 | The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey |  |
MY OLD DOG AND I.
“Nay, not to-day, my good old fellow—
We can't go out to-day;
Look! this long sheet must be crammed over—
All this—with words as thick as clover,
To go by post away!”
We can't go out to-day;
Look! this long sheet must be crammed over—
All this—with words as thick as clover,
To go by post away!”
“And must it go to-day?”—“Yes, sir!
Methinks you heard me say it—
It's of great consequence—the Press
Would wait in infinite distress
Should anything delay it.”
Methinks you heard me say it—
It's of great consequence—the Press
Would wait in infinite distress
Should anything delay it.”
129
“But, Mistress! what a morning—see—
For winter!”—“Well, what then?”
“Only methought the warm sunshine
Would comfort these old limbs of mine.”
“Pshaw! there I've dropt my pen,
For winter!”—“Well, what then?”
“Only methought the warm sunshine
Would comfort these old limbs of mine.”
“Pshaw! there I've dropt my pen,
“And made a blot—it's all your fault,
You teasing thing! I wish—”
“What, mistress? If'twere mine to grant,
Your heart should not know wish or want
Deferred a minute.”—“Pish!
You teasing thing! I wish—”
“What, mistress? If'twere mine to grant,
Your heart should not know wish or want
Deferred a minute.”—“Pish!
“Old cunning fox! but that won't do;
And pray, sir! after all,
Why can't you by yourself stroll down,
As you used often, to the town,
And make a morning call?”
And pray, sir! after all,
Why can't you by yourself stroll down,
As you used often, to the town,
And make a morning call?”
““Because those friends of mine are gone—
Their like won't come again—
Who used to save the greasy platters,
And other little savoury matters,
For my refreshment then.
Their like won't come again—
Who used to save the greasy platters,
And other little savoury matters,
For my refreshment then.
“Besides—I hate to walk alone—
My eyes grow very dim;
I'm hard of hearing, too—a fly
Might knock me down, so weak am I
In every trembling limb.
My eyes grow very dim;
I'm hard of hearing, too—a fly
Might knock me down, so weak am I
In every trembling limb.
“And now vile curs make sport of me—
Vile creatures: but last week
Pounced on my back an old fat hen,
And pecked me, till I howled again
At every spiteful tweak.”
Vile creatures: but last week
Pounced on my back an old fat hen,
And pecked me, till I howled again
At every spiteful tweak.”
130
“But, Mister Ranger! who attacked
Her harmless chickens, pray?”
“Well—if I did—'twas all in fun—
Mere frolic; that I throttled one,
No living soul can say.”
Her harmless chickens, pray?”
“Well—if I did—'twas all in fun—
Mere frolic; that I throttled one,
No living soul can say.”
“No fault of yours?—D'ye mind, old friend!
That Goose—that Turkey, too?”
“Why, ay—but then they were your cousin's,
And he had plenty more—whole dozens!
I smote the fowls for you.”
That Goose—that Turkey, too?”
“Why, ay—but then they were your cousin's,
And he had plenty more—whole dozens!
I smote the fowls for you.”
“Was it for my sake, yesterday,
You flew at the calf's throat?”
“Yes; because Lizzy fed the beast,
Forsooth—I thought she did, at least—
From your choice butterboat.”
You flew at the calf's throat?”
“Yes; because Lizzy fed the beast,
Forsooth—I thought she did, at least—
From your choice butterboat.”
“Oh, rare!—and, when you stole the ham,
No doubt, 'twas all pure zeal
For my wronged interest made you do it.”
“Ah, Mistress! sorely did I rue it,
That sinful savoury meal!
No doubt, 'twas all pure zeal
For my wronged interest made you do it.”
“Ah, Mistress! sorely did I rue it,
That sinful savoury meal!
“How sick I was!—what stuff I took—
What solemn vows did utter,
Never to touch fish, flesh, or fowl,
Forbidden thing—” “And so you stole,
Next time, a pound of butter.—
What solemn vows did utter,
Never to touch fish, flesh, or fowl,
Forbidden thing—” “And so you stole,
Next time, a pound of butter.—
“Then you're so rude!—when people call,
And your good leave outstay,
You go and stick yourself before 'em
Bolt upright—outraging decorum—
To beg they'll go away.
And your good leave outstay,
You go and stick yourself before 'em
Bolt upright—outraging decorum—
To beg they'll go away.
