Derrick's Jests or, The Wits Chronicle. Containing A pleasing Variety of Repartees, Puns, Bon-Mots, and other Species of Wit and Humour, Which passed between Samuel Derrick ... and other Persons distinguished for their Wit and Humour. Also A Collection of Poetical Pieces on Various Subjects, By Mr. Derrick and Others. Dedicated to the Public |
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 | Derrick's Jests |  |
30
[When Quin, of all grace and all dignity void]
When Quin, of all grace and all dignity void,Murder'd Cato, the censor, and Brutus destroy'd;
He strutted, he mouth'd,—you no passion cou'd trace
In his action, deliv'ry, or plumb-pudding face;
When he massacred Comus, the gay god of mirth,
He was suffer'd, because we of actors had dearth,
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Upon all his peculiar absurdities hit;
When Garrick arose, with those talents and fire
Which nature and all the nine Muses inspire,
Poor guts was neglected, or laugh'd off the stage;
So, bursting with envy, and tortur'd with rage,
He damn'd the whole town in a fury, and fled,
Little Bayes an extinguisher clapp'd on his head.
Yet we never shall Falstaff behold so well done,
With such character, humour, such spirit and fun,
So great that we knew not which most to admire,
Glutton, parasite, pander, pimp, letcher, or liar;—
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When he acted the part, his own picture he drew.
64
POETRY ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
The Hamadryads to Lord G---ve---r, on his preventing some beautiful Rows of Trees from being cut down, near a Place of public Entertainment.
As saunt'ring, without cash or care,
Sir Sable stalk'd to breathe the air;
Chance led him to that beauteous grove,
Where Chelsea's vet'rans love to rove;
Here the maim'd soldier stumps along,
And hears the blackbird's ev'ning song;
Or stretch'd at ease, now safe from wars,
Talks of old deeds, and counts his scars:
Broad elms their branches intertwine,
Birds tune their notes—almost divine!
Around his raptur'd Eye explores,
Whilst from old Thames's sedgy shores,
Responsive echo swells the sound,
And makes the whole enchanted ground.
Sir Sable stalk'd to breathe the air;
Chance led him to that beauteous grove,
Where Chelsea's vet'rans love to rove;
Here the maim'd soldier stumps along,
And hears the blackbird's ev'ning song;
Or stretch'd at ease, now safe from wars,
Talks of old deeds, and counts his scars:
Broad elms their branches intertwine,
Birds tune their notes—almost divine!
65
Whilst from old Thames's sedgy shores,
Responsive echo swells the sound,
And makes the whole enchanted ground.
Attentive stood the Knight awhile,
And grinn'd—as if he meant to smile;
But some curst Demon, stung with spite
At Nature, pregnant with delight!
With cringing compliments drew near,
And thus the flatterer sooth'd his ear:
“My good old friend, by fame renown'd,
For spoiling many a piece of ground!
Who op'st thy hospitable door
To all good comers—but the poor!
Yet here fair ladies, full as needy,
Meet with relief both sure and speedy,
When, gather'd from a fortnight's savings,
Thou get'st good things to stop their cravings;
And craming down thy tarts and Jellies,
Stuff at both ends their hungry bellies:
Who keep'st in friendship with the great,
So long as thou can'st raise—a treat;
And liv'st this sov'reign truth to prove,
That pudding is the bond of love!
And grinn'd—as if he meant to smile;
But some curst Demon, stung with spite
At Nature, pregnant with delight!
With cringing compliments drew near,
And thus the flatterer sooth'd his ear:
“My good old friend, by fame renown'd,
For spoiling many a piece of ground!
Who op'st thy hospitable door
To all good comers—but the poor!
Yet here fair ladies, full as needy,
Meet with relief both sure and speedy,
When, gather'd from a fortnight's savings,
Thou get'st good things to stop their cravings;
And craming down thy tarts and Jellies,
Stuff at both ends their hungry bellies:
Who keep'st in friendship with the great,
So long as thou can'st raise—a treat;
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That pudding is the bond of love!
For these—and more which I cou'd tell,
My good old friend, I wish thee well!
To prove I am the friend I seem,
Now listen to a glorious scheme:
My good old friend, I wish thee well!
To prove I am the friend I seem,
Now listen to a glorious scheme:
“Prick up thine ears, and raise thine eyes,
What notes—what beauteous scenes arise!
Who'll fly to R---gh thrice a week,
To hear them quaver, squall and squeak,
And there o'er tea and coffee doze,
Whilst here they gratis can repose;
View intermingled groves and plains,
And listen to enchanting strains!”
What notes—what beauteous scenes arise!
