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Increasing debts, perplexing duns,
Next, to a senator addressing, And nothing for his younger sons.
“ See this bank-note; observe the blessing. Straight all his thought to gain he turns, Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pass! 'Tis gone." And with the thirst of lucre burns.
Upon his lips a padlock shown. But, when possess'd of Fortune's store,
A second puff the magic broke; The Spectre haunts him more and more ;
The padlock vanish'd, and he spoke. Sets want and misery in view,
Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board, Bold thieves, and all the murdering crew;
All full, with heady liquor stor's, Alarms him with eternal frights,
By clean conveyance disappear, Infests his dreams, or wakes his nights
And now two bloody swords are there. How shall be chase this hideous guest ?
A purse she to a thief expos'd ;. Power may, perhaps, protect his rest.
At once his ready fingers clos'd. To power he rose. Again the Sprite
He opes his fist, the treasure's fled : Besets him morning, noon, and night;
He sees a halter in its stead. Talks of Ambition's tottering seat,
She bids Ambition hold a wand ; How Envy persecutes the great ;
He grasps a hatchet in his hand. Of rival hate, of treacherous friends,
A box of charity she shows. And what disgrace his fall attends.
“ Blow here ;" and a church-warden blows. The court he quits, to fly from Care,
'Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat, And seeks the peace of rural air ;
And on the table smokes a treat. His groves, his fields, amus'd his hours;
She shakes the dice, the board she knocks, He prun'd his trees, he rais'd his flowers,
And from all pockets fills her box. But Care again his steps pursues,
She next a meagre rake addrest. Warns him of blasts, of blighting dews,
“ This picture see ; her shape, her breast! Of plundering insects, snails, and rains,
What youth, and what inviting eyes ! And droughts that starv'd the labour'd plains. Hold her, and have her.” With surprise, Abroad, at home, the Spectre's there ;,
His hand expos'd a box of pills, In vain we seek to fly from Care.
And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills. At length he thus the Ghost addrest :
A counter, in a miser's hand, "Since thou must be my constant guest,
Grew twenty guineas at coramand. Be kind, and follow me no more ;
She bids his heir the sum retain, For Care, by right, should go before."
And 'tis a counter now again.
A guinea with her touch you see
And not one thing you saw, or drew,
But chang'd from what was first in view.
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this submission own'd her art. A JOGGLER long through all the town
“ Can I such matchless sleight withstand! Had rais'd his fortune and renown;
How practice hath improv'd your hand! You'd think (so far his art transcends)
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You every day, and all day long."
FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame. Provok'd, the Juggler cry'd, “ Tis done ; The child, whom many fathers share, In science I submit to none."
Hath seldom known a father's care. Thus said, the cups and balls he play'd;
'Tis thus in friendships ; who depend By turns this here, that there, conveyed.
On many, rarely find a friend. The cards, obedient to his words,
A Hare who, in a civil way, Are by a fillip turn'd to birds.
Comply'd with every thing, like Gay, His little boxes change the grain :
Was known by all the bestial train Trick after trick deludes the train.
Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain ; He shakes his bag, he shows all fair ;
Her care was never to offend; His fingers spread, and nothing there ;
And every creature was her friend. Then bids it rain with showers of gold;
As forth she went at early dawn, And now his ivory eggs are told;
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, But, when from thence the hen he draws,
Behind she hears the hunter's cries, Amaz’d spectators hum applause.
And from the deep-mouth'd thunder flies, Vice now stept forth, and took the place,
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath ; With all the forms of his grimace.
She hears the near advance of death; “This magic looking-glass,” she cries,
She doubles, to mislead the hound, " (There, hand it round) will charm your eyes.”
And measures back her mazy round; Each eager eye the sight desir’d,
Till, fainting in the public way, And every man himself admir’d.
Half-dead with fear she gasping lay.
THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS.
What transport in her bosomi grew, When first the Horse appear’d in view!
“Let me,” says she, “ your back ascend, And owe my safety to a friend. You know my feet betray my Alight: To friendship every burthen's light.
The Horse reply'd, “ Poor honest Puss,
She next the stately Bull implor'd;
The Goat remark’d, her pulse was high,
The Sheep was feeble, and complain’d,
She now the trotting Calf address'd,
“ Shall I,” says he, “ of tender age,
“ That queen," he said, “ to whom we owe Sweet pence, that maketh riches flow ;
who eas'd our tax of late, Was dead, alas ! - and lay in state."
At this, in tears was Cicely seen,
For me, when as I heard that Death
While thus we stood as in a stound, And wet with tears, like dew, the ground, Full soon by bonfire and by bell We learnt our liege was passing well. A skilful leach (so God him speed) They said, had wrought this blessed deed. This leach Arbuthnot was yclept, Who many a night not once had slept ; But watch'd our gracious sovereign still ; For who could rest when she was ill ? Oh, may'st thou henceforth sweetly sleep! Sheer, swains, oh! sheer your softest sheep, To swell his couch; for, well I ween, He sav'd the realm, who say'd the queen.
Quoth I, “ Please God, I'll hye with glee To court, this Arbuthnot to see. I sold my sheep, and lambkins too, For silver loops and garment blue; My boxen hautboy, sweet of sound, For lace that edg'd mine hat around; For Lightfoot, and my scrip, I got A gorgeous sword, and eke a knot.
So forth I far’d to court with speed,
There saw I ladies all a-row,
There many a worthy wight I've seen,
There saw I St. John, sweet of mien
For thus he told me on a day, “ Trim are thy sonnets, gentle Gay;
And, certes, mirth it were to see
Lo, yonder, Cloddipole, the blithsome swain, Thy joyous madrigals twice three,
The wisest lout of all the neighbouring plain! With preface meet, and notes profound, From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies, Imprinted fair, and well ye-bound."
To know when hail will fall, or winds arise. All suddenly then bome I sped,
He taught us erst the heifer's tail to view, And did ev'n as my lord had said.
When stuck aloft, that showers would straight ensue: Lo, here thou hast mine eclogues fair, He first that useful secret did explain, But let not these detain thine ear.
That pricking corns foretold the gathering rain. Let not th' affairs of states and kings
When swallows fleet soar high and sport in air, Wait, while our Bouzybeus sings.
He told us that the welkin would be clear. 30 Rather than verse of simple swain
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse, Should stay the trade of France or Spain ; And praise his sweetheart in alternate verse, Or, for the plaint of parson's maid,
I'll wager this same oaken staff' with thee,
That Cloddipole shall give the prize to me.
See this tobacco-pouch, that's lin’d with hair,
Made of the skin of sleekest fallow-deer. MONDAY; OR, THE SQUABBLE. This pouch, that's ty'd with tape of reddest hue,
I'll wager, that the prize shall be my due.
Begin thy carols then, thou vaunting slouch! Tuy younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake,
Be thine the oaken staff, or mine the pouch. 40 No thrustles shrill the bramble-bush forsake, No chirping lark the welkin sheen invokes, No damsel yet the swelling udder strokes ; O'er yonder hill does scant the dawn appear :
My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass,
Than primrose sweeter, or the clover-grass.
Fair is the gilliflower, of gardens sweet,
Fair is the marygold, for pottage meet : For he that leaves, a stranger is to rest :
But Blouzelind's than gilliflower more fair,
Than daisie, marygold, or king-cup rare.
My brown Buxoma is the featest maid,
That e'er at wake delightsome gambol play'd. 50
The witless lamb may sport upon the plain,
The frisking kid delight the gaping swain, Than does their fawns, or cows the new-fall’n calf; The wanton calf may skip with many a bound,
And Woe worth the tongue ! may blisters sore it gall,
my cur Tray play deftest feats around; That names Buxoma Blouzelind withal.
But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calf, nor Tray,
Hold, witless Lobbin Clout, I thee advise,
Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near ; Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise.
Of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year.
