Chapter VIII: Part II (2)

Her lips were red; and one was thin, Compared to what was next her chin (Some bee had stung it newly); But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze, Than on a sun in July.

Her mouth so small, when she does speak, Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break That they might passage get; But she so handled still the matter, They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit.

Passion, oh me! how I run on! There's that that would be thought upon, I trow, beside the bride. The business of the kitchen's great; For it is fit that men should eat, Nor was it there denied.

Just in the nick the cook knocked thrice, And all the waiters in a trice His summons did obey; Each serving man, with dish in hand, March'd boldly up like our train'd band, Presented, and away.

When all the meat was on the table, What man of knife, or teeth, was able To stay to be entreated? And this the very reason was, Before the parson could say grace The company was seated.

Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; Healths first go round, and then the house, The bride's came thick and thick; And when 'twas named another's health, Perhaps he made it her's by stealth, (And who could help it, Dick?)

O' th' sudden up they rise and dance; Then sit again, and sigh, and glance: Then dance again, and kiss: Thus several ways the time did pass, Till ev'ry woman wish'd her place, And ev'ry man wish'd his.

By this time all were stolen aside To counsel and undress the bride; But that he must not know: But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her mind, And did not mean to stay behind Above an hour or so.

WHY SO PALE AND WAN?

WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move, This cannot take her; If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her. The devil take her!

_EDMUND WALLER_

GO, LOVELY ROSE!

Go, lovely Rose! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.

Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee: How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

_ANONYMOUS_

THE FROG HE WOULD A-WOOING RIDE

IT was the frog in the well, Humble dum, humble dum, And the merry mouse in the mill, Tweedle, tweedle, twino.

The frog would a-wooing ride, Humble dum, humble dum, Sword and buckler by his side, Tweedle, tweedle, twino.

When upon his high horse set, Humble dum, humble dum, His boots they shone as black as jet, Tweedle, tweedle, twino.

When he came to the merry mill pin, Lady Mouse beene you within? Then came out the dusty mouse, I am lady of this house;

Hast thou any mind of me? I have e'en great mind of thee. Who shall this marriage make? Our lord, which is the rat.

What shall we have to our supper? Three beans in a pound of butter. But, when supper they were at, The frog, the mouse, and e'en the rat,

Then came in Tib, our cat, And caught the mouse e'en by the back, Then did they separate The frog leapt on the floor so flat;

Then came in Dick, our drake, And drew the frog e'en to the lake, The rat he ran up the wall, And so the company parted all.

_RICHARD LOVELACE_

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON

WHEN love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at my grates; When I lie tangled in her hair, And fetter'd to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round, With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts are free,_-- Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty.

When linnet-like confined, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my king: When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be,-- Enlarged winds that curl the flood Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for a hermitage: If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free,-- Angels alone that soar above Enjoy such liberty.

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS

TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,-- That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such As you, too, shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.

_MARTIN PARKER_

YE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND

YE gentlemen of England That live at home at ease, Ah! little do ye think upon The dangers of the seas. Give ear unto the mariners, And they will plainly show All the cares and the fears When the stormy winds do blow. When the stormy winds do blow.

If enemies oppose us When England is at war With any foreign nation, We fear not wound or scar; Our roaring guns shall teach 'em Our valour for to know, Whilst they reel on the keel, And the stormy winds do blow. And the stormy winds do blow.

Then courage, all brave mariners, And never be dismay'd; While we have bold adventurers, We ne'er shall want a trade: Our merchants will employ us To fetch them wealth, we know; Then be bold--work for gold, When the stormy winds do blow. When the stormy winds do blow.

_ANONYMOUS_

THE FAIRY QUEEN

COME follow, follow me, You, fairy elves that be: Which circle on the greene, Come follow Mab your queene. Hand in hand let's dance around, For this place is fairye ground.

When mortals are at rest, And snoring in their nest; Unheard, and unespy'd, Through key-holes we do glide; Over tables, stools, and shelves, We trip it with our fairy elves.

And, if the house be foul With platter, dish, or bowl, Upstairs we nimbly creep, And find the sluts asleep; There we pinch their armes and thighes; None escapes, nor none espies.

But if the house be swept, And from uncleanness kept, We praise the houshold maid, And duely she is paid: For we use before we goe To drop a tester in her shoe.

Upon a mushroome's head Our table-cloth we spread; A grain of rye, or wheat, Is manchet, which we eat; Pearly drops of dew we drink In acorn cups fill'd to the brink.

