The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] :: :: University of Virginia Library

Struck with th' uncommon form, the tinker started,
Just like a frighten'd horse, or murd'rer carted,
Up gazing at the gibbet and the rope:
Turning his brain about, in a brown study
(For, as I've said, his brain was not so muddy),
‘'Sbud! (quoth the tinker) I have now some hope;

‘Fortune, the jade, is not far off, perchance’—
And then began to rub his hands, and dance.

Now all so full of love, o'erjoy'd he ran,
Embrac'd and squeez'd Miss Grist, and thus began:
‘My dear, my soul, my angel, sweet Miss Grist,
Now may I never mend a kettle more,
If ever I saw one like you before!’
Then, ‘nothing loth,’ like Eve, the nymph he kiss'd.

Now, very sensibly indeed, Miss Grist
Thought opportunity should not be miss'd;
Knowing that prudery oft lets slip a joy:
Thus was Miss Grist too prudent to be coy.

For really 'tis with girls a dangerous farce,
To flout a swain, when offers are but scarce.

She did not scream, and cry, ‘I'll not be woo'd;
‘Keep off, you smutty fellow—don't be rude;
I'm meat for your superiors, tinker.’—No,
Indeed she treated not the tinker so.

But lo, the damsel, with her usual squint,
Suffer'd her tinker lover to imprint
Sweet kisses on her lip, and squeeze her hand,
Hug her, and say the softest things unto her,
And in love's plain and pretty language woo her,
Without a frown, or ev'n a reprimand.

Soon won, the nymph agreed to join his bed,
And, when the tinker chose, to church be led.

206

Now to the father the brisk lover hied,
Who at his noisy mill so busy plied,
Grinding, and taking handsome toll of corn,
Sometimes indeed too handsome to be borne.

‘Ho! Master Miller!’ did the tinker say—
Forth from his cloud of flour the miller came:
‘Nice weather, Master Miller—charming day—
God's very kind’—the miller said the same.

‘Now, miller, possibly you may not guess
At this same business I am come about:
'Tis this then—know, I love your daughter Bess:—
There, Master Miller!—now the riddle's out.

‘I'm not for mincing matters, Lord! d'ye see—
I likes your daughter Bess, and she likes me.’

‘Poh!’ quoth the miller, grinning at the tinker,
‘Thou dost not mean to marriage to persuade her;
Ugly as is the dev'l I needs must think her,
Though, to be sure, 'tis said, 'twas me that made her.

‘No, no, though she's my daughter, I'm not blind:
But, tinker, what hath now possess'd thy mind?
Thou'rt the first offer she has met, by Gad—
But tell me, tinker, art thou drunk, or mad?’

‘No—I'm not drunk, nor mad,’ the tinker cry'd,
‘But Bet's the maid I wish to make my bride;
No girl in these two eyes doth Bet excel.’
‘Why, fool,’ the miller said, ‘Bet hath a hump!
And then her nose!—the nose of my old pump.’
‘I know it,’ quoth the tinker, ‘know it well.’

‘Her face,’ quoth Grist, ‘is freckled, wrinkled, flat;
Her mouth as wide as that of my Tom cat;
And then she squints a thousand ways at once—
Her waist, a corkscrew; and her hair how red!
A downright bunch of carrots on her head—
Why what the dev'l is got into thy sconce?’

207

‘No dev'l is in my sconce,’ rejoin'd the tinker;
‘But, Lord! what's that to you, if fine, I think her?

‘Why, man,’ quoth Grist, ‘she's fit to make a show,
And therefore sure I am that thou must banter!’
‘Miller!’ reply'd the tinker, ‘right! for know,
'Tis for that very thing, a show, I want her.’