The Poetical Works of Horace Smith Now First Collected. In Two Volumes |
 | I. |
|
| II. |
|
THE FAT ACTOR AND THE RUSTIC. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of Horace Smith |  |
27
THE FAT ACTOR AND THE RUSTIC.
Cardinal Wolsey was a man
Of an unbounded stomach, Shakespeare says:
Meaning, (in metaphor,) for ever puffing
To swell beyond his size and span;
But had he seen a player of our days
Enacting Falstaff without stuffing,
He would have own'd that Wolsey's bulk ideal
Equall'd not that within the bounds
This actor's belt surrounds,
Which is, moreover, all alive and real.—
This player, when the Peace enabled shoals
Of our odd fishes
To visit every clime between the poles,
Swam with the stream, a histrionic Kraken:
Although his wishes
Must not in this proceeding be mistaken,
For he went out professionally bent
To see how money might be made, not spent.—
Of an unbounded stomach, Shakespeare says:
Meaning, (in metaphor,) for ever puffing
To swell beyond his size and span;
But had he seen a player of our days
Enacting Falstaff without stuffing,
He would have own'd that Wolsey's bulk ideal
Equall'd not that within the bounds
This actor's belt surrounds,
Which is, moreover, all alive and real.—
28
Of our odd fishes
To visit every clime between the poles,
Swam with the stream, a histrionic Kraken:
Although his wishes
Must not in this proceeding be mistaken,
For he went out professionally bent
To see how money might be made, not spent.—
In this most laudable employ
He found himself at Lille one afternoon;
And that he might the breeze enjoy,
And catch a peep at the ascending moon,
Out of the town he took a stroll,
Refreshing in the fields his soul
With sight of streams, and trees, and snowy fleeces,
And thoughts of crowded houses and new pieces.—
He found himself at Lille one afternoon;
And that he might the breeze enjoy,
And catch a peep at the ascending moon,
Out of the town he took a stroll,
Refreshing in the fields his soul
With sight of streams, and trees, and snowy fleeces,
And thoughts of crowded houses and new pieces.—
When we are pleasantly employ'd, time flies;—
He counted up his profits, in the skies,
Until the moon began to shine,
On which he gazed awhile, and then,
Pull'd out his watch, and cried—“Past nine!
Why, zounds, they shut the gates at ten!”
Backwards he turn'd his steps instanter,
Stumping along with might and main,
And though 'tis plain
He couldn't gallop, trot, or canter,
(Those who had seen it would confess it,) he
March'd well for one of such obesity.
He counted up his profits, in the skies,
29
On which he gazed awhile, and then,
Pull'd out his watch, and cried—“Past nine!
Why, zounds, they shut the gates at ten!”
Backwards he turn'd his steps instanter,
Stumping along with might and main,
And though 'tis plain
He couldn't gallop, trot, or canter,
(Those who had seen it would confess it,) he
March'd well for one of such obesity.
Eyeing his watch, and now his forehead mopping,
He puff'd and blew along the road,
Afraid of melting, more afraid of stopping;
When in his path he met a clown,
Returning from the town.—
“Tell me,” he panted in a thawing state,
“Dost think I can get in, friend, at the gate?”
“Get in?” replied the hesitating loon,
Measuring with his eye our bulky wight:
“Why yes, Sir, I should think you might—
“A load of hay got in this afternoon!”
He puff'd and blew along the road,
Afraid of melting, more afraid of stopping;
When in his path he met a clown,
Returning from the town.—
“Tell me,” he panted in a thawing state,
“Dost think I can get in, friend, at the gate?”
30
Measuring with his eye our bulky wight:
“Why yes, Sir, I should think you might—
“A load of hay got in this afternoon!”
| The Poetical Works of Horace Smith | |