Prompt to torment some pale unthriving wench | My painful limbs, my fancy, still awake,
With griping buckthorn, or with lancet sharp
To pierce the shivering arm. So, poets sing,
Sow-gelder erst, to calves, pigs, colts, and lambs
Sworn everlasting foe, with goggling eyes
To stables, sties, or cow-pens, early comes
Protending his fell knife, to thoughtless bulls
Sure ruin. So, in undiscerning night,
Myriads of fairies, by their monarch led,
To infants' cradles, or to nursery rooms,
In serried files march on. Meanwhile the babe,
Secure in innocence, sleeps sound and smiles.
The peers and peeresses, with Oberon's self,
Great Oberon, of fairy realms supreme,
Within one circle all, in dance and song,
And midnight music, move their tiny feet.
Nurse hears, or thinks she hears, 'twixt sleep
and wake,
Loud sounds, unseen, delightful to the ear:
But fairy fiddles lull again to sleep.
Eftsoons king Oberon and twelve chosen men,
With scaling ladders of Dutch thread compact,
The cradle mount, collecting all their might:
The burthen of the ponderous child they raise,
Inexorable; nor will aught avail, [well:
Bright eyes, loud tears, or limbs proportion'd
For pigmy brat they change the bouncing boy,
And to their own abodes, where'er they be,
The harmless babe with Io Pæans drag.
So pass my days. But when a wake or fair
Comes on, and calls the joyous damsels forth;
When swains, in leathern galligaskins clad,
Treat nymphs with cider, sparkling drink, and
In melancholy hall or kitchen wide, [sweet;
I cough deserted; partner for the dance
None chooses me; none on the beechen bark
My name inscribes; no brawny bachelor
Hangs over me enamour'd. Singly sad,
My woe through three times six revolving years
I count; no jolly Joe, nor sober Sam,
The matrimonial question e'er propos'd,
Or crooked Sixpence offer'd to divide.
Amidst the horrors of long wintry nights
I sigh, my heart into my white-rann'd shoes
With palpitation sinks. I pondér now
Where rats-bane's sold, and now again the well
I view irresolute, and oft the strength
Of my own garters try. Peevish I pine,
Aud fret, and rave, and wish; my roving mind
Finds no relief, iny rolling eyes no sleep.
But, if the stranger Morpheus does invade
Thoughtful of man, and eager, in a dream,
Imaginary blisses gives and takes
In vain! Awake, I find myself alone,
Unbless'd, alas! and curse the backward sex.
Thus do I live, from pleasure quite cut off.
Fairing to me no generous carter brings,
No pears, no gingerbread, though brown, yet
No filberts I, nor walnuts crack, nor squeeze
The china orange through its tawny coat:
Troubles immense, though mightier still re-
main.
My whale-bone hoop, that has so long withstood
Pails, pots, and doors, and with circumference
wide
My virtuous limbs enclos'd, by frequent sparks
Of fire's destroy'd (what will not fire destroy!).
The splinter'd ribs crack, break, and pierce
My wounded skin. In rags the canvass hangs;
Uplifted, yield to every blast of wind,
The seven-fold circlets of the fluttering hoop,
Southern, or Western, or the bleak North-east,
North-east, that sinks the hearts of hippish
souls;
Till whale-bone, twitcher, petticoat, and all,
Descend with clangor to the rattling hearth.
So when of some great church the cupola,
Or minster of renown'd metropolis,
York, Canterbury, or the height of Paul's,
Resisting long the jaws of ravenous Time,
The summer's thunder, and the winter's wind,
Fam'd many centuries for its stately strength,
Upon some fatal, unexpected day,
Smit by the rapid lightning's forked gleam,
Admits the flame: the melted lead runs down:
Their own destruction sapless beams increase:
The neighbours with astonishment are seiz'd;
They stare, they scream, they help, they steal,
they run,
Endeavours vain! Unconquer'd, unextinct,
Flames domineer aloft: far off resounds
The wreck of chancels, and the crush of aisles;
High turrets hasten to the vaults below,
And proud cathedrals tumble to the ground.
$226. The Copper Farthing. PENNINGTON.
HAPPY the boy, who dwells remote from
Whose pocket, or whose rattling box, contains
*This lady died in the year 1759, aged 25. The following character of her, by Mr. Duncombe, is extracted from that gentleman's Poem, called "The Feminead," vol. iv. Pearch's Collection of Poems, p. 184.
"Nor shall thy much-lov'd Pennington remain
Unsung, unhonor'd in my votive strain.
See where the soft enchantress, wandering o'er
The fairy ground that Philips trod before,
Exalts her chemic wand, and swift behold
The basest metal ripen into gold!
Beneath her magic touch, with wondering eye,
We view vile copper with pure sterling vie;
Nor shall the Farthing, sung by her, forbear
To claim the praises of the smiling Fair;
Till chuck and marble shall no more employ
The thoughtless leisure of the truant boy."
A copper Farthing! He nor grieving hears Hot cheese-cakes cried, nor savoury muttonpies;
But with his play-mates, in the dusk of eve,
To well-known blacksmith's shop, or church-
yard, hies;
Where, mindful of the sport that joys his heart,
Marbles, or chuck, he instantly begins,
With undissembled pleasure in his face,
To draw the circle, or to pitch the dump:
While I, confin'd within the hated walls
Of school, resounding with a clamorous din,
By still more hated books environ'd, I,
With tedious lessons, and long task to get,
My dismal thoughts employ: or wield my pen
To mark dire characters on paper white:
Not blunter pen or stronger character
Uses the sage, a chiromancer hight,
Tensnare the feather'd race, who, if they stray
Beyond the precincts of their mother's ken,
He straight purloins them from her careful
With his sharp teeth torments their tender
frame,
And with the crimson gore distains their sides,
Relentless; nor can all the piercing cries
Of duckling, chick, or turkey, yet unfledg'd,
His heart obdurate move; instant he tears
Each trembling limb, devours the quivering
Alesh,
Nor leaves a remnant of the bloody feast,
Save a few fluttering feathers scatter'd round
(That with their varied plumage whilom deck'd
The slaughter'd prey) to tell the hapless tale.
Thus joyless do I spend those hours the sun
Illuminates; and when the silver moon
Sprung from Egyptian king, and swarthy race, Her gentle ray dispenses, and invites
Amenophis, or Ptolemy, when he,
In search of stolen calf, or money lost,
For wondering ploughman does his art employ;
Or for the wish'd return of sweet-heart dear,
Or apron fine, purloin'd from hawthorn-hedge,
For country-maid consults directing stars,
Gemini, Taurus, or chill Capricorn.
The swains and maids to mix in jovial dance
Around the towering may-poles of the green,
Where each gay ploughinan does his partner
choose
Thus while my lingering hours I joyless
spend,
With magisterial look, and solemn step,
Appears my schoolmaster, tremendous wight!
Dreaded by truant boys; how can I 'scape
Th' expected punishment for task ungot?
Aghast I stand, nor fly to covert bench,
Or corner dark, to hide my hapless head;
So great my terror, that it quite bereaves
My limbs the power to fly. Slow he ascends
Th' appointed seat, and on his right hand lies
The bushy rod, compos'd of numerous twigs
Torn from the birchen tree, or bending willow;
Which to the flesh of idle boys portends,
For the neglected task, a poignant smart;
And with him comes another mighty elf,
Yelep'd an usher; ah! terrific name
To lesser wights! who if they hapless place
In station wrong pronoun or participle,
Straight, by the magic of his voice, are rais'd
In attitude above their lov'd compeers,
Where they, reluctant, various torments bear;
Till by their dolorous plaints, that pierce the
skies,
They draw kind Pity, moist-ey'd goddess, down,
To heal, with balm of sympathy, their woe.
Ye urchins, take, ah! take peculiar care,
For when ye wot not, much he marks your
ways,
And in his mind revolves disastrous deeds
Against th' unwary wretch. So story tells,
That chanticleer, on dunghill's top elate, .
With haughty step, and watchful eye askance,
Each tiny prominence he views, where hap-
As love or fate directs; or o'er the lawn
The needle thread, or toss the bounding ball;
All cheerless I, nor dance, nor pleasing sport,
Nor social mirth, nor bowl of nappy ale,
Partake: but on her drooping raven wing,
Sad Melancholy hovers o'er my head,
Pale Envy rankles deep within my breast,
And baneful venom sheds. Grim Horror too
Attends my thoughts, and fills my gloomy mind
With tales of gliding sprites, in milk-white
Array'd, and rattling chains, and yelling ghosts
Irascible! or Fancy, mimic queen,
To swift imagination's eye presents
A group of tiny elves, in circling dance
Of luscious feast employ'd; such elves as danc'd
When Oberon did fair Titania wed;
While I, in wishes impotent and vain,
For Liberty, dear object of my hopes,
The tedious moments spend; or if perchance,
Morpheus invok'd, my heavy eye-lids close,
Dear Liberty still haunts my sleeping thoughts,
And in a short-liv'd dream those joys I taste,
Which, waking, are denied; and beat the
hoop
With dexterous hand, or run with feet as swift
As feather'd arrow flies from archer's bow:
Till, from my slumber wak'd, too soon I find
It was illusion all, and mockery vain.
Thus, comfortless, appall'd, forlorn I pass
The tardy hours, nor of those viands taste,
Which are on other boys full oft bestow'd
In plenteous manner by the liberal hand
Of friend indulgent; apple pie, or tart,
Or trembling custard of delicious goût,
Or frothy syllabub in copious bowl.
Hard fate for me! Yet harder still betides
Me, hapless youth! My faithful top, that oft
Has cheer'd my drooping spirits, and reviv'd
My saddening thoughts, when o'er the pave-
It spins, and sleeps, and to its master's hand
Does ample justice, now, alas! become
To all the rude inclemencies of weather,
To time and destiny's relentless doom
A miserable victim, quite decay'd
With many services, and cleft throughout,
All useless lies: ah! sight of saddest woe
To wretched me! of ev'ry hope bereft,
Of every gleam of comfort. So the wretch,
Who near or Ætna or Vesuvius dwells,
Beholds the sulph'rous flames, the molten rocks,
And feels the ground trembling beneath his
feet;
wide
Till with a horrid yawn it opens
Before his eyes, all glaring with affright;
Swallows his cultur'd vines, his gardens, house,
With all his soul held dear, his lovely wife,
And prattling babes, the hopes of years to come;
All, all are lost, in ruin terrible!
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Of freedom bless; who wantons uncontroll'd
Where Ease invites, or Pleasure's syren voice:
Him the stern tyrant with his iron scourge
Annoys not, nor the dire oppressive weight
Of galling chain: but when the blushing morn
Purples the east, with eager transport wild,
O'er hill, o'er valley, on his panting steed
He bounds exulting, as in full career
With horns, and hounds, and thund'ring shouts
he drives
The flying stag; or when the dusky shades
Of eve, advancing, veil the darken'd sky,
To neighb'ring tavern, blithsome, he resorts
With boon companion, where they drown their
In sprightly bumpers, and the mantling bowl. Far otherwise within these darksome walls, Whose gates, with rows of triple steel secur'd, And many a bolt, prohibit all egress,
I spend my joyless days; ere dawn appears, Rous'd from my peaceful slumbers by the sound
Of awe-inspiring bell, whose every stroke
Chills my heart-blood, all trembling, I descend
From dreary garret, round whose ancient roof,
Gaping with hideous chinks, the whistling blast
Perpetual raves, and fierce descending rains
Discharge their fury-dire lethargic dews
Oppress my drowsy sense; still fancy teems
With fond ideal joys, and, fir'd with what
Or poets sing, or fable tale records,
Presents transporting visions, goblets crown'd
With juice of nectar, or the food divine
Of rich ambrosia, tempting to the sight!
While in the shade of some embowering grove,
I lie reclin'd, or through Elysian plains
Enraptur'd stray; where every plant and flow'r
Send forth an odorous smell, and all the air
With songs of love and melody resounds.
Meanwhile benumbing cold invades my joints,
To where, of antique mould, a lofty dome
As with slow faltering footsteps I resort,
Rears its tremendous front; here all at once
From thousand different tongues a mighty hum
Assaults my ear; loud as the distant roar
Of tumbling torrents; or as in some mart
Of public note, for traffic far renown'd,
Where Jew with Grecian, Turk with African,
Assembled, in one general peal unite
Of dreadful jargon.—Straight on wooden bench
I take my seat, and con with studious care
Th'appointed tasks; o'er many a puzzling page
Poring intent, and sage Athenian bard,
With dialect, and mood, and tense perplex'd;
And conjugations varied without end.
When lo! with haughty stride (in size like him
Who erst, extended on the burning lake,
Lay floating many a rood") his sullen brow With low'ring frowns and fearful glooms o'erEnters the Pedagogue! terrific sight; An ample ninefold peruke, spread immense, Luxuriant waving, down his shoulders plays; His right hand fiercely grasps an oaken staff; His left a bunch of limber twigs sustains, Call'd by the vulgar birch, Tartarean root, Whose rankling points, in blackest poison dipt, Inflict a mortal pain; and, where they light, A ghastly furrow leave.-A sullen pause en
As when, of old, the monarch of the floods,
'Midst raging hurricanes and battling waves,
Shaking the dreadful trident, rear'd aloft
His awful brow, sudden the furious winds
Were hush'd in peace, the billows ceas'd their
rage:
Or when (if mighty themes like these allow
An humble metaphor) the sportive race
Of nibbling heroes, bent on wanton play,
Beneath the shelter of some well-stor'd barn,
In many an airy circle wheel around;
Some eye, perchance, in private nook conceal'd,
Beholds Grimalkin; instant they disperse
In headlong flight, each to his secret cell,
If haply he may 'scape impending fate.
Thus ceas'd the general clamor; all remain In silent terror wrapt, and thought profound.
Meanwhile, the Pedagogue throughout the
His fiery eye-balls, like two blazing stars, Portentous rolls, on some unthinking wretch To shed their baleful influence; whilst his voice,
Like thunder, or the cannon's sudden burst, Three times is heard, and thrice the roofs re
A sudden paleness gathers in my face; Through all my limbs a stiffening horror spreads, Cold as the dews of death; nor heed my eyes Their wonted function, but in stupid gaze Ken the fell monster; from my trembling
The time-worn volume drops; oh, dire presage Of instant woe! for now the mighty sound, Pregnant with dismal tidings, once again Strikes my astonish'd ears: transfix'd with awe,
And senseless for a time, I stand; but soon,
By friendly jog or neighbouring whisper rous'd,
Obey the dire injunction; straight I loose
Depending brogues, and mount the lofty throne
Indignant, or the back oblique ascend
Of sorrowful compeer: nor long delays
The monarch, from his palace stalking down,
With visage all inflam'd; his sable robe
Sweeping in lengthening folds along the ground:
He shakes his sceptre, and th impending
Scourge
Brandishes high; nor tears nor shrieks avail;
But with impetuous fury it descends,
Imprinting horrid wounds with fatal flow
Of blood attended, and convulsive pangs.
Curs'd be the wretch, for ever doom'd to bear
Infernal whippings; he, whose savage hands
First grasp'd these barbarous weapons, bitter
Of foul disgrace and many a dolorous groan
To hapless school-boy!-Could it not suffice
I groan'd and toil'd beneath the merciless weight
By stern relentless tyranny impos'd;
But scourges, too, and cudgels were reserv'd,
To goad my harrow'd sides: this wretched life
Loading with heavier ills? a life expos'd
To all the woes of hunger, toil, distress;
Cut off from every genial source of bliss ;
From every bland amusement, wont to soothe
The youthful breast; except when father Time,
In joyful change, rolls round the festive hour,
That gives this meagre, pining figure back
To parent fondness, and its native roofs !
Fir'd with the thought, then, then, my tower-
ing soul
Rises superior to its load, and spurns
Its proud oppressors; frantie with delight,
My fancy riots in successive scenes
Of bliss and pleasures: plans and schemes are laid
How blest the fleeting moments to improve,
Nor lose one portion of so rare a boon.
But soon, too soon, the glorious scenes are
Aled,
[state
Scarce one short moon enjoy'd; (oh! transient
Of sublunary bliss!) by bitter change,
And other scenes succeeded. What fierce pangs
Then racks my soul! what ceaseless floods of
grief
Rush down my cheeks, while strong convulsive throbs
Heave all my frame, aud choke the power of speech!
Forlorn I sigh, nor heed the gentle voice
Of friend or stranger, who, with soothing words
And slender gift, would fain beguile my woes:
In vain, for what can aught avail to soothe
Such raging anguish? Oft with sudden glance
Before my eyes in all its horror glares
That well-known form, and oft I seem to hear
The thundering scourge-ah me! e'en now I
Its deadly venom, raging as the pangs [feel
That tore Alcides, when the burning vest
Prey'd on his wasted sides.-At length, return'd
Within these hated walls, again I mourn
A sullen prisoner, till the wish'd approach
Of joyous holiday or festive play
Releases me: ah! freedom that must end
With thee, declining Sol! All hail, ye sires
For sanctity renown'd, whose glorious names
In large conspicuous characters portray'd,
Adorn the annual chronologic page
Of Wing or Partridge; oft, when sore oppress'd
With dire calamities, the glad return
Of your triumphant festivals hath cheer'd
My drooping soul. Nor be thy name forgot,
Illustrious GEORGE! for much to thee I owe
Of heart-felt rapture, as with loyal zeal
Glowing, I pile the crackling bonfire high,
Or hurl the mountain rocket through the air,
Or fiery whizzing serpent: thus thy name
Shall still be honor'd, as through future years
The circling seasons roll their festive round.
Sometimes, by dire compulsive hunger press'd, I spring the neighbouring fence, and scale the trunk
Of apple-tree; or wide, o'er flowery lawns
By hedge or thicket, bend my hasty steps,
Intent, with secret ambush, to surprise
The straw-built nest and unsuspecting brood
Of thrush or bull-finch; oft with watchful ken
Eyeing the backward lawns, lest hostile glance
Observe my footsteps, while each rustling leaf
Stirr'd by the gentle gale alarms
my fears:
Then, parch'd beneath the burning heats of
I plunge into the limpid stream that laves The silent vale; or, on its grassy banks, Beneath some oak's majestic shade recline, Envying the vagrant fishes, as they pass, Their boon of freedom, till the distant sound Of tolling curfew warns me to depart.
Thus under tyrant pow'r I groan, oppress'd With worse than slavery; yet my free-born soul Her native warmth forgets not, nor will brook Menace, or taunt, from proud insulting peer: But summons to the field the doughty fbe In single combat, 'midst th' impartial throng, There to decide our fate; oft too, inflam'd With mutual rage, two rival armies meet Of youthful warriors; kindling at the sight, My soul is fill'd with vast heroic thoughts, Trusting in martial glory to surpass Roman or Grecian chief: instant, with shouts, The mingling squadrons join the horrid fray; No need of cannon, or the murderous steel, Wide wasting nature: rage our arms applies, Fragments of rock are hurl'd, and showers of
Obscure the day; nor less the brawny arm
Or knotted club avail, high in the midst
Are seen the mighty chiefs, through hosts of foes
Mowing their way: and now with tenfold rage
The combat burns, full many a sanguine stream
Distaius the field, and many a veteran brave
Lies prostrate; loud triumphant shouts ascend
By turns from either host; each claims the palm
Of glorious conquest; nor till night's dun shades
Involve the sky, the doubtful conflict ends.
Thus, when rebellion shook the thrones of heaven,
And all th' eternal powers in battle met, High o'er the rest, with vast gigantic strides, The godlike leaders on th' embattled plain
Came towering, breathing forth revenge and
Nor less terrific join'd the inferior hosts [fate:
Of angel warriors, when encountering hills
Tore the rent conclave; flashing with the blaze
Of fiery armis, and lightnings not of Jove;
All heaven resounded, and the astonish'd deep
Of chaos bellow'd with the monstrous roar.
I keep in my pocket, tied about my middle, next to my smock.
So when I went to put up my purse, as God would have it, my smock was unripp'd, And, instead of putting it into my pocket, down it slipp'd!
Then the bell rung, and I went down to put my Lady to bed;
And, God knows, I thought my money was as safe as my maidenhead.
§ 228. Written in a Lady's Ivory Table Book, So, when I came up again, I found my pocket
PERUSE my leaves through every part,
And think thou seest my owner's heart,
Scrawl'd o'er with trifles thus, and quite
As hard, as senseless, and as light;
Expos'd to every coxcomb's eyes,
But hid with caution from the wise.
Here you may read, “Dear charming saint!"
Beneath, "A new receipt for paint:"
Here, in beau-spelling, "Tru tel deth;"
There, in her own, "For an el breth :'
Here, "Lovely nymph, pronounce my doom!"
There, "A safe way to use perfume:"
Here, a page fill'd with billet-doux,
On t' other side, "Laid out for shoes."
"Madam, I die without your grace."
"Itein, for half a yard of lace.'
Who that had wit would place it here,
For every peeping fop to jeer?
In pow'r of spittle and a clout,
Whene'er he please to blot it out:
And then, to heighten the disgrace,
Clap his own nonsense in the place.
Whoe'er expects to hold his part
In such a book, and such a heart,
If he be wealthy, and a fool,
Is in all points the fittest tool;
Of whom it may be justly said,
He's a gold pencil tipp'd with lead.
$229. Mrs. Harris's Petition. 1699.
To their Excellencies the Lords Justices of Ireland*, the humble petition of Frances Harris, (Who must starve, and die a maid, if it miscarries),
Humbly showeth,
That I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's
chamber, because I was cold;
And I had in a purse seven pounds four shillings
and six-pence, besides farthings, in mo-
ney and gold:
So, because I had been buying things for my
Lady last night,
[right.
I was resolv'd to tell my money to see if it was
Now you must know, because my trunk has a
very bad lock,
Therefore all the money I have, which, God
knows, is a very small stock,
The Earls of Berkeley and of Galway.
Wife to one of the footmen.
The old deaf housekeeper.
** The Earl of Drogheda, who, with the
tt Clerk of the kitchen.
+ Ferris.
But when I search'd, and miss'd my purse, Lord,
I thought I should have sunk outright.
Lord! madam, says Mary, how d'ye do? In-
deed, says I, never worse:
But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done
with my purse?
Lord help me! said Mary, I never stirr'd out of this place.
Nay, said I, I had it in Lady Betty's chamber, that's a plain case.
So Mary got me to bed, and cover'd me up warm;
However, she stole away my garters, that I
might do myself no harm.
So I tumbled and toss'd all night, as you may
very well think,
[wink.
But hardly ever set my eyes together, or slept a
So I was a-dream'd, methought, that we went
and search'd the folks round,
And in a corner of Mrs. Duke'st box, tied in a
rag, the money was found.
So next morning we told Whittle, || and he fell a-swearing:
Then my dame Wadgar§ came; and she, you know, is thick of hearing.
Dame, said I, as loud as I could bawl, do you know what a loss I have had?
Nay, said she, my Lord Colway's
[ail.
Pugh! said I, but that's not the business that I
Says Cary++, says he, I have been a servant this
five-and-twenty years come spring,
And in all the places I liv'd I never heard of
such a thing.
Yes, says the steward, I remember, when I
was at my Lady Shrewsbury's,
Such a thing as this happen'd just about the
time of gooseberries.
So I went to the party suspected, and I found
her full of grief:
(Now you must know, of all things in the world, I hate a thief.)
However, I was resolv'd to bring the discourse slily about:
Mrs. Dukes, said I, here's an ugly accident has happen'd out:
'Tis not that I value the money three skips of a louse ;
+ Lady Betty Berkeley, afterwards Germaine.
|| The Earl of Berkeley's valet.
Galway.
Primate, was to succeed the two Earls.
|| An usual saying of hers.
|