Poems on Various Subjects with some Essays in Prose, Letters to Correspondents, &c. and A Treatise on Health. By Samuel Bowden |
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The STORY of the Barber and his Lanthorn.
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 | Poems on Various Subjects |  |
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The STORY of the Barber and his Lanthorn.
In Imitation of Chevy-Chace.
[_]
Tho' the following ironical Ballad is too local, and personal for the Public, I was yet desir'd to print it to gratify the Importunity of some Friends.
1
God prosper long our peaceful king,And guard us all from danger;
A dire catastrophe I sing
Which rais'd my hero's anger.
2
Achilles' wrath, the bard inspir'd,Three thousands years ago;
I sing what rage the Barber fir'd,
And all its tragic woe.
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3
To drive off care, with lighted-horn,The Barber bent his flight;
The child may rue that is unborn,
The drinking of that night.
4
'Twas on a Thursday's fatal day,In dark, and stormy weather;
And under some unlucky ray,
The club was met together.
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All men of Frome's delightful dale,All honest hearts, and jolly,
Who knew full well, with mug of ale
To banish melancholy.
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And now the tubes begun to smoak,The circling glass went round,
With many a tale, and many a joke,
No slackness there was found.
7
Hard by upon a window's side,A lanthorn peaceful lay;
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And seen thro' many a fray.
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But now the fatal hour drew nigh,For all things have their date,
And lamps below, and lamps on high,
Must all submit to fate.
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For suddenly, like clap of thunder,The pendent lanthorn fell,
And in a moment burst asunder,
But how no tongue can tell.
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Thus the fam'd Pharos of the east,Was in a tempest lost,
Which long the mariners had blest,
And lighted Egypt's coast.
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Up rose the gouty hero griev'd,With madness, and with anger,
Soon as the valiant knight perceiv'd
His noble lamp in danger.
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12
“Hast thou, he cry'd, transparent guide,“So many perils past,
“So many midnight ills defy'd,
“To perish here at last?
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“Oft' has thy aid preserv'd my shin“From grating, and from gout,
“For still thy friendly light was in,
“When mine was often out.
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“Still didst thou guard the dangerous way,“Beset with every evil,
“And sprites, and bailiffs drive away,
“Owls, mastiffs, and the devil.
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“For thee I long endur'd the cramp“With flannel on my feet;
“For sure a more renowned lamp,
“Mischance did never meet.
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I need not tell, how full of scorn,He left his pipe, and pot,
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And spoil their wicked plot.
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It wou'd too tedious make my tale,His actions to recite,
How Lamb at his fierce looks wax'd pale,
And Hector fled with fright.
18
How from the fire a mighty bar,With both his hands he took,
And like stern Pyrrhus in the war,
The flaming javelin shook.
19
How Mithridate, and many moreSat trembling round the hall,
Cleaver, who scarce cou'd speak before,
Now cou'd not speak at all.
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Stout Soder too, was sore afraid,Old Buckram sat in dumps,
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For mercy on his stumps.
21
Two woollen friends , who serious sat,Lamenting loss of trade,
Broke off their manufacturing chat,
Of sudden ills afraid.
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And now to close the tragic theme,And wind up the disaster,
Together stagger'd home, both lame,
The lanthorn, and the master.
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But in the road a giant-post,Don Quixote durst attack,
Which humbl'd after all his boast
The hero on his back.
24
Now heaven preserve all honest men,And grant that storms may cease;
And Tonsor long enjoy again
A brighter lamp in peace.
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