131
“'Tis true, they don't quite comprehend
Your meaning—but I do;
And when they call you ‘civil creature!’
And praise your sweet obliging nature—
Ranger!—I blush for you—”
Your meaning—but I do;
And when they call you ‘civil creature!’
And praise your sweet obliging nature—
Ranger!—I blush for you—”
“Why, mistress! sure I've heard you say,
‘Good heavens!—I'm almost dead—
Those people stayed so!’”—“Come, no sneering—
When they were fairly out of hearing,
No matter what I said.
‘Good heavens!—I'm almost dead—
Those people stayed so!’”—“Come, no sneering—
When they were fairly out of hearing,
No matter what I said.
“You're such a jealous, envious thing!
You've ousted the poor cat;
And now, forsooth! if I but throw
The guinea-fowls a crumb or so,
You take offence at that;
You've ousted the poor cat;
And now, forsooth! if I but throw
The guinea-fowls a crumb or so,
You take offence at that;
“And growl, and snarl, and snap at them—
Would kill them, if you durst.
It really shocks me, I must own,
To think of late your temper's grown
So crabbed and so curst.”
Would kill them, if you durst.
It really shocks me, I must own,
To think of late your temper's grown
So crabbed and so curst.”
“Bear with me, Mistress!—I was not
Always so curst a creature—
Perhaps old age, that on me gains
So fast, with all its aches and pains,
Has something changed my nature,
Always so curst a creature—
Perhaps old age, that on me gains
So fast, with all its aches and pains,
Has something changed my nature,
“But not my heart. I've served you now
These eighteen years, wellnigh—
Borne all your humours—for you, too,
Mine honoured Mistress, have a few—
You'll own, right lovingly;
These eighteen years, wellnigh—
Borne all your humours—for you, too,
Mine honoured Mistress, have a few—
You'll own, right lovingly;
132
“Shared all your good and evil days—
Much evil have we known!—
Loved those you loved, and mourned them too,
And missed them long, as well as you;
And now we're left alone.
Much evil have we known!—
Loved those you loved, and mourned them too,
And missed them long, as well as you;
And now we're left alone.
“I do my best—my very best—
To please and cheer you still;
Though weak and weaker every hour
Becomes your poor old servant's power
To prove his loving will.
To please and cheer you still;
Though weak and weaker every hour
Becomes your poor old servant's power
To prove his loving will.
“But yet a little longer, pray,
Bear with me, Mistress mine!
It won't be long—and when I'm dead—”
“Thou'lt leave behind no craftier head
Than that old pate of thine.
Bear with me, Mistress mine!
It won't be long—and when I'm dead—”
“Thou'lt leave behind no craftier head
Than that old pate of thine.
“Serpent of guile! and thus it is
You always wind about,
And whatsoever thing I'm doing,
Though leaving it were certain ruin,
You're sure to get me out.
You always wind about,
And whatsoever thing I'm doing,
Though leaving it were certain ruin,
You're sure to get me out.
“There! there!—I've shut the blotting-book,
Bid Honour bring my cloak,
She understands your bark as well
As if I called, or rang the bell—
Peace, peace, old fool! you'll choke.
Bid Honour bring my cloak,
She understands your bark as well
As if I called, or rang the bell—
Peace, peace, old fool! you'll choke.
“Well!—I'm just ready—get you gone—
But now—d'ye mind me, Ranger!
Don't bark at everything we meet,
And make a riot in the street,
And get yourself in danger.
But now—d'ye mind me, Ranger!
Don't bark at everything we meet,
And make a riot in the street,
And get yourself in danger.
133
“And don't attack the baker's dog—
Nor snap and snarl at Beau—
Nor hunt the cats, nor rouse again
The wrath of your old friend the Hen—”
“Trust me for that—No, no!
Nor snap and snarl at Beau—
Nor hunt the cats, nor rouse again
The wrath of your old friend the Hen—”
“Trust me for that—No, no!
“Hang her, old toad!—I'm no match now
For that audacious creature;
I'd snap her head off, if I could—
Old Hens are pretty picking, stewed—
Do, Mistress!—buy and eat her.”
For that audacious creature;
I'd snap her head off, if I could—
Old Hens are pretty picking, stewed—
Do, Mistress!—buy and eat her.”
| The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey | |