgotten
When all my Mulberries are rotten.
But since the Fruit will not remain
To shew my reverence of your strain,
A Bow of that fam'd Tree I'll get,
Which Shakespeare's hallow'd hands did set.
With flowers and quaint devices cut:
In which a Patent shall be put,
Drawn up and sign'd by all who own
A right to drink at Helicon;
Wits, critics, poets of all classes,
The Corporation of Parnassus;
By virtue of which grant you'll be
Professoress of Poetry:—
Then, as your last and best reward,
At my request your favourite Bard
Shall dedicate a Seventh Sonnet
To twine the Laurel round your Bonnet.
To shew my reverence of your strain,
A Bow of that fam'd Tree I'll get,
Which Shakespeare's hallow'd hands did set.
With flowers and quaint devices cut:
In which a Patent shall be put,
Drawn up and sign'd by all who own
A right to drink at Helicon;
Wits, critics, poets of all classes,
The Corporation of Parnassus;
By virtue of which grant you'll be
Professoress of Poetry:—
Then, as your last and best reward,
At my request your favourite Bard
Shall dedicate a Seventh Sonnet
To twine the Laurel round your Bonnet.
198
ON A THREAT TO DESTROY THE TREE AT WINCHESTER,
Round which the Scholars, on Breaking up, sing their celebrated Song, called “Dulce Domum.”
Fair forms by Guido's pencil sheen
Created have I often seen;
Bright Spirits who, in silver air,
Surround the Morning's burnish'd car;
The laughing Hours, the Graces trim
That light on saffron pinions skim;
Whose naked beauties to espy,
Thro' the thin robe of violet dye,
Doth charm the soul,—but brighter far
Is the effulgent Morning-Star
Of Beauty, beaming from the eye
Of the sweet Maiden, Liberty!
Created have I often seen;
Bright Spirits who, in silver air,
Surround the Morning's burnish'd car;
The laughing Hours, the Graces trim
That light on saffron pinions skim;
Whose naked beauties to espy,
Thro' the thin robe of violet dye,
Doth charm the soul,—but brighter far
Is the effulgent Morning-Star
Of Beauty, beaming from the eye
Of the sweet Maiden, Liberty!
Then hail, fair Virgin, Liberty!
All around thy sacred Tree
Yearly, when returning May
Thy green-sod decks with herbage gay,
Freshest spring-flow'rs will we strew,
And cowslips, dropping, bath'd with dew.—
All around thy sacred Tree
Yearly, when returning May
Thy green-sod decks with herbage gay,
Freshest spring-flow'rs will we strew,
And cowslips, dropping, bath'd with dew.—
But ruin seize the sordid Wight,
Unwholesome winds his corn shall blight,
Nor pearly showers in April pass
Gently o'er his springing grass,
Whoe'er he be, the churlish Brute,
Who against thy spreading root
His sacrilegious axe shall lift!—
His oaks the howling storm shall rift,
No plenty shall his meadows crown,
That suns shall scorch or tempests drown;
At tender lamb-time, unwithstood,
With gulphy torrent shall the flood
Down the whirlpool's foamy steep
His tottering helpless younglings sweep.—
This be his fate, who 'gainst thy Tree
Shall lift his Axe, O Liberty!
Unwholesome winds his corn shall blight,
Nor pearly showers in April pass
Gently o'er his springing grass,
199
Who against thy spreading root
His sacrilegious axe shall lift!—
His oaks the howling storm shall rift,
No plenty shall his meadows crown,
That suns shall scorch or tempests drown;
At tender lamb-time, unwithstood,
With gulphy torrent shall the flood
Down the whirlpool's foamy steep
His tottering helpless younglings sweep.—
This be his fate, who 'gainst thy Tree
Shall lift his Axe, O Liberty!
FRAGMENT.
[Whistling, in listless vacancy of thought]
Whistling, in listless vacancy of thought,
To waste the dull hours of a tedious day,
Till Eve invites my solitary steps
To mark how, with the purple of his train,
Hyperion royally o'ercanopies
The green-rob'd Amphitrite.—While thievish Night
Steals from his closing eye the woods o'th' East.
To waste the dull hours of a tedious day,
Till Eve invites my solitary steps
To mark how, with the purple of his train,
Hyperion royally o'ercanopies
The green-rob'd Amphitrite.—While thievish Night
Steals from his closing eye the woods o'th' East.
And oft, when all the busy Town is hush'd,
I wander, in the midnight darkness cloak'd,
To seat me on the hillock of a grave
By some religious tow'r, whose high-plac'd clock
Keeps watch for Time, with momentary voice
The slow and sullen-paced steps of Night
Counting to Silence.
[OMITTED]
I wander, in the midnight darkness cloak'd,
To seat me on the hillock of a grave
By some religious tow'r, whose high-plac'd clock
Keeps watch for Time, with momentary voice
The slow and sullen-paced steps of Night
Counting to Silence.
200
TO A BOY, ROBBING A BIRD'S-NEST.
Stay, wanton Boy, thy savage arm,
Nor drag, unfeeling, from its nest
The chirping Young, and Egg yet warm,
Late by its feather'd Mother press'd.
Nor drag, unfeeling, from its nest
The chirping Young, and Egg yet warm,
Late by its feather'd Mother press'd.
How must that feather'd Mother grieve,
Returning from the clover field,
To view the blood wet every leaf,
Her young with tyrant fury kill'd!
Returning from the clover field,
To view the blood wet every leaf,
Her young with tyrant fury kill'd!
Think that e'en now thy Mother's eye
O'er hill and dale doth studious run,
If haply she from far may spy
The coming of her darling son.
O'er hill and dale doth studious run,
If haply she from far may spy
The coming of her darling son.
Then, if accustom'd to behold
Thy brow with smiles and beauty crown'd,
She sees Thee carried pale and cold,
Stabb'd thro' with many a ruffian wound,
Thy brow with smiles and beauty crown'd,
She sees Thee carried pale and cold,
Stabb'd thro' with many a ruffian wound,
Anguish her heart would inly wear,
Fear freeze, or boiling passion storm,
Or frantic Madness wildly tear;—
Think, Boy, of this, and stay thine arm!
Fear freeze, or boiling passion storm,
Or frantic Madness wildly tear;—
Think, Boy, of this, and stay thine arm!
201
ON A LADY AND HER SISTER,
Who imposed this Trifle upon the Writer, on his having measured their Waists with a Tape, repeating, “Give me but what this Girdle bound.”
Waller, fond Bard, 'twas nobly done
The World to barter for the Zone,
The Mystic Cestus that embrac'd
Thy beauteous Sacharissa's waist;
And the bold rapture of thy Lyre
Deserv'd the dame that woke its fire.
The World to barter for the Zone,
The Mystic Cestus that embrac'd
Thy beauteous Sacharissa's waist;
And the bold rapture of thy Lyre
Deserv'd the dame that woke its fire.
But had thy love-devoted mind
Aspir'd to what this Tape confin'd,
The frantic Fancy could invent
No sacrifice equivalent:
By thine own estimate precise
The World had been but half the price.
Aspir'd to what this Tape confin'd,
The frantic Fancy could invent
No sacrifice equivalent:
By thine own estimate precise
The World had been but half the price.
Each Grace that Beauty can improve,
Each Elegance that fixes Love,
Gay Spirits mantling as they mount
From the chaste Heart's untroubled fount,
The lambent Wit that fears to wound,
And shoots innocuous glory round,
Friendship, that foils Time's cank'ring tooth,
Green with the buds of earliest Youth.
Each Elegance that fixes Love,
Gay Spirits mantling as they mount
From the chaste Heart's untroubled fount,
The lambent Wit that fears to wound,
And shoots innocuous glory round,
Friendship, that foils Time's cank'ring tooth,
Green with the buds of earliest Youth.
202
All thy fam'd Fair-One could possess
Twice did this narrow Orb compress.
Two H---'s clasp'd, a doubly blissful fate,
And each thy Sacharissa's Duplicate.
Twice did this narrow Orb compress.
Two H---'s clasp'd, a doubly blissful fate,
And each thy Sacharissa's Duplicate.
TO THE WRITER OF THE “Familiar Epistle to the Author of the History of English Poetry:”
—the Name of the Writer of that Epistle being supposed to be Riston.
Whose is that vixen, blue-skin Cur?
Plague on his snarling and his yelping!
Good People all, will no one stir
To whip the cursed little whelp in?
Plague on his snarling and his yelping!
Good People all, will no one stir
To whip the cursed little whelp in?
Then lift thy Leg up, honest
Tom!
Let's see him plentifully p--- on!
Now—he runs sneaking, stinking home:—
There—take your Puppy, Master Riston!
Let's see him plentifully p--- on!
Now—he runs sneaking, stinking home:—
There—take your Puppy, Master Riston!
203
FRAGMENT,
The First Stanza of an Ode anticipated for the Birth-day 1786.
What will the new Laureate say,To celebrate this Holiday?
Let us, my Muse, anticipate the strain!