Who'll fly to R---gh thrice a week,
To hear them quaver, squall and squeak,
And there o'er tea and coffee doze,
Whilst here they gratis can repose;
View intermingled groves and plains,
And listen to enchanting strains!”
Quoth Knight, with most sagacious squint,
“Good Mr. Dev'l—I take your hint—
Ere thrice the glorious sun goes round,
These prostrate trees shall strew the ground.”
“Good Mr. Dev'l—I take your hint—
Ere thrice the glorious sun goes round,
These prostrate trees shall strew the ground.”
Led hither by propitious fate,
Gr**n**r o'erheard the foul debate
While rage inflam'd his gen'rous breast
He thus the dismal pair addrest.
Gr**n**r o'erheard the foul debate
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He thus the dismal pair addrest.
“Who are these slaves, who mean t'invade,
With impious rage, this sacred shade?
Whose seeds a father's honour'd hand
Lodg'd in this chosen spot of land;
Pleas'd that a future shade should rise,
A shelter from inclement skies!
And he who hence shall dare convey,
By fraud or force, one single spray,
Shall meet with treatment d---n'd uncivil,
Be he a Kight, mock Duke, or Devil.”
Sir Sable, saddl'd with disgrace,
Put on a rueful length of face;
He saw the fav'rite project quash'd,
For even the Devil look'd abash'd;
And thinking now 'twas past a joke,
Both vanish'd in a cloud of smoke.
With impious rage, this sacred shade?
Whose seeds a father's honour'd hand
Lodg'd in this chosen spot of land;
Pleas'd that a future shade should rise,
A shelter from inclement skies!
And he who hence shall dare convey,
By fraud or force, one single spray,
Shall meet with treatment d---n'd uncivil,
Be he a Kight, mock Duke, or Devil.”
Sir Sable, saddl'd with disgrace,
Put on a rueful length of face;
He saw the fav'rite project quash'd,
For even the Devil look'd abash'd;
And thinking now 'twas past a joke,
Both vanish'd in a cloud of smoke.
By me, the Hamadryads send,
And greet thee, Gr---n---r, for their friend:
And soon as the revolving year
Shall in the pride of spring appear;
When nature dons her best array,
Here humbly if thou deign'st to stray;
Should Sol with sultry beams invade,
Each tree shall pay thee with its shade.
The little tenants of the grove,
For thee awhile shall cease to love;
Grateful, their sweetest notes prolong,
And pay their quit-rent with a song.
And greet thee, Gr---n---r, for their friend:
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Shall in the pride of spring appear;
When nature dons her best array,
Here humbly if thou deign'st to stray;
Should Sol with sultry beams invade,
Each tree shall pay thee with its shade.
The little tenants of the grove,
For thee awhile shall cease to love;
Grateful, their sweetest notes prolong,
And pay their quit-rent with a song.
Upon the Cardinal de Crema, the Pope's Legate, his being found in bed with a Courtezan, after having prohibited Marriage to the Clergy, by the severest Penalties, in the Reign of Henry I.
“Thrice be triple vengeance spread
Over his devoted head,
Transfix'd with thunder from above,
The minister of angry Jove,
That dares in marriage joys profane
His consecrated hands to stain,
Rise from a strumpet's lewd embrace,
To pray for purity and grace.
Chaste and unstain'd by marriage bliss,
Nor e'en polluted with a kiss,
Be he, to whom the care is giv'n
To execute the charge of heaven.”
Over his devoted head,
Transfix'd with thunder from above,
The minister of angry Jove,
That dares in marriage joys profane
His consecrated hands to stain,
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To pray for purity and grace.
Chaste and unstain'd by marriage bliss,
Nor e'en polluted with a kiss,
Be he, to whom the care is giv'n
To execute the charge of heaven.”
Thus with a stern forbidding eye,
That seem'd to shun all love and joy,
Spoke the chaste, holy, temp'rate priest;
Then hurried to the midnight feast,
Where beauteous Cloe had agreed
To do whatever he decreed,
And lost his precepts, with his arms
Entwin'd, in her transporting charms:
Thus shew'd, the difference how feint
Between a sinner and a saint.
That seem'd to shun all love and joy,
Spoke the chaste, holy, temp'rate priest;
Then hurried to the midnight feast,
Where beauteous Cloe had agreed
To do whatever he decreed,
And lost his precepts, with his arms
Entwin'd, in her transporting charms:
Thus shew'd, the difference how feint
Between a sinner and a saint.
[Says Dolly—“Me, Thomas, you promis'd to wed]
Says Dolly—“Me, Thomas, you promis'd to wed,And I, silly girl, believ'd all that you said.”