The brains of nightingales, With unctuous fat of snailes, Between two cockles stew'd, Is meat that's easily chew'd; Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice, Do make a dish that's wondrous nice. The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, Serve for our minstrelsie; Grace said, we dance a while, And so the time beguile: And if the moon doth hide her head, The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.

On tops of dewie grasse So nimbly do we passe; The young and tender stalk Ne'er bends when we do walk: Yet in the morning may be seen Where we the night before have been.

_JOHN CHALKHILL_

THE PRAISE OF A COUNTRYMAN'S LIFE

OH, the sweet contentment The countryman doth find, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; That quiet contemplation Possesseth all my mind: Then care away, and wend along with me.

For courts are full of flattery, As hath too oft been tried, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; The city full of wantonness, And both are full of pride; Then care away, and wend along with me.

But, oh! the honest countryman Speaks truly from his heart, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; His pride is in his tillage, His horses and his cart: Then care away, and wend along with me.

Our clothing is good sheep-skins, Grey russet for our wives, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; 'Tis warmth and not gay clothing That doth prolong our lives: Then care away, and wend along with me.

The ploughman, though he labour hard, Yet on the holy day, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; No emperor so merrily Does pass his time away: Then care away, and wend along with me.

To recompense our tillage The heavens afford us showers, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; And for our sweet refreshments The earth affords us bowers; Then care away, and wend along with me.

The cuckoo and the nightingale Full merrily do sing, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; And with their pleasant roundelays Bid welcome to the spring: Then care away, and wend along with me.

This is not half the happiness The countryman enjoys, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; Though others think they have as much, Yet he that says so lies: Then care away, and wend along with me.

_ANONYMOUS_

HERE'S A HEALTH

HERE'S a health unto His Majesty, _With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la!_ Confusion to his enemies, _With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la!_ And he that will not drink his health, I wish him neither wit nor wealth, Nor yet a rope to hang himself, _With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la!_

_JOHN GAY_

BLACK-EYED SUSAN

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-eyed Susan came on board, Oh, where shall I my true-love find? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, Does my sweet William sail among your crew?'

William, who high upon the yard Rock'd by the billows to and fro, Soon as the well-known voice he heard, He sigh'd and cast his eyes below; The cord flies swiftly through his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

'O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, My vows shall always true remain, Let me kiss off that falling tear,-- We only part to meet again; Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landsmen say, Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; They tell thee sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find; Yes, yes, believe them when they tell you so, For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.'

The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosom spread; No longer she must stay on board, They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head: Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land, 'Adieu!' she cried, and wav'd her lily hand.

_ANONYMOUS_

ANNIE LAURIE

MAXWELLTON braes are bonnie, Where early fa's the dew, And 'twas there that Annie Laurie Gied me her promise true; Gied me her promise true, Which ne'er forgot shall be, And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I'd lay me doon and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw-flake, Her neck is like the swan, Her face it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on; That e'er the sun shone on, And dark blue is her e'e; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doon and dee.

Like dew on the gowan lying, Is the fa' of her fairy feet; And like winds in summer sighing, Her voice is low and sweet; Her voice is low and sweet, And she's a' the world to me; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doon and dee.

JAMES THOMSON

RULE BRITANNIA

WHEN Britain first at Heaven's command Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of her land, And guardian angels sang the strain:

Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never shall be slaves!

The nations not so blest as thee Must in their turn to tyrants fall, Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free-- The dread and envy of them all!

Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the last blast which tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame, And work their woe and thy renown.

To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine; All thine shall be the subject main, And every shore it circles thine.

The Muses, still with Freedom found, Shall to thy happy coast repair; Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd, And manly hearts to guard the fair:--

Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never shall be slaves!

_ANONYMOUS_

WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY

O WALY, waly up the bank, And waly, waly down the brae, And waly, waly yon burn-side, Where I and my love wont to gae. I lean'd my back unto an aik, And thought it was a trusty tree, But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true love did lightly me.

O waly, waly, but love is bonny, A little time while it is new, But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld, And fades away like morning dew. Oh! wherefore should I busk my head? Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook, And says he'll never love me mair.

Now Arthur Seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne'er be fil'd by me, Saint Anton's well shall be my drink, Since my true love's forsaken me. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves off the tree? Oh, gentle death! when wilt thou come? For of my life I am weary.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blowing snow's inclemency; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town, We were a comely sight to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysel' in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kiss'd That love had been so ill to win, I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold, And pinn'd it with a silver pin. And oh! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee, And I mysel' were dead and gane, Wi' the green grass growin' over me!

