Poems on Several Occasions By J. Robertson |
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The last Speech and Dying Words of Willy, a Pet-Lamb,
who was executed by the Hands of a common
Butcher, for gnawing, tearing, and murdering one
of Miss ------ lac'd Ruffles.
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
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The last Speech and Dying Words of Willy, a Pet-Lamb, who was executed by the Hands of a common Butcher, for gnawing, tearing, and murdering one of Miss ------ lac'd Ruffles.
(Quis talia fando, temperet è Lachrymis?)
“And must I die? Must your poor Willy bleed?
“For one poor witless fault my life resign?
“Forgive your little lambkin, and indeed
“Henceforth on Ruffles never will I dine.
“For one poor witless fault my life resign?
“Forgive your little lambkin, and indeed
“Henceforth on Ruffles never will I dine.
“With my wild gambols pleas'd, can you forget
“How oft the fleeting hour you've smil'd away?
“Kiss'd me, and call'd me your nown little Pet,
“And vow'd my breath was sweet as new-mown hay.
“How oft the fleeting hour you've smil'd away?
“Kiss'd me, and call'd me your nown little Pet,
“And vow'd my breath was sweet as new-mown hay.
“Have you forgot how oft-times by your side
“Fearless along the plain I joyous sped?—
“Have you forgot with what a conscious pride
“I baa'd, whene'er you patted Willy's head?
“Fearless along the plain I joyous sped?—
“Have you forgot with what a conscious pride
“I baa'd, whene'er you patted Willy's head?
“When Cupid bark'd; with Envy stung and Spite,
“To you I ran to save me from my foe;
“You, instant, banish'd Cupid from your sight,
“And kissing, call'd me your sweet Willio.
“To you I ran to save me from my foe;
“You, instant, banish'd Cupid from your sight,
“And kissing, call'd me your sweet Willio.
“On your lov'd knee, my head I oft have laid,
“Proud from your hand to take my tasteful food;
“Favours from others were in vain display'd,
“No sweets, save from your hand, I counted good.
“Proud from your hand to take my tasteful food;
“Favours from others were in vain display'd,
“No sweets, save from your hand, I counted good.
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“At morn, when from your bed undress'd you sprung,
“Have you not clasp'd me in your snowy arms?
“While I, all rapture, lick'd you with my tongue,
“Nor once disclos'd the secret of your charms.
“Have you not clasp'd me in your snowy arms?
“While I, all rapture, lick'd you with my tongue,
“Nor once disclos'd the secret of your charms.
“Let Innocence and Love for Mercy plead;
“For Mercy on my marrow-bones I fall;
“Tho' some few errors to my share's decreed,
“Look in my face, and you'll forget 'em all.
“For Mercy on my marrow-bones I fall;
“Tho' some few errors to my share's decreed,
“Look in my face, and you'll forget 'em all.
“Can black Revenge lodge in so fair a breast?
“Can such a trifle warp an Angel's mind?
“How must each sighing Lover prove distrest,
“To find such fickleness and beauty join'd!
“Can such a trifle warp an Angel's mind?
“How must each sighing Lover prove distrest,
“To find such fickleness and beauty join'd!
“Bak'd in my blood—convuls'd in every part,
“Quiv'ring in death cou'd you poor Willy view?
“And from my breast torn forth my little heart,
“That heart whose latest throbbings beat for You.
“Quiv'ring in death cou'd you poor Willy view?
“And from my breast torn forth my little heart,
“That heart whose latest throbbings beat for You.
“Cou'd you behold my mangled carcass rise,
“Smoaking upon your board to tempt the taste;
“The tear, I'm sure, wou'd strait empearl your eyes;
“You cou'd not on your murder'd Willy feast.
“Smoaking upon your board to tempt the taste;
“The tear, I'm sure, wou'd strait empearl your eyes;
“You cou'd not on your murder'd Willy feast.
“If I must die—Oh, grant this last request,
“Let sorm of gloves my little lamb-skin grace;
“Then shall poor Willy ev'n in Death be blest,
“To think your dear-lov'd arms he shall embrace.
“Let sorm of gloves my little lamb-skin grace;
“Then shall poor Willy ev'n in Death be blest,
“To think your dear-lov'd arms he shall embrace.
“And from the wool that curls o'er Willy's skin,
“Wou'd you two snowy, posied garters make;
“This favour too, dear Lady, let me win,
“Wear 'em, ah, wear 'em for poor Willy's sake.
“Wou'd you two snowy, posied garters make;
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“Wear 'em, ah, wear 'em for poor Willy's sake.
“Each day and night when these remains appear,
“Shou'd to your mem'ry rise my hapless shade,
“And your relenting heart give one kind tear,
“My suff'rings will be more than overpaid.
“Shou'd to your mem'ry rise my hapless shade,
“And your relenting heart give one kind tear,
“My suff'rings will be more than overpaid.
“But see—the murd'rer whets his bloody knife,
“Eager he grins, as ready for the blow:—
“If nothing can atone but Willy's Life,
“Ah, let my Lady's Hand the stroke bestow.”
“Eager he grins, as ready for the blow:—
“If nothing can atone but Willy's Life,
“Ah, let my Lady's Hand the stroke bestow.”
Distant, and deaf to Willy's plaintive moan,
Madam, enchamber'd, o'er her Ruffle stood;
The Butcher plung'd his knife;—and with a groan
Poor Willy's Life came rushing in a flood.
Madam, enchamber'd, o'er her Ruffle stood;
The Butcher plung'd his knife;—and with a groan
Poor Willy's Life came rushing in a flood.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |