The Works of William Cowper Comprising his poems, correspondence, and translations. With a life of the author, by the editor, Robert Southey |
 | II. | VOL. II. |
 | III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI, XII. |
| XIII, XIV. |
| XV. |
 | The Works of William Cowper |  |
II. VOL. II.
22
THE VALEDICTION.
Farewell, false hearts! whose best affections fail,
Like shallow brooks which summer suns exhale;
Forgetful of the man whom once ye chose,
Cold in his cause, and careless of his woes;
I bid you both a long and last adieu!
Cold in my turn, and unconcern'd like you.
Like shallow brooks which summer suns exhale;
Forgetful of the man whom once ye chose,
Cold in his cause, and careless of his woes;
I bid you both a long and last adieu!
Cold in my turn, and unconcern'd like you.
First farewell Niger! whom, now duly proved,
I disregard as much as I have loved.
Your brain well furnished, and your tongue well taught
To press with energy your ardent thought,
Your senatorial dignity of face,
Sound sense, intrepid spirit, manly grace,
Have raised you high as talents can ascend,
Made you a peer, but spoilt you for a friend!
Pretend to all that parts have e'er acquired;
Be great, be feared, be envied, be admired;
To fame as lasting as the earth pretend,
But not hereafter to the name of friend!
I sent you verse, and, as your lordship knows,
Back'd with a modest sheet of humble prose;
Not to recall a promise to your mind,
Fulfill'd with ease had you been so inclined,
But to comply with feelings, and to give
Proof of an old affection still alive.
Your sullen silence serves at least to tell
Your alter'd heart; and so, my lord, farewell!
I disregard as much as I have loved.
Your brain well furnished, and your tongue well taught
To press with energy your ardent thought,
Your senatorial dignity of face,
Sound sense, intrepid spirit, manly grace,
Have raised you high as talents can ascend,
Made you a peer, but spoilt you for a friend!
Pretend to all that parts have e'er acquired;
Be great, be feared, be envied, be admired;
To fame as lasting as the earth pretend,
But not hereafter to the name of friend!
I sent you verse, and, as your lordship knows,
Back'd with a modest sheet of humble prose;
Not to recall a promise to your mind,
Fulfill'd with ease had you been so inclined,
But to comply with feelings, and to give
Proof of an old affection still alive.
Your sullen silence serves at least to tell
Your alter'd heart; and so, my lord, farewell!
Next, busy actor on a meaner stage,
Amusement-monger of a trifling age,
Illustrious histrionic patentee,
Terentius, once my friend, farewell to thee!
In thee some virtuous qualities combine,
To fit thee for a nobler post than thine,
Who, born a gentleman, hast stoop'd too low,
To live by buskin, sock, and raree-show.
Thy schoolfellow, and partner of thy plays,
When Nichol swung the birch and twined the bays,
And having known thee bearded and full grown,
The weekly censor of a laughing town,
I thought the volume I presumed to send,
Graced with the name of a long-absent friend,
Might prove a welcome gift, and touch thine heart,
Not hard by nature, in a feeling part.
But thou it seems, (what cannot grandeur do,
Though but a dream!) art grown disdainful too;
And strutting in thy school of queens and kings,
Who fret their hour and are forgotten things,
Hast caught the cold distemper of the day,
And, like his lordship, cast thy friend away.
Amusement-monger of a trifling age,
Illustrious histrionic patentee,
Terentius, once my friend, farewell to thee!
23
To fit thee for a nobler post than thine,
Who, born a gentleman, hast stoop'd too low,
To live by buskin, sock, and raree-show.
Thy schoolfellow, and partner of thy plays,
When Nichol swung the birch and twined the bays,
And having known thee bearded and full grown,
The weekly censor of a laughing town,
I thought the volume I presumed to send,
Graced with the name of a long-absent friend,
Might prove a welcome gift, and touch thine heart,
Not hard by nature, in a feeling part.
But thou it seems, (what cannot grandeur do,
Though but a dream!) art grown disdainful too;
And strutting in thy school of queens and kings,
Who fret their hour and are forgotten things,
Hast caught the cold distemper of the day,
And, like his lordship, cast thy friend away.
Oh friendship! cordial of the human breast!
So little felt, so fervently professed!
Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years;
The promise of delicious fruit appears:
We hug the hopes of constancy and truth,
Such is the folly of our dreaming youth;
But soon, alas! detect the rash mistake
That sanguine inexperience loves to make;
And view with tears the' expected harvest lost,
Decay'd by time, or wither'd by a frost.
Whoever undertakes a friend's great part
Should be renew'd in nature, pure in heart,
Prepared for martyrdom, and strong to prove
A thousand ways the force of genuine love.
He may be call'd to give up health and gain,
To' exchange content for trouble, ease for pain,
To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan,
And wet his cheeks with sorrows not his own.
The heart of man, for such a task too frail,
When most relied on, is most sure to fail;
And, summon'd to partake its fellow's woe,
Starts from its office, like a broken bow.
So little felt, so fervently professed!
Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years;
The promise of delicious fruit appears:
We hug the hopes of constancy and truth,
Such is the folly of our dreaming youth;
But soon, alas! detect the rash mistake
That sanguine inexperience loves to make;
And view with tears the' expected harvest lost,
Decay'd by time, or wither'd by a frost.
Whoever undertakes a friend's great part
Should be renew'd in nature, pure in heart,
Prepared for martyrdom, and strong to prove
A thousand ways the force of genuine love.
He may be call'd to give up health and gain,
To' exchange content for trouble, ease for pain,
To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan,
And wet his cheeks with sorrows not his own.
The heart of man, for such a task too frail,
When most relied on, is most sure to fail;
24
Starts from its office, like a broken bow.
Votaries of business, and of pleasure, prove
Faithless alike in friendship and in love.
Retired from all the circles of the gay,
And all the crowds that bustle life away,
To scenes where competition, envy, strife,
Beget no thunder-clouds to trouble life,
Let me the charge of some good angel find,
One who has known and has escaped mankind;
Polite, yet virtuous, who has brought away
The manners, not the morals, of the day:
With him, perhaps with her, (for men have known
No firmer friendships than the fair have shown,)
Let me enjoy, in some unthought-of spot,
All former friends forgiven, and forgot,
Down to the close of life's fast fading scene,
Union of hearts, without a flaw between.
'Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise,
If God give health, that sunshine of our days;
And if he add, a blessing shared by few,
Content of heart, more praises still are due:
But if he grant a friend, that boon possess'd
Indeed is treasure, and crowns all the rest;
And giving one, whose heart is in the skies,
Born from above, and made divinely wise,
He gives, what bankrupt Nature never can,
Whose noblest coin is light and brittle man,
Gold, purer far than Ophir ever knew,
A soul, an image of himself, and therefore true.
Faithless alike in friendship and in love.
Retired from all the circles of the gay,
And all the crowds that bustle life away,
To scenes where competition, envy, strife,
Beget no thunder-clouds to trouble life,
Let me the charge of some good angel find,
One who has known and has escaped mankind;
Polite, yet virtuous, who has brought away
The manners, not the morals, of the day:
With him, perhaps with her, (for men have known
No firmer friendships than the fair have shown,)
Let me enjoy, in some unthought-of spot,
All former friends forgiven, and forgot,
Down to the close of life's fast fading scene,
Union of hearts, without a flaw between.
'Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise,
If God give health, that sunshine of our days;
And if he add, a blessing shared by few,
Content of heart, more praises still are due:
But if he grant a friend, that boon possess'd
Indeed is treasure, and crowns all the rest;
And giving one, whose heart is in the skies,
Born from above, and made divinely wise,
He gives, what bankrupt Nature never can,
Whose noblest coin is light and brittle man,
Gold, purer far than Ophir ever knew,
A soul, an image of himself, and therefore true.
40
THE DISTRESSED TRAVELLERS;
OR, LABOUR IN VAIN.
An excellent New Song, to a Tune never sung before.
1
I sing of a journey to Clifton,We would have perform'd if we could,
Without cart or barrow to lift on
Poor Mary and me through the mud.
Slee sla slud,
Stuck in the mud,
O it is pretty to wade through a flood!
2
So away we went, slipping and sliding,Hop, hop, a la mode de deux frogs.
'Tis near as good walking as riding,
When ladies are dress'd in their clogs.
41
Go briskly about,
But they clatter and rattle, and make such a rout!
Well! now I protest it is charming;
How finely the weather improves!—
That cloud, though, is rather alarming;
How slowly and stately it moves!
How finely the weather improves!—
That cloud, though, is rather alarming;
How slowly and stately it moves!
He.
Pshaw! never mind;
'Tis not in the wind;
We are travelling south, and shall leave it behind.
'Tis not in the wind;
We are travelling south, and shall leave it behind.
She.
I am glad we are come for an airing,
For folks may be pounded and penn'd,
Until they grow rusty, not caring
To stir half a mile to an end.
For folks may be pounded and penn'd,
Until they grow rusty, not caring
To stir half a mile to an end.
He.
The longer we stay,
The longer we may;
It's a folly to think about weather or way.
The longer we may;
It's a folly to think about weather or way.
She.
But now I begin to be frighted:
If I fall, what a way I should roll!
I am glad that the bridge was indicted.—
Stop! stop! I am sunk in a hole!
If I fall, what a way I should roll!
I am glad that the bridge was indicted.—
Stop! stop! I am sunk in a hole!
He.
Nay, never care!
'Tis a common affair;
You'll not be the last that will set a foot there.
'Tis a common affair;
You'll not be the last that will set a foot there.
42
Let me breathe now a little, and ponder
On what it were better to do,
That terrible lane, I see yonder,
I think we shall never get through!
On what it were better to do,
That terrible lane, I see yonder,
I think we shall never get through!
He.
So think I;
But, by the bye,
We never shall know, if we never should try.
But, by the bye,
We never shall know, if we never should try.
She.
But should we get there, how shall we get home?
What a terrible deal of bad road we have past!
Slipping and sliding; and if we should come
To a difficult stile, I am ruined at last.
Oh this lane!
Now it is plain
That struggling and striving is labour in vain.
He.
Stick fast there, while I go and look.
She.
Don't go away, for fear I should fall!
He.
I have examined it every nook,
And what you have here is a sample of all.
Come, wheel round;
the dirt we have found,
Would be an estate at a farthing a pound.
And what you have here is a sample of all.
Come, wheel round;
the dirt we have found,
Would be an estate at a farthing a pound.
9
Now, Sister Anne, the guitar you must take;Set it, and sing it, and make it a song.
I have varied the verse for variety sake,
And cut it off short, because it was long.
43
Which critics won't blame,
For the sense and the sound, they say, should be the same.
300
BENEFACTIONS.
A POEM IN SHENSTONE'S MANNER.
ADDRESSED TO MY DEAR COZ, APRIL 14, 1788.
This cap that so stately appears
With ribbon-bound tassel on high,
Which seems by the crest that it rears
Ambitious of brushing the sky;
This cap to my Harriet I owe;
She gave it, and gave me beside
A ribbon, worn out long ago,
With which in its youth it was tied.
With ribbon-bound tassel on high,
Which seems by the crest that it rears
Ambitious of brushing the sky;
This cap to my Harriet I owe;
She gave it, and gave me beside
A ribbon, worn out long ago,
With which in its youth it was tied.
This chair that I press at my ease,
With tresses of steeds that were black
Well cover'd, and wadded to please
The sitter, both bottom and back;
Thick-studded with bordering nails,
Smooth-headed and gilded and bright,
As Vesper, who when the day fails,
Adorns the dark forehead of Night:
With tresses of steeds that were black
Well cover'd, and wadded to please
The sitter, both bottom and back;
Thick-studded with bordering nails,
Smooth-headed and gilded and bright,
As Vesper, who when the day fails,
Adorns the dark forehead of Night:
These carpets, so soft to the foot,
Caledonia's traffic and pride,
(Oh spare them, ye Knights of the Boot,
Dirt-splash'd in a cross-country ride!)
This table and mirror within,
Secure from collision and dust,
At which I oft shave cheek and chin,
And periwig nicely adjust:
Caledonia's traffic and pride,
(Oh spare them, ye Knights of the Boot,
Dirt-splash'd in a cross-country ride!)
This table and mirror within,
Secure from collision and dust,
At which I oft shave cheek and chin,
And periwig nicely adjust:
This moveable structure of shelves,
Contrived both for splendour and use,
And charged with octavoes and twelves,
The gayest I had to produce;
Where flaming in scarlet and gold
My poems enchanted I view,
And hope in due time to behold
My Iliad and Odyssey too:
Contrived both for splendour and use,
And charged with octavoes and twelves,
The gayest I had to produce;
Where flaming in scarlet and gold
My poems enchanted I view,
And hope in due time to behold
My Iliad and Odyssey too:
301
This china that decks the alcove,
Which mortals have named a beaufette,
But what the Gods call it above
Has ne'er been revealed to us yet:
These curtains that keep the room warm
Or cool, as the season demands;
Those stoves which for figure and form
Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands:
Which mortals have named a beaufette,
But what the Gods call it above
Has ne'er been revealed to us yet:
These curtains that keep the room warm
Or cool, as the season demands;
Those stoves which for figure and form
Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands:
That range, from which many a mess
Comes smoking the stomach to cheer;
That tub,—(you might bathe in a less,)
Where malt is transform'd into beer:
These painted and unpainted chairs,
Those cushion'd, these curiously framed;
Yon bedding and bed above stairs,
With other things not to be named:
Comes smoking the stomach to cheer;
That tub,—(you might bathe in a less,)
Where malt is transform'd into beer:
These painted and unpainted chairs,
Those cushion'd, these curiously framed;
Yon bedding and bed above stairs,
With other things not to be named:
These items endear my abode,
Disposing me oft to reflect
By whom they were kindly bestowed,
Whom here I impatient expect.
But, hush! She a parent attends,
Whose dial-hand points to eleven,
Who, oldest and dearest of friends,
Waits only a passage to Heaven.
Disposing me oft to reflect
By whom they were kindly bestowed,
Whom here I impatient expect.
But, hush! She a parent attends,
Whose dial-hand points to eleven,
Who, oldest and dearest of friends,
Waits only a passage to Heaven.
Then willingly want her awhile,
And, sweeping the chords of your lyre,
The gloom of her absence beguile
As now, with poetical fire.
'Tis yours, for true glory athirst,
In high-flying ditty to rise
On feathers renown'd from the first
For bearing a goose to the skies.
And, sweeping the chords of your lyre,
The gloom of her absence beguile
As now, with poetical fire.
'Tis yours, for true glory athirst,
In high-flying ditty to rise
On feathers renown'd from the first
For bearing a goose to the skies.
369
SWEET MEAT HAS SOUR SAUCE:
OR, THE SLAVE-TRADER IN THE DUMPS.
A trader I am to the African shore,
But since that my trading is like to be o'er,
I'll sing you a song that you ne'er heard before,
Which nobody can deny, deny,
Which nobody can deny.
But since that my trading is like to be o'er,
I'll sing you a song that you ne'er heard before,
Which nobody can deny, deny,
Which nobody can deny.
When I first heard the news it gave me a shock,
Much like what they call an electrical knock,
And now I am going to sell off my stock,
Which nobody, &c.
Much like what they call an electrical knock,
And now I am going to sell off my stock,
Which nobody, &c.
'Tis a curious assortment of dainty regales,
To tickle the Negroes with when the ship sails,
Fine chains for the neck, and a cat with nine tails,
Which nobody, &c.
To tickle the Negroes with when the ship sails,
Fine chains for the neck, and a cat with nine tails,
Which nobody, &c.
Here's supple-jack plenty, and store of rat-tan,
That will wind itself round the sides of a man,
As close as a hoop round a bucket or can,
Which nobody, &c.
That will wind itself round the sides of a man,
As close as a hoop round a bucket or can,
Which nobody, &c.
Here's padlocks and bolts, and screws for the thumbs,
That squeeze them so lovingly till the blood comes,
They sweeten the temper like comfits or plums,
Which nobody, &c.
That squeeze them so lovingly till the blood comes,
They sweeten the temper like comfits or plums,
Which nobody, &c.
When a Negro his head from his victuals withdraws.
And clenches his teeth and thrusts out his paws,
Here's a notable engine to open his jaws,
Which nobody, &c.
And clenches his teeth and thrusts out his paws,
Here's a notable engine to open his jaws,
Which nobody, &c.
Thus going to market, we kindly prepare
A pretty black cargo of African ware,
For what they must meet with when they get there,
Which nobody, &c.
A pretty black cargo of African ware,
For what they must meet with when they get there,
Which nobody, &c.
370
'Twould do your heart good to see 'em below,
Lie flat on their backs all the way as we go,
Like sprats on a gridiron, scores in a row,
Which nobody, &c.
Lie flat on their backs all the way as we go,
Like sprats on a gridiron, scores in a row,
Which nobody, &c.
But ah! if in vain I have studied an art
So gainful to me, all boasting apart,
I think it will break my compassionate heart,
Which nobody, &c.
So gainful to me, all boasting apart,
I think it will break my compassionate heart,
Which nobody, &c.
For oh! how it enters my soul like an awl!
This pity, which some people self-pity call,
Is sure the most heart-piercing pity of all,
Which nobody, &c.
This pity, which some people self-pity call,
Is sure the most heart-piercing pity of all,
Which nobody, &c.
So this is my song, as I told you before;
Come, buy off my stock, for I must no more
Carry Cæsars and Pompeys to Sugar-cane shore,
Which nobody can deny, deny,
Which nobody can deny.
Come, buy off my stock, for I must no more
Carry Cæsars and Pompeys to Sugar-cane shore,
Which nobody can deny, deny,
Which nobody can deny.
END OF VOL. II.
| The Works of William Cowper | |