 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
107
The PEDLAR and RASHER of BACON.
A Tale.
“What on a fast-day, thou vile glutton!
“Thou infidel! to feast on mutton!—
“Nothing can save you from the birch,
“But Off'rings made to Mother Church;
“Else holy candle, book and bell,
“Shall sign your Mittimus to Hell.”—
Thus having threaten'd poor Lay Sinner,
Sir Priest sits down to a flesh dinner;
And after shipping his own cargo,
On others guts lays strict embargo.
“Thou infidel! to feast on mutton!—
“Nothing can save you from the birch,
“But Off'rings made to Mother Church;
“Else holy candle, book and bell,
“Shall sign your Mittimus to Hell.”—
Thus having threaten'd poor Lay Sinner,
Sir Priest sits down to a flesh dinner;
And after shipping his own cargo,
On others guts lays strict embargo.
A Pedlar hungry, tir'd, and cold,
Who many a mile that day had stroll'd,
Came to a Peasant's friendly hut,
Where he had often stuff'd his gut;—
“How fare you, Pedlar?—Faith, so, so;
“I'm dev'lish hungry, you must know:
“Some good fat collops I cou'd eat;”—
“Sure, quo' the Peasant, you forget
“The Holy Church enjoins, to-day
“That we must fast, confess and pray;”
(You're to observe the scene was Spain,
Where Priests and Saints despotic reign)
“Two or three Onions are the Tote
“That journey'd this day down my throat;
“Nor have I now one morsel left,
“Of ev'ry eatable bereft,
“Save yonder Bacon Flitch, and such
“No Christian sure wou'd dare to touch:”
The Pedlar cast a longing eye,
He begg'd—he swore most bitterly,
“A savoury Rasher on the coal,
“Was what he long'd for from his soul;
“That windows shut, and doors well barr'd
“'Gainst Priests and Saints wou'd snugly guard;
“And after all, if he was caught,
“An Absolution might be bought.”
Who many a mile that day had stroll'd,
Came to a Peasant's friendly hut,
Where he had often stuff'd his gut;—
“How fare you, Pedlar?—Faith, so, so;
“I'm dev'lish hungry, you must know:
“Some good fat collops I cou'd eat;”—
“Sure, quo' the Peasant, you forget
“The Holy Church enjoins, to-day
“That we must fast, confess and pray;”
(You're to observe the scene was Spain,
Where Priests and Saints despotic reign)
“Two or three Onions are the Tote
“That journey'd this day down my throat;
“Nor have I now one morsel left,
“Of ev'ry eatable bereft,
108
“No Christian sure wou'd dare to touch:”
The Pedlar cast a longing eye,
He begg'd—he swore most bitterly,
“A savoury Rasher on the coal,
“Was what he long'd for from his soul;
“That windows shut, and doors well barr'd
“'Gainst Priests and Saints wou'd snugly guard;
“And after all, if he was caught,
“An Absolution might be bought.”
The tim'rous Peasant long deny'd,
At length thro' pity he comply'd;
And having from the pork-side taken
A good large sliver of fat Bacon,
“I wash my hands of all, he cries,
“At your own door the trespass lies;
“But if our Priest shou'd find you out,
“By th' Mass he'll make a woundy rout;
“Such Pennance he'll inflict—you'll wish
“Your Bacon slice had been a Fish.”
At length thro' pity he comply'd;
And having from the pork-side taken
A good large sliver of fat Bacon,
“I wash my hands of all, he cries,
“At your own door the trespass lies;
“But if our Priest shou'd find you out,
“By th' Mass he'll make a woundy rout;
“Such Pennance he'll inflict—you'll wish
“Your Bacon slice had been a Fish.”
The Pedlar soon his Rasher dress'd,
His looks a joyous heart express'd;
And to his mouth without delaying,
The savoury morsel quick conveying,
Just at the instant, a loud clap
Of thunder—Lord have mercy!—slap—
Came like a bold intruding guest,
To interrupt him in his feast:
The Pedlar judging that, no doubt,
The Rasher caus'd this fearful rout,
And that the Saints, with half an eye
Had seen him smuggling from their sky,
The morsel, cause of all this din,
Which mouth had open'd to take in,
He drops amaz'd;—and with a look,
Which Grief and Rage, and Hunger spoke,
And dashing down both meat and platter,
Exclaims—“Zoons, here's a noise and clatter
“About a footy Bacon slice;
“You Saints above are dev'lish nice:—
“There—now I hope you'll be quite easy,
“The devil's in't if this won't please ye;
“Tho' by the bye 'tis plaguy hard;—
“You wou'd not like yourselves to be thus serv'd.”
His looks a joyous heart express'd;
And to his mouth without delaying,
The savoury morsel quick conveying,
Just at the instant, a loud clap
Of thunder—Lord have mercy!—slap—
Came like a bold intruding guest,
To interrupt him in his feast:
The Pedlar judging that, no doubt,
The Rasher caus'd this fearful rout,
109
Had seen him smuggling from their sky,
The morsel, cause of all this din,
Which mouth had open'd to take in,
He drops amaz'd;—and with a look,
Which Grief and Rage, and Hunger spoke,
And dashing down both meat and platter,
Exclaims—“Zoons, here's a noise and clatter
“About a footy Bacon slice;
“You Saints above are dev'lish nice:—
“There—now I hope you'll be quite easy,
“The devil's in't if this won't please ye;
“Tho' by the bye 'tis plaguy hard;—
“You wou'd not like yourselves to be thus serv'd.”
Let Christians hence on Fast-days learn
Their Hunger's Tide to stem;
For Saints, sly Rogues! can us discern,
When we see nought of them.
Their Hunger's Tide to stem;
For Saints, sly Rogues! can us discern,
When we see nought of them.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |