University of Virginia Library

Just oer the trees and uplands swelling height
The rising sun most beautifully bright
Apearing shone and shot a slanting ray
Upon the teded swaths and wither'd shocks of hay
Now farmer Gubbins leaves his restles bed
And to the chamber window walks in dread
For fear it should be rain.—but when he sees
The sun shine clear above his willow trees
‘Thank god’ he cries and 'mid his boundles joys
He shuffles off to call the servant boys
‘Come; up Boys up’ re echos round about
‘T'is a fine morning and the sun looks out’
The unwellcome voice they hear through out the lodge
And first of all a jobs laid out for Hodge
‘Boy fetch the horses but before yah go
‘Make haste I charge yah—now tis fine yah know
‘Them shocks want carreying—and that tedded hay
‘Some how or other must be made to day
‘Then boy make hast and let us see from this
‘How fast yah can go’ Hodge he answer'd ‘Yes’
But wisper'd to him self contrary ‘No
‘Not a Mite faster then I us'd to go
‘Yah want my bones an’ all but that sha'n't be
‘What benefit is making ha[s]te to me?’
So soodl'd off with alter by his side
To put on dobin whom he us'd to ride
But when he came to where they lay at night
No nag-horse Dobbin ne'er appear'd in sight
And what was worse—tho two was left behind
Old Trip that night got lame! and Rose was blind!
‘Well heres a stud!’ cries Hodge ‘the L---d be prais'd!
‘When witler knows he'll certainly go crais'd
‘Last week it rain'd and now a fair day's come
‘We've got no horse's that can 'cart hay home
‘What should one do’—
At last by weighing matters round about
He thought it better to go back without
And soon the boys who saw him come with none
Forboded what misfortune had been done
‘Aye Hodge what now’ the wondering servants cries
‘What now Indeed’ young nettle'd hodge replies
‘Wy dobins gone and were the theif got out
‘I cannot find for I've look'd all about
‘Well wheres the rest’ the next Enquirey rose
‘Why’ Hodge replies ‘old trip as I supose
‘By blundering a'ter dobin tumbl'd oer
‘Some stump or dyke that lam't him very sore—
‘Or else he went near rose and got a cuff
‘Hows 'miver he's got lame so thats enough
‘And very lame indeed—for when I wur
‘Nigh him as I am you he'd hardley stir
‘Nay when I forc'd him up in such a pother
‘He scarce could set one leg before the other
‘Well well’ Says I ‘if thats to be yahr pace
‘Yahr little use to us so keep yahr place
‘And now I realey wish with all my heart
‘That our Old nacker he would bring his cart
‘(It would be charity—and clear the grounds)
‘To take such trammel to m' Lords foxhounds
‘For well or not I'm sure 't's a shame to lay
‘A pair of gears on such poor things as they
Hodge stopt—and twas so humerous a stile
That surley Robin could'n't help but smile
While none found falt but said he reason'd well
And off they went the gauling news to tell
To there old master—seated in his chair
Who when he heard—burst out—in deep despair
‘Well—sure no man alive is plagu'd like me
‘Ill Luck for ever's 'lotted out I see
‘Theres some misfortune coming every day
‘And now to hinder—dobins stroll'd away
‘Curse his old carcass where could he get out
‘This sweetful day will all be lost I doubt
‘I'm certain sure (but g*d forbid I shou'd)
‘Tho its enough to make me if I wou'd
‘Do what one shou'dn't do—for right along
‘Something or other dailey turns out wrong
‘But this makes things no better thats the deuce
‘Old dobins lost and murmuring's no use