For if the matter be as plain
As is the common church-yard way,
Trodden alike by all the Parish Throng,
The merry Damsels that go trippingly,
And him so leaden-footed, the dull Swain,
Lounging and loitering lazily along),
Then can't we miss;—or if it be as high
As those aye-burning Gems that beautify
The Veil of Heav'n, We also claim
A kindred with the Sky,
And rightful entrance in the Courts of Jove,
To sit and listen what the Gods rehearse
Of Destiny and Chance, and things above
The course of earthly wisdom; thence to frame
A Tale divine in high immortal Verse. [OMITTED]
204
THE PYTHAGOREAN.
Suggested by the perusal of a Pamphlet, entitled “An Essay on Abstinence from Animal Food, considered as a Moral Duty.”
1802.
“Abstain from Flesh?” Josephus cries—
“'Twill make you candid, just, and wise.”
Observe this Scholar of the first-rate
The Doctrine he propounds illustrate.
That Candour sits enthron'd his heart on
Bear witness Percy! witness Warton!
205
One single instance proof I trust is
That no consideration checks:
He terms his Sovereign “Carnifex!”
206
The Miscreant deems his God a fool.
Dr. Percy, the present worthy Bishop of Dromore, whom Josephus attacks with scurrility that would discredit a Carman; and, to gratify his pique against him, falsifies a quotation from his own work. See the British Critic for May, 1795; Article “Scottish Songs.”
Mr. Thomas Warton, the late erudite and respectable Historian of English Poetry, the marked object of our Essay-writer's malignant invective.
“The publication of the work (the History of English Poetry) raised him (Mr. Warton) up an antagonist in the anonymous writer of “Observations on the three first Volumes of the History of English Poetry, in a Familiar Letter to the Author.” A writer, of whom it is no harsh judgment to pronounce, that the acuteness of his mind is greater than its elegance; and that, whatever other obligations he may be under to his learning, he certainly is not indebted to it for any peculiar softness of manner. I would not willingly speak of any man otherwise than with temper; but I feel it incumbent on me to mention this tract, and impossible to mention it but with severity.
“From the unqualified and scurrilous language of abuse which this anonymous writer employs, I am at little pains to attempt to defend the Historian, for they serve to reflect disgrace on him alone who can employ them.” Warton's Works, by R. Mant, Vol. I pages 65, 66.
“The Kings of England have from a remote period been devoted to hunting, in which pursuit one of them, and the son of another, lost his life. “James the First,” according to Scaliger, “was merciful, except at the Chace, where he was cruel; was very angry when he could not catch the Stag: God, he said, is enraged against me, so it is that I shall have him: when he had him he would put his arm all entire into the belly and entrails of the beast.” This Anecdote may be parallelled with the following of One of his Successors: “The Hunt on Tuesday last (as stated in the General Advertiser, March 4, 1784) commenced near Salthill, and afforded a chace of upwards of fifty miles: His Majesty was present at the death of the chace, near Tring in Hertfordshire. It is the first deer that has been run to death for many months; and, when opened, its heart strings were found to be quite rent, as is supposed with the force of running: Siste vero, tandem, Carnifex!” Essay on Abstinence from Animal Food, pages 88, 89.
“Perhaps that voice or cry so nearly resembling the human, with which Providence has endued so many different animals, might purposely be given to them to move our pity, and prevent those cruelties we are too apt to inflict upon our fellow creatures.
Note. “It may be so, but it is evident that Providence has not, in this instance, had all the success she intended. She would have acted more wisely, when she was about it, to have infused a little humanity into the mind of her favourite.” Essay, p. 99, 100.
Feed thou on pulse—roast-beef feed me on!
When, curst with a R---tsonian palate,
Nebuchadnezzar liv'd on Salad,
His brutal appetite to suit,
God gave th'Offender heart of brute,
And to the desert sent him, where he
Din'd at the greensweard Ordinary
With Nature's Commoners, his peers,
Sheep, horses, asses, calves and steers.
This Vegetable Regimen
Restor'd him to himself again;
Cur'd in sev'n years of his conceit,
He bless'd his Maker, as 'twas meet.
Methinks I hear Josephus cry:
“What if he did! so will not I;”
For of a much superior quality
To Neb's is Joe's brutality:
Unchang'd, and vegetable proof
As any Beast's that wears a hoof.
Sev'n years, and three times sev'n beside,
Has Joe abjur'd roast, boil'd and fried:
But vegetation nought supplies
Of pow'r the Churl to humanize:
Whether he writes, or quotes, or prates,
Still heart of Brute predominates.—
And will no Leech in all the land
This Essay-writer take in hand?