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But I've try'd you, my Doll, and I find you won't do.”
Inscribed on a Column erected on a Piece of Land that had been often bought and sold.
I, whom thou seest begirt with tow'ring oaks,Was once the property of John o'Nokes;
On him prosperity no longer smiles,—
And now I feed the flocks of John o'Stiles.
My former master called me by his name;
My present owner fondly does the same;
While I, alike unworthy of their cares,
Quick pass to captors, purchasers, or heirs:
Let no one henceforth take me for his own,
For Fortune! Fortune! I am thine alone.
71
On the present Mode of Head-dressing, 1769.
In days of old, when Virtue plac'd
Her trust in ev'ry fair,
Men were by flowing perukes grac'd,
And women wore their hair.
Her trust in ev'ry fair,
Men were by flowing perukes grac'd,
And women wore their hair.
How chang'd that decent mode of dress is
By ev'ry Belle and Prig!
The Men appear in plaister'd tresses,
—Each Woman wears a wig!
By ev'ry Belle and Prig!
The Men appear in plaister'd tresses,
—Each Woman wears a wig!
Written in 1768.
The dearth of genius doubly we deplore,For nothing can be truer,
Than that there never were of Verses more,
Nor yet of Poets fewer.
72
To Doctor H---.
Thou essence of Dock, of Valerian, and Sage,
At once the disgrace and the pest of this age,
The worst we can wish thee for all thy damn'd crimes,
Is to take thy own physic, and read thy own rhymes!
At once the disgrace and the pest of this age,
The worst we can wish thee for all thy damn'd crimes,
Is to take thy own physic, and read thy own rhymes!
ANSWER.
Your wish must be in form revers'dTo suit the Doctor's crimes,—
For if he takes his physic first,
He'll never read his rhymes.
Another Answer by Dr. H---.
In my disposition pray what do you see,That to this vile proposal you think I'll agree?
I'll take neither Dock, Sage, nor Balsam of Honey;
Do you take the Physic—and I'll take the Money.
73
On the new Pavement.
The new Scottish pavement is worthy of praise;—We're indebted to Scotland for mending our ways;
But what we can never forgive 'em (some say)
Is, that they have taken our posts all away.
On a gentleman who mistook a kept Mistress for a Lady of Fashion.
Six tedious months young Damon sigh'd,—
In vain his amorous tale;
He su'd—but Chloe still deny'd—
No efforts cou'd prevail!
In vain his amorous tale;
He su'd—but Chloe still deny'd—
No efforts cou'd prevail!
At length he try'd the pow'r of gold,—
She soon to chide forgot;
The fair-one was no longer cold,
But prov'd, alas!—too hot!
She soon to chide forgot;
The fair-one was no longer cold,
But prov'd, alas!—too hot!
74
A SENTIMENT.
Bacchus, prepare a bowl of wine,
Fill—'till it swells above the brink;
Give me your aid, ye tuneful nine,—
Like you I'll sing—Like Bacchus drink!
Fill—'till it swells above the brink;
Give me your aid, ye tuneful nine,—
Like you I'll sing—Like Bacchus drink!
But while for pleasure thus I burn,
Shou'd blasphemy my lays inspire,
May heav'n the wine to poison turn,
And I in agonies expire!
Shou'd blasphemy my lays inspire,
May heav'n the wine to poison turn,
And I in agonies expire!
A Remedy for Love.
Within th' afflicted body pour
A pint of burgundy an hour;
And if that don't remove the pain,
Each hour add—just as much again!
A pint of burgundy an hour;
And if that don't remove the pain,
Each hour add—just as much again!
ANSWER.
Who takes your counsel must be cured of roving,—For soon 'twill rob him of the pow'r of loving!
75
To a young Lady upon her being displeased.
Should you, fair Fretful, turn towards the glass,That ugly frown would fix upon your face.
On a very amiable young Lady with an immence fortune.
When Cloris dies, mankind may weeping say,She leaves the world—not half she takes away!
To a Lady who declared that Love was a selfish Passion.
That love's a selfish passion can't be true,Since I would freely give myself to you!
EPITAPHS.
Here lies that doubly-broken soul of whim,Who spent his fortune—and his fortune him.
76
On a Gentleman supposed to have fallen a Victim at the Shrine of Venus.
A lesson learn from his instructive tomb,Who, thro' his Wife's, has reach'd his Mother's womb!
On a Grave-stone in a Country Church-yard in Northampton.
Time was I stood where thou dost now,And view'd the dead as thou dost me;
Ere long thou'lt lie as low as I,
And others stand and look on thee.
FINIS.
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