‘So as we cannot help it our best plan
‘Is to contrive and do the best we can
‘Therefore I think that you robin wou'd be
‘More fit then hodge to take a [s]troll and see
‘What you can do—for tho he's got a tongue
‘He wi' n't make use on't as he goes along
‘Theres naught like asking—so enquire about
‘He's our teams stay and cant be done without
‘So spare no pains but go from pound to pound
‘Stint not for time thats nothing till he's found
‘For tho the days so fine and hay quite fit
‘We without dobbin cannot cart a bit
‘So Robin do your best; I pray you do
‘Strive all you can and mind not where you go’
Bob to reply look'd craftily behind him
‘If hes above ground Master why I'll find him’
‘I'll trust you bob so speed you on your way
‘And them there boys may go to turn the hay’
No sooner said but off they tumble out
Quite tir'd and sham'd at lingering about
And proud to do as matters are agreed
Bob too lobs off with far more haste than speed
For swell'd with pride at Gubbins confidence
He stiles himself a man of consequence
And thinks as such he's authoris'd to fling
His arms in motion with a manley swing
So with his stockings shaumbling down at heel
His shuffles alterd to a rolling reel
Which does he fancies certainley oer top
The jack ass shoutings of the Strut-bub fop
His cloaths likewise by being smeer'd with dirt
And hung on carles seem the better for 't
Which they for certain do to make compleat
A thorough sloven down from head to feet
Lo his old hilos stiff and hard as horns
Resisting fence 'gainst stones and sharpest thorns
Went sluthering all unlac'd from day to day
While their brown barkles color provd that they
Of oil ne'er tasted not a single drop
Nor new a k[n]ife since taken from the shop
And as his knee buttons was never done
His hoes fell down for garters he had none
His braceles breeks down too performing scarce
Their office meant—as shelter for his a*se
While like a clout his dangling shirt behind
Turns its uncleaness to the exposive wind.—
Tho to ape fashion hunks could neer abide
Yet still he's not quite destitute of pride
But self consieted as a manley taste
His smockfrock's belted round about his waste
While bacon greese does seem his favourite boast
For in such stuff its quite entireley lost
His neck'loth too bound with a single tuck
Displays another beautious scene of Muck
Lo! there in open view his bosom shines
Where coats of muck for weeks and months combines
To challenge Ethiopia's son's to vie
With its new tinge of scarce conscieved dye
Tho in the language of his fellow swains
Dandey-go-russet is the name it gains
Nor can his face by natures laws expos'd
Be scarsely seen so thick with much inclos'd
Which gives his features such a comic air
That fellow chaps who Master of him are
(For none but such dare say their souls their own)
Will laugh and tell him in a jeering tone
That was they him on such a pair of cheeks
They would for certain sow a bed of Leeks
For sure say they it is a shame to see
Such deep rich ground from year to year lye lee
Yet he regardles of their jeirs and stares
About his face nor their advice near cares
But still the soil which dailey gathers more
He keeps unculter'd as he did before.—
Nor is his crap unfitting for his face
But as an equal well becomes its place
Napless and bare a weather beaten brown
Bereft of brinks and open at the crown
Through which his hair more stubbern the[n] the swines
In upright tufts and bristley bunshes shines.