With her no sultry summer's heat I know; 60 Ver
. 3. Welkin, the same as welken, an old Saxon In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow. word, signifying a cloud; by poetical licence it is Come, Blouzelinda, ease thy swain's desire, frequently taken for the element, or sky, as may My summer's shadow, and my winter's fire ! appear by this verse in the Dream of Chaucer
Ne in all the welkin was no cloud. - Sheen, or shine, an old word for shining, or
As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Ev'n noon-tide labour seem'd an holiday ; Ver. 5. Scant, used in the ancient British anthors And holidays, if haply she were gone,
Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done. Ver. 6. Rear, an expression in several counties of England, for early in the morning.
1 Ver. 25. Erst; a contraction of ere this; it signiVer. 7. To ween, derived from the Saxon, to fies sometime ago, or formerly. think, or conceive.
Ver. 56. Deft, an old word, signifying brisk, or nimble.
Leek to the Welch, to Dutchmen butter's dear, Of Irish swains potatoe is the cheer ;
Answer, thou carle, and judge this riddle right, Oats for their feasts the Scottish shepherds grind,
I'll frankly own thee for a cunning wight. Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind.
“ What flower is that which royal honour craves, While she loves turnips, butter I'll despise,
Adjoin the virgin, and 'tis strown on graves ?" Nor leeks, nor oatmeal, nor potato, prize.
Forbear, contending louts, give o'er your strans! In good roast beef my landlord sticks his knife,
An oaken staff each merits for his pains. 120
But see the sun-beams bright to labour warn, The capon fat delights his dainty wife,
90 Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare,
And gild the thatch of goodman Hodge's barn. But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare.
Your herds for want of water stand a-dry, While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be,
They're weary of your songs and so am I. Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me.
TUESDAY; OR, THE DITTY.
In every wood his carols sweet were known,
When in the ring the rustic routs he threw,
The damsels' pleasures with his conquests grew; And felt the weighty hand of many a clown; 100 Or when aslant the cudgel threats his head, Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I
His danger smites the breast of every maid, Quick rose, and read soft mischief in her eye. But chief of Marian. Marian lov'd the swain,
The parson's maid, and neatest of the plain ; 10 Ver. 69. Efisoons, from eft, an ancient British Marian, that soft could stroke the udder'd cow, word, signifying soon. So that eft soons is a doubling or lessen with her sieve the barley-mow; of the word soon ; which is, as it were, to say twice Marbled with sage the hardening cheese she pressid, 80011, or very soon.
And yellow butter Marian's skill confess'd; Ver. 79. Queint has various significations in the But Marian now, devoid of country cares, ancient English authors. I have used it in this Nor yellow butter, nor sage-cheese, prepares, place in the same sense as Chaucer hath done in his Por yearning love the witless maid employs, Miller's Tale. “ As clerkes being full subtle and And “ Love” say swains, “ all busy heed destroys” queint,” (by which he means arch, or waugish); and Colin makes mock at all her piteous smart; not in that obscene sense wherein he useth it in the A lass that Cicely hight had won his heart, 20 line immediately following. Ver. 85.
Ver. 103–110 were not in the early editions. N. Populus Alcidæ gratissima, vitis Iaccho,
Ver. 113. Marygold. Formosa myrtus Veneri, sua laurea Phæbo, Ver. 117. Rosemary. Phillis amat corylos Mas dum Phillis amabit Dic quibus in terris inscripti nomina regum Nec myrtus vincet corylos nec laurea Phæbi. &c. Nascantur fores
VIRG Virg. Ver. 120. Et vitula tu dignus & hic. Vieg
Cicely, the western lass, that tends the kee,
“ Have I not sat with thee full many a night, The rival of the parson's maid was she.
When dying embers were our only light, In dreary shade now Marian lies along,
When every creature did in slumbers lie, And, mixt with sighs, thus wails in plaining song: Besides our cat, my Colin Clout, and I? 90
“ Ah, woeful day ! ah, woeful noon and morn! No troublous thoughts the cat or Colin move, When first by thee my younglings white were shorn ; While I alone am kept awake by love. Then first, I ween, I cast a lover's eye,
“ Remember, Colin, when at last year's wake My sheep were silly, but more silly I.
I bought the costly present for thy sake; Beneath the shears they felt no lasting smart, Could'st thou spell o'er the posy on thy knife, They lost but fleeces, while I lost a heart. 30 And with another change thy state of life? * Ah, Colin! canst thou leave thy sweetheart If thou forgett'st, I wot, I can repeat, true?
My memory can tell the verse so sweet : What I have done for thee, will Cicely do ?
. As this is grav'd upon this knife of thine, Will she thy linen wash, or hosen darn,
So is thy image on this heart of mine.'
100 And knit thee gloves made of her own spun yarn ? But woe is me ! such presents luckless prove, Will she with huswife's hand provide thy meat ? For knives, they tell me, always sever love." And every Sunday morn thy neckcloth plait,
Thus Marian wail'd, her eyes with tears brimful, Which o'er thy kersey doublet spreading wide, When Goody Dobbins brought her cow to bull. In service-time drew Cicely's eyes aside ?
With apron blue to dry her tears she sought, “ Where'er I gad, I cannot hide my care, Then saw the cow well serv'd, and took a groat. My new disasters in my look appear.
WEDNESDAY; OR, THE DUMPS.
The wailings of a maiden I recite, Walks whistling blithe, while pitiful I plain. A maiden fair, that Sparabella hight. “ Whilom with thee 'twas Marian's dear delight
Such strains ne'er warble in the linnet's throat, To moil all day, and merry-make at night. 50 Nor the gay goldfinch chants so sweet a note. If in the soil you guide the crooked share, Your early breakfast is my constant care ;
No magpye chatter'd, nor the painted jay,
No ox was heard to low, nor ass to bray;
A while, O D'Urfey! lend an ear or twain,
Nor, tho' in homely guise, my verse disdain ; 10
Whether thou seek'st new kingdoms in the Sun, To gaze on thee I left the smoking pail :
Whether thy Muse does at Newmarket run,
Or else at wakes with Joan and Hodge rejoice,
Dumps, or dumbs, made use of to express a Awaiting heard the jingling bells from far,
fit of the sullens. Some have pretended that it is Straight on the fire the sooty pot I plac'd,
derived from Dumops, a king of Egypt, that built To warm thy broth I burnt my hands for haste. a pyramid, and died of melancholy: So mopes, When hungry thou stood'st staring, like an oaf,
after the same manner, is thought to have come I slic'd the luncheon from the barley-loaf; 70 from Merops, another Egyptian king, that died of With crumbled bread I thicken'd well thy mess.
the same distemper. But our English antiquaries Ah, love me more, or love thy pottage less! have conjectured that dumps, which is a grievous "Last Friday's eve, when as the Sun was set,
heaviness of spirits, comes from the word dumplin, I, near yon stile, three sallow gypsies met. the heaviest kind of pudding that is eaten in this Upon my hand they cast a poring look,
country, much used in Norfolk, and other counties Bid me beware, and thrice their
heads they shook : of England. They said, that many crosses I must prove;
Ver. 5. Some in my worldly gain, but most in love.
Immemor herbarum quos est mirata juvenca Next morn' I miss a three hens and our old cock; Certantes, quorum stupefactæ carmine lynces, And off the bedge two pinners and a smock; 80 Et mutata suos requièrunt flumina cursus. I bore these losses with a Christian mind,
VIRG. And no mishaps could feel, while thou wert kind.
Ver. 9. But since, alas! I grew my Colin's scorn,
Tu mihi, seu magni superas jam sasa Timavi, I've known no pleasure, night, or noon, or morn. Sive oram Illyrici legis æquoris - Vira. Help me, ye gypsies; bring him home again, Ver. 11. An opera written by this auther, cailed And to a constant lass give back her swain. The World in the Sun, or the Kingdom of Birds ;
he is also fanyous for his song on the Newmarket R’ee, a west-country word for kine, or horse-race, and several others that are sung by the
Ver. 21. Cars