Help W---s, S---nds, help M---oe,
Sure you can make a cure of Joe!
Try with choice nostrums, each old woman,
If you can make the Monster human!
Your ghostly counsel give, each priest,
To change the nature of the Beast!
“What if he did! so will not I;”
207
To Neb's is Joe's brutality:
Unchang'd, and vegetable proof
As any Beast's that wears a hoof.
Sev'n years, and three times sev'n beside,
Has Joe abjur'd roast, boil'd and fried:
But vegetation nought supplies
Of pow'r the Churl to humanize:
Whether he writes, or quotes, or prates,
Still heart of Brute predominates.—
And will no Leech in all the land
This Essay-writer take in hand?
Help W---s, S---nds, help M---oe,
Sure you can make a cure of Joe!
Try with choice nostrums, each old woman,
If you can make the Monster human!
Your ghostly counsel give, each priest,
To change the nature of the Beast!
Can none of you amend his nature?
Then I'll invoke the Legislature:
(He's foil'd the sage of either sex;—)
“Tolle Josephum Carnifex!”
Then I'll invoke the Legislature:
(He's foil'd the sage of either sex;—)
“Tolle Josephum Carnifex!”
208
TO A LADY,
With a red Morocco Pocket-Book with blue Silk Strings and Figures of two Ladies on the Frontispiece.
My dearest Nancy, ere we part,
Receive this emblem of my heart.
My Heart, like This, is crimson'd o'er;
You've made it bleed at every pore.
Like This my captive Heart is bound
With many a fold of Love around;
O that that heart-enfolding Clew
Had but a silken softness too!
Receive this emblem of my heart.
My Heart, like This, is crimson'd o'er;
You've made it bleed at every pore.
Like This my captive Heart is bound
With many a fold of Love around;
O that that heart-enfolding Clew
Had but a silken softness too!
Such are the gentle Bands that join
Two Hearts in mutual Love: but mine
Is writhing with excess of Pain,
Hard bounden in an iron Chain.
Two Hearts in mutual Love: but mine
Is writhing with excess of Pain,
Hard bounden in an iron Chain.
When you shall loose the strings and look
Where the first Tablet of the Book
Presents Two Ladies, do not start!
'Tis yet an emblem of my heart;
My Heart that in you fondly traces
So many virtues, charms, and graces.
It finds variety in One;
Tho' there your Image stands alone.
Here let me close the parallel!
Since neither Book nor Verse can tell
How pure, how ardent and how true
Is what my Heart contains for you.
Where the first Tablet of the Book
Presents Two Ladies, do not start!
'Tis yet an emblem of my heart;
My Heart that in you fondly traces
So many virtues, charms, and graces.
It finds variety in One;
Tho' there your Image stands alone.
Here let me close the parallel!
Since neither Book nor Verse can tell
How pure, how ardent and how true
Is what my Heart contains for you.
209
TO THE SAME,
Fortune-telling with Cards.
Dear Nancy, if you wish to know
What Fate reserves in store for you,
Ask not the idle cards to show,
I'll tell as wisely, and as true:
What Fate reserves in store for you,
Ask not the idle cards to show,
I'll tell as wisely, and as true:
For I will take a magic Book
Of characters divinely fair;
Upon thy lovely Self I'll look,
And read, dear Girl, thy fortune there.
Of characters divinely fair;
Upon thy lovely Self I'll look,
And read, dear Girl, thy fortune there.
By those love-darting Eyes I find
How many hearts their empire own;
I see the sweetness of thy mind
That keeps the hearts those Eyes have won:
How many hearts their empire own;
I see the sweetness of thy mind
That keeps the hearts those Eyes have won:
Yet none, among so many hearts,
Nor any you shall yet subdue,
Should you join all their better parts,
Can make a Heart to merit you.
Nor any you shall yet subdue,
Should you join all their better parts,
Can make a Heart to merit you.
Now, shall I look into your breast
And see what Heart is favour'd there?
No—be that fatal Truth suppress'd,
Lest I should sink in my despair!
And see what Heart is favour'd there?
No—be that fatal Truth suppress'd,
Lest I should sink in my despair!
210
THE CONFESSION.
Never till now could I with them agreeWho tell us, Want of Bliss is Misery;
I thought that Joy might in remembrance last,
And Pleasures, till forgotten, were not past:
But when from my Cleora I remov'd,
Too sadly true the slighted Tenet prov'd.
That she a lasting impress can impart,
Witness ye Powers who read her Strephon's heart!
Wishes and all that's ere call'd Love I feel;
But Griefs the wonted place of Pleasures fill.
So widow'd Earth, after a sun-bright day,
Retains the warmth of each enlivening ray;
But mourns in mists while the kind God's away.
FRAGMENT,
Addressed to a Friend on the Circuit.
You should singThe robed Judge, majestically great,
Th'embroider'd Sheriff in his year of state;
In sable stoles array'd the Sons of Law;
The baited Witness, trembling in their paw:
The spruce Attorney's quick and busy glance;
The booted Client's dubious countenance;
The Moment big with hope, and doubt, and fear,
When the grave Jury, turning to the Chair,
Pronounce aloud th'irrevocable Say—
That takes a Shilling or a Life away. [OMITTED]
211
A DRAMATIC VIEW OF THE STATE OF THE AMERICAN QUESTION 1776.
[_]
This little Piece, which has been imperfectly introduced in a former Collection, is here given from a more full and correct Copy.
Upon the tressel Pig was laid,
And a sad squealing sure he made:
Killpig was by with knife and steel,
“Can'st not lie quiet? why dost squeal?
“Have I not fed thee with my pease,
“And now such little things as these
“Refusest thou? Quite full of vittle,
“Won't you be cut and kill'd a little?
“Shall I lay fat on Piggys' backs,
“And shall not Piggy pay me tax?”
And a sad squealing sure he made:
Killpig was by with knife and steel,
“Can'st not lie quiet? why dost squeal?
“Have I not fed thee with my pease,
“And now such little things as these
“Refusest thou? Quite full of vittle,
“Won't you be cut and kill'd a little?
“Shall I lay fat on Piggys' backs,
“And shall not Piggy pay me tax?”
To whom thus Piggy in reply,
“How can you think I'd quiet lie?
“Or that for pease myself I'd barter?”
“How can you think I'd quiet lie?
“Or that for pease myself I'd barter?”
“Then, Piggy, you must shew your Charter.
“Shew you're exempted more than others;
“Or go to pot with all your Brothers.” [Here Piggy struggles.
“Help, Neighbours, help! this Pig's so strong
“I fear I cannot hold him long;
“He kicks so, there's no keeping him under:
“Where are you all?—See, by your blunder,
“He's kick'd and broke his cords asunder.
“Well, for this time you've got away;
“But I shall catch you, Pig, some other day.”
[Exeunt Omnes, Piggy running and Killpig after him, nobody knows whither.
“Shew you're exempted more than others;
“Or go to pot with all your Brothers.” [Here Piggy struggles.
“Help, Neighbours, help! this Pig's so strong
“I fear I cannot hold him long;
“He kicks so, there's no keeping him under:
212
“He's kick'd and broke his cords asunder.
“Well, for this time you've got away;
“But I shall catch you, Pig, some other day.”
AN EARLY VIEW OF THE SAME QUESTION:
In a Dialogue between some Boilers and Chafing-dishes.
Each morn the Chafing-dishes roundThe College quadrangles are found;
And, as the Coals begin to glisten,
You'll hear the Boiler, if you listen,
Running his treble notes up high,
To Chafing-dish beneath him cry:
“Wee, wee, wee, we, wehee, wee, we!
“Shall both of us exhausted be,
“Between this Fire, and you, and me,
“About a Dish or two of Tea?”
![illustration](https://iiif.lib.virginia.edu/iiif/uva-lib:465867/full/!1600,1600/0/default.jpg")
213
TO THE LADIES,
On the Fashion of Female Head-dress at the Day.
Have ye never seen a netHanging at your kitchen door,
Stuff'd with dirty straw, beset
Full of old skew'rs o'er and o'er?
If ye have—it wonder breeds
Ye from thence should steal a fashion;
And should heap your lovely heads
Such a deal of filthy trash on.
True, your Tresses, wreath'd with art,
(Bards have said it ten times over)
Form a Net to catch the heart
Of the most unfeeling Lover:
But, thus robb'd of half your beauty,
Whom can you induce to buy?
Or incline for love or suit t'ye
By his Nose or by his Eye!
When he views your tresses thin
Tortur'd by some French Friseur;
Horse-hair, hemp and wool within,
Garnish'd with a Diamond Skew'r;
When he scents the mingled steam
That your plaister'd heads are rich in,
Lard and meal and clouted cream,
Can he love a walking Kitchen?
214
FRAGMENT.
[The Sheep of gentle Westley's fold]
The Sheep of gentle Westley's fold,If right I read their doctrine, hold
That Grace descends, not like the dew
Pouring a blessing o'er the general earth,
But falls upon a chosen Few,
The Children of the Second Birth:
Not that this Grace doth most abound
In pure and consecrated Ground;
For Sin, they tell you, like Manure,
Makes the Crop plentiful and sure. [OMITTED]
LINES
Written with a Pencil in a Lady's Almanac.
Go happy Lines, yet fearful go,
To meet Louisa's secret eye!
Tell what I wish her heart should know,
Yet, rather than declare, I die.
To meet Louisa's secret eye!
Tell what I wish her heart should know,
Yet, rather than declare, I die.
Perhaps she'll scorn ye, and despise
The tribute of a Heart so poor—
Too valueless to be the prize
Of Beauty, proudest Conqueror.
The tribute of a Heart so poor—
Too valueless to be the prize
Of Beauty, proudest Conqueror.
215
Then tell her that her Touch alone
Destroys your pencil'd forms with ease;
And say your Fate is like my own,
To be or not, as she shall please.
Destroys your pencil'd forms with ease;
And say your Fate is like my own,
To be or not, as she shall please.
But should her gentleness now spare,
Pass one short year and ye are not!
A little year shall send ye where
You'll perish among things forgot;
Pass one short year and ye are not!
A little year shall send ye where
You'll perish among things forgot;
Yet so, how envied should you be!
For who is he would not prefer,
Before an Immortality,
To live a Year or Day with Her?
For who is he would not prefer,
Before an Immortality,
To live a Year or Day with Her?
I fear she'll turn ye all to jest:
Then let her know I've made my prayer;
That, when by Beaux, smart Beaux, carest,
She ne'er may feel a tender care!
Then let her know I've made my prayer;
That, when by Beaux, smart Beaux, carest,
She ne'er may feel a tender care!
But while they sigh, or kneel, or vow,
Think it all done in sport and play;
Or write Love-rhymes (as I do now)
Laugh, but not trust a word they say.
Think it all done in sport and play;
Or write Love-rhymes (as I do now)
Laugh, but not trust a word they say.
216
ON A CHAPEL Built at Windsor Lodge by William Duke of Cumberland,
which his Successor at the Lodge intended to convert into a Concert Room.
[_]
The Chapel is circular, with an Arcade of Columns to the South, lighted by three Windows, and finished with a Dome.
“Build me, to grace my lov'd Retreat,
“A Chapel for devotion meet.
“A perfect Circle let it be;
“The emblem of Eternity:
“Firm as our Faith the hallow'd Fane
“Let Columns on the South sustain:
“And elevate its swelling Dome
“Tow'rds Heav'n, the faithful Christian's home:
“In number let its Lights be Three,
“Type of the Blessed Trinity.”
“A Chapel for devotion meet.
“A perfect Circle let it be;
“The emblem of Eternity:
“Firm as our Faith the hallow'd Fane
“Let Columns on the South sustain:
“And elevate its swelling Dome
“Tow'rds Heav'n, the faithful Christian's home:
“In number let its Lights be Three,
“Type of the Blessed Trinity.”
Thus William spoke: and, at his nod,
Arose the Temple to his God.
Approving Heaven beheld the Shrine,
And chang'd the Mortal to divine.—
Him Hal succeeded who, ere long,
Gave up Devotion for a Song.
And now the Place is set apart
To sooth the Ear, not mend the Heart.
Arose the Temple to his God.
Approving Heaven beheld the Shrine,
And chang'd the Mortal to divine.—
Him Hal succeeded who, ere long,
Gave up Devotion for a Song.
And now the Place is set apart
To sooth the Ear, not mend the Heart.
217
THE COMPLAINT OF THE ROSE.
Too cruel Clara, deign to spare
A little moment to my prayer;
And hear a Flower lament its woes,
The sweetest of all flowers, the Rose!
The flower whose blush is most like thine,
Whose breath, like yours, is breath divine.
A little moment to my prayer;
And hear a Flower lament its woes,
The sweetest of all flowers, the Rose!
The flower whose blush is most like thine,
Whose breath, like yours, is breath divine.
Too cruel, cease your fatal skill:
There sure are men enough to kill:
Why then on Me exert your power,
And play the tyrant with a Flower?
There sure are men enough to kill:
Why then on Me exert your power,
And play the tyrant with a Flower?
When first upon your snowy breast,
Soft seat of Innocence and Rest,
The Summer's and the Garden's pride,
A willing Captive I was tied,
Aloft I bore my glowing head,
More fresh than in my native bed;
Tho' sometimes tempted to recline
(For once forgive the bold design;
Since We, as well as Gods and Men,
Must needs be amorous now and then:)
I stoop'd into the Vale of Bliss,
And dar'd to snatch a lawless kiss,
Perusing, with presumptuous care,
The mighty World of Beauty there,
Those treasures of unveil'd delight
Which bless with ecstacy the sight;
Whose touch e'en languid Age might move,
And make a Hermit mad with Love:
But now, alas! how chang'd my fate!
How fall'n from my exalted state!
And still more cruel, Clara fair,
Dethron'd by you, who plac'd me there.
Soft seat of Innocence and Rest,
The Summer's and the Garden's pride,
A willing Captive I was tied,
Aloft I bore my glowing head,
More fresh than in my native bed;
Tho' sometimes tempted to recline
(For once forgive the bold design;
Since We, as well as Gods and Men,
Must needs be amorous now and then:)
I stoop'd into the Vale of Bliss,
And dar'd to snatch a lawless kiss,
Perusing, with presumptuous care,
The mighty World of Beauty there,
218
Which bless with ecstacy the sight;
Whose touch e'en languid Age might move,
And make a Hermit mad with Love:
But now, alas! how chang'd my fate!
How fall'n from my exalted state!
And still more cruel, Clara fair,
Dethron'd by you, who plac'd me there.
AN ABSOLUTE ACROSTIC,
And Alliterate Alphabetical Address al aimable Anna.
1. HOPE.
Angel I call her and angelical,Neat, nun-apparell'd, Nature's Nonpareil;
Nancy needs nothing, nothing needs Nan's Eye,
Arch-brow'd and arch with amorous amity.
2. DISAPPOINTMENT.
Ha! happy hours, how hearty heretofore!All arm'd, alas! against a Lass alarming.
We went on! wanton wenches willows wore,
Kind kissing Creatures, cherry-cheek'd and charming.
Yield back your yesterdays ye years of yore!
Nan's naughty now, I nought, do not I know her?
So sour, so shy she seems, she'd seen me sigh so sore.
219
FRAGMENT.
[And e'en in its meridian height]
No Verses—my Love is now on the decline—
And e'en in its meridian height,Fill'd with the lustre of her sun-bright eye,
It shed a scanty light,
Unapt to raise the flow'rs of Poesy:
But chill and feeble was the ray
Chill as the Moon upon the silver plain,
And feeble as the streams of light that play
Round Cassiopeïa's chair, and slow Boötes' wain. [OMITTED]
ON THE Amphibious N. ELLIOT, of Oxford, Shoemaker and Poet.
Elliot sublime, to whom indulgent Heav'nA double trade for livelihood has given,
Whether thou turn'st the Ox's well-tann'd hide,
Or kennest L---'s soul more blackly dyed;
220
Yclept or cobler neat, or tuneful poet.
Not in more order do thy stitches shine,
Than the rang'd morals of thy whiter line:
Not sharper does thy awl the leather pierce
Than the bad conscience thy satyric Verse:
Each character, cut out in newest taste,
In ev'ry point exactly fits the Last.
Beau, hypocrite, or twining fawners suits,
Emblem of pumps, of slippers, and of boots.
Of Proverb old illustrious confutor,
For thou art, ultra crepidam, a Sutor.
Oxonians swear in concert that the Nine
Thy wreaths with waxen ends conspir'd to twine.
Oft as thy Stone's great Image (strapp'd by Fate
To Time's old knee, and there ordain'd to wait
His fatal mandate, or around twirl his pin)
Shall bring the glorious Festival of Crispin,
So oft I swear, by this old Staple Leather,
Which ne'er again will grow to Tup or Weather,
Repairing to thy favour'd Cell, and plac'd
On Tripod smooth which Delphos erst had grac'd,
I'll quaff a pennyworth of ale to every Muse,
And write a pair of rhymes, and buy a pair of shoes.
Timothy Two-shoes, Of St. Giles's, Oxford.
221
LINES Inscribed on a Leaf of Lowth's Grammar,
which the Writer presented to a Young Lady, the Daughter of his Friend.
Fair miniature of all thy Mother's grace,Gentle Theresa! whose first-op'ning bloom
Foretells a lovely Flow'r of rich perfume:
Now that thy tender mind doth quick embrace
Each character impress'd, these pages trace
With studious eye, and let thy thoughts assume
Such classic dress as grac'd the Maids of Rome,
Free, elegant, and as thy manners chaste.
IMITATION
From the Medea of Euripides.
Queen of every moving Measure,Sweetest source of purest pleasure,
Music! why thy pow'rs employ
Only for the Sons of Joy?
Only for the smiling guests
At natal or at nuptial feasts?
Rather thy lenient Numbers pour
On those whom secret griefs devour;
Bid be still the throbbing hearts
Of those whom Death or absence parts;
And with some softly-whisper'd air
Smooth the brow of dumb Despair!
222
THE SPLEEN.
I am not of their mind who say
The World degenerates every day;
Nor like to hear a churl exclaim,
In rapture at Queen Bess's name,
And cry, “What happy times were those
“When Ladies with the Sun uprose,
“And for their breakfast did not fear
“To eat roast-beef and drink small-beer!
“Then buxom Health and sprightly Grace
“Enliven'd every blooming face;
“Blooming with roses all its own;
“And rouge, tea, vapours, were unknown.”
The World degenerates every day;
Nor like to hear a churl exclaim,
In rapture at Queen Bess's name,
And cry, “What happy times were those
“When Ladies with the Sun uprose,
“And for their breakfast did not fear
“To eat roast-beef and drink small-beer!
“Then buxom Health and sprightly Grace
“Enliven'd every blooming face;
“Blooming with roses all its own;
“And rouge, tea, vapours, were unknown.”
Nature, still changing, still the same,
Hath so contriv'd this worldly frame,
That every age shall duly share
The good or ill that flows from her.
Thus we, a Spleenful race, are free
From magic and from sorcery;
While those who liv'd with good Queen Bess
(As they that know the truth confess)
Tho' Spleen and Vapours there were none,
Had Imps and Witches many a one;
And he who, 'cause he has not seen,
Will not believe, hath ne'er, I ween,
With due attention mus'd upon
Thy page, O British Solomon!
Hath so contriv'd this worldly frame,
That every age shall duly share
The good or ill that flows from her.
Thus we, a Spleenful race, are free
From magic and from sorcery;
While those who liv'd with good Queen Bess
(As they that know the truth confess)
Tho' Spleen and Vapours there were none,
Had Imps and Witches many a one;
And he who, 'cause he has not seen,
Will not believe, hath ne'er, I ween,
With due attention mus'd upon
Thy page, O British Solomon!
223
Thus far in preface—Now I'll tell
How Spleen arose, when Witchcraft fell.
By vengeful Laws the Wizard brood
Long harass'd and at last subdued,
Their black Familiars all repair
Before the throne of Lucifer,
With sad petitions, setting forth
Their many grievances on earth,
What torments they were doom'd to bear
While tending on their Witches there:
Some drown'd, to prove their innocence,
Or, scaping, hang'd on that pretence;
Some burnt within their steeple hats,
Some nine times murder'd in their Cats.
Brief, they petition'd to enjoy
Some less adventurous employ,
Since witchcraft now was thought so common
They were not safe in an Old Woman.
How Spleen arose, when Witchcraft fell.
By vengeful Laws the Wizard brood
Long harass'd and at last subdued,
Their black Familiars all repair
Before the throne of Lucifer,
With sad petitions, setting forth
Their many grievances on earth,
What torments they were doom'd to bear
While tending on their Witches there:
Some drown'd, to prove their innocence,
Or, scaping, hang'd on that pretence;
Some burnt within their steeple hats,
Some nine times murder'd in their Cats.
Brief, they petition'd to enjoy
Some less adventurous employ,
Since witchcraft now was thought so common
They were not safe in an Old Woman.
Their suit was granted—up they came
New-liveried in Sulphur flame,
With licence thro' the realm to range;
But, with their pow'r, their name they change:
Magic no longer now is seen,
And what was Withcraft once, is Spleen:
Yet still they most delight to vex,
As first they did, the Female Sex;
And still, like an old Witch's charm,
They teaze, but have no pow'r to harm.
New-liveried in Sulphur flame,
With licence thro' the realm to range;
But, with their pow'r, their name they change:
Magic no longer now is seen,
And what was Withcraft once, is Spleen:
Yet still they most delight to vex,
As first they did, the Female Sex;
And still, like an old Witch's charm,
They teaze, but have no pow'r to harm.
224
Tho' Doctors otherwise have told,
The tale is true that I unfold;
And with my System suits the Name,
For Spleen and Vapours are the same;
And all the country people know
That these, ascending from below,
Are Devils of peculiar hue,
And from their colour call them Blue.
The tale is true that I unfold;
And with my System suits the Name,
For Spleen and Vapours are the same;
And all the country people know
That these, ascending from below,
Are Devils of peculiar hue,
And from their colour call them Blue.
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