Such is the Hero of our simple song
And if we grant twill not be granted wrong
Him the same title oer the sloven tribe
Which we have just attempted to describe
But the attempt imperfectly and low
Falls far beneath the picture it would show
For to describe and give a perfect sketch
Of the original is out of reach
And far beyond the great descriptive strain
Of magic moulding fancy to attain
So lets pursue and let his person slip
As he's unmatch'd in point of rivalship
Fair was the morn and Summer in its prime
For whats more lovlier than hay-making time
When sweet perfumes from every flower arise
And sweeter still from swaths that withering lyes
When work-folks stript appear in every ground
And thronging waggons ever rattling round
And Cows and Sheep as full as they can snive
In grounds made clear—where shepherds all alive
In merry dittys tune their oaten strains
And waken Echo in the distant plains
All Chaps but robin in a morn like this
Would never surely take such jobs amis
But rather love to wander wide about
And deem it luck at Dobbins getting out
Especially the swain who loves to see
The distant steeple cottage brook & tree
Who loves at times to walk in solitude
Oer desart heaths and woody thickets rude
Who loves at times to court domestic plains
And join the gambols of his fellow swains
But who more dearly loves alone to prye
In Natures gambols—Wild Variety
To such a one (and many such abounds
In the low path which poverty surrounds)
And tho by want and poverty opprest
Full many a Genius rich tho roughly drest
In spite of all unaided by the muse
By easy flights his rural strain pursues
While other gems uncultivated towers
Beyond the reach of Cultivated powers
While some o'erpowerd in Labours moiling vale
(Akin to him who sings this simple tale)
Who when their needful labour they pursue
(Struck with the beauties wich they daily view)
Atempt to sing them but atempt in vain
What the heart feels the tongue cannot explain
The bursts of thought with which it is perplex'd
Are bred one moment and are gone the next
Yet still the heart will kindling sparks retain
And thoughts will rise and fancy strive again
Till by succesles sallies wearied quite
The memory fails and fancy takes her flight
The wicket nipt within its socket dies
Borne down and smotherd with a thousand sighs
Yet still they mark the varied scenery
And turns their beauties to Obscurity
To such as these such journeys would be dear
Their curious eye would pry in every where
Pleas'd would they carless look and list around
On every rural sight and rural sound
The old deep pond where the coy morehen lyes
Where on whose side the turfy hillocks rise
Where the broad flag and fuzy bulrush grows
Curving adown to the least wind that blows
And where surrounding bushes form a shade
As wild as ever was by nature made
The oaken folliage shaken by the wind
The dark green ivy round their trunks entwind
With all the mingling many shaded greens
That decorate the woodlands mixing scenes
These are the haunts & these the scenes so wild
Which are so dear to Natures every child
To sport in wildness nature dearly loves
And all her Children of her taste approves
And many more their fancy would select
Nor would they 'ere their Masters work neglect
But all their Errands they would justley do
And in a ready puntual manner too
And O! poor Dobbin happy wouldst thou be
Was such a one a hunting now for thee
What oaths would 'scape thee—& oh! blows beside
That falls like thunder on thy poor old hide
Which scarcely bloodless bruise full many a wound
Which thou must have as soon as thou art found.—
These blest wi' sence & wi' a reasoning mind
Would know thou only acted to thy kind.
But surley bob thy gauling enemy
Has got no sence to feel nor yet to see

The woodbine courts his eye but courts in vain
His tastless soul such beauties would disdain
Great sheets of dasies too about was strowd
And clumps of Clover deckt the waggon road
Whose ruddy collord heads so short and sweet
Tempted poor Dobbin on his way to eat
Ah thoughtless Dob hadst thou but had more wit
And never stopt to touch a single bit
But gone straight forward on the gravel road
The treacherous dew thy footsteps neer had show'd
But—Halt—consider—had he miss'd the grass
Why then our tale had never came to pass
So let him still be right while we pursue
Rough robins journey every inch on't through
Who now enrag'd & fierce just like a hound
That keener grows when he the scent has found
So he on knowing dobbins limping strides
Curse follow'd Curse and what he'd do besides

So he bump'd down beneath the hazel shade
Fingering his breeks wi many a brusing blade
The lonesome place made him the more distrest
And thus tormented he his woes expres'd
—Have I the impudence in such a plight
To ever think o' ventering in her sight
Can I believe the door as open thrown
Or if she knew me she would ever own
I'm certain sure she'd be ashamd to see
Such mucky slovens in her house as me
'Sides the old Dame takeing my visit base
Would bid me go and hide my brazen face

Go to some mucky strumpet ugley swine
And never think to wrong a child of mine
Thus the vex'd dame would let her vengance flye
And if the maiden said so I should dye!
For hopes would all be lost I'm sure they would
So now I think on't (while my shoes are good)
I'll travel home again as no one knows
And wait awhile till I get better cloaths