_HENRY CAREY_

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY

OF all the girls that are so smart, There's none like pretty Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley. There's ne'er a lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage nets, And through the streets doth cry them; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy them: But sure such folk can have no part In such a girl as Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

When she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely; My master comes, like any Turk, And bangs me most severely: But let him bang, long as he will, I'll bear it all for Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

Of all the days are in the week, I dearly love but one day, And that's the day that comes betwixt A Saturday and Monday; For then I'm dress'd, in all my best, To walk abroad with Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

My master carries me to church, And often I am blamed, Because I leave him in the lurch, Soon as the text is named: I leave the church in sermon time, And slink away to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again, O then I shall have money; I'll hoard it up and, box and all, I'll give unto my honey: I would it were ten thousand pounds, I'd give it all to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

My master and the neighbours all, Make game of me and Sally, And but for she I'd better be A slave, and row a galley: But when my seven long years are out, O then I'll marry Sally, And then how happily we'll live-- But not in our alley.

_WILLIAM HAMILTON_

THE BRAES OF YARROW

BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride? Where gat ye that winsome marrow? I gat her where I daurna weel be seen, Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow; Nor let thy heart lament to leive Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride? Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow?

Lang mann she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep, Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow, And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

For she has tint her luver, luver dear, Her luver dear, the cause of sorrow; And I hae slain the comliest swain That eir pu'd birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Why rins thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid? Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow? And why yon melancholious weids Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow?

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude? What's yonder floats? O dule and sorrow! O 'tis he the comely swain I slew Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.

Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow; And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow.

Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow; And weep around in waeful wise His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow!

Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, The fatal spear that pierc'd his breast, His comely breast, on the Braes of Yarrow.

Did I not warn thee, not to, not to luve? And warn from fight? but to my sorrow Too rashly bauld a stronger arm Thou mett'st, and fell on the Braes of Yarrow.

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows the grass, Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan; Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowin'!

Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed, As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, As sweet smells on its braes the birk, The apple frae its rocks as mellow.

Fair was thy luve, fair fair indeed thy luve, In flow'ry bands thou didst him fetter; Tho' he was fair, and weel beluv'd again Than me he never luv'd thee better.

Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, Busk ye, and luve me on the banks of Tweed, And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

How can I busk a bonny bonny bride? How can I busk a winsome marrow? How luve him on the banks of Tweed, That slew my luve on the Braes of Yarrow?

O Yarrow fields, may never never rain, Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, For there was basely slain my luve, My luve, as he had not been a lover.

The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, His purple vest--'twas my awn sewing: Ah! wretched me! I little, little kenn'd He was in these to meet his ruin.

The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, Unheedful of my dule and sorrow: But ere the toofall of the night He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

Much I rejoyc'd that waeful waeful day; I sang, my voice the woods returning: But lang ere night the spear was flown, That slew my luve, and left me mourning.

What can my barbarous barbarous father do, But with his cruel rage pursue me? My luver's blood is on thy spear How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me?

My happy sisters may be, may be proud With cruel and ungentle scoffin', May bid me seek on Yarrow Braes My luver nailed in his coffin.

My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, And strive with threatning words to muve me: My luver's blood is on thy spear How canst thou ever bid me luve thee?

Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve, With bridal sheets my body cover, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door! Let in the expected husband-lover.

But who the expected husband husband is? His hands, methinks, are bath'd in slaughter. Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after?

Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, O lay his cold head on my pillow! Take aff, take aff these bridal weids, And crown my careful head with willow.

Pale tho' thou art, yet best, yet best beluv'd, O could my warmth to life restore thee! Ye'd lye all night between my breasts-- No youth lay ever there before thee!

Pale, pale indeed, O luvely luvely youth, Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, And lye all night between my breists, No youth shall ever lye there after.

A. Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride Return and dry thy useless sorrow! Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs, He lyes a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

_WILLIAM SHENSTONE_

THE SHEPHERD'S HOME

MY banks they are furnished with bees, Whose murmur invites one to sleep; My grottoes are shaded with trees, And my hills are white over with sheep. I seldom have met with a loss, Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains all bordered with moss, Where the harebells and violets blow.

Not a pine in the grove is there seen, But with tendrils of woodbine is bound; Not a beech's more beautiful green, But a sweet-briar entwines it around. Not my fields in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.

I have found out a gift for my fair, I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me such plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed; For he ne'er could be true, she averred, Who would rob a poor bird of its young; And I loved her the more when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue.

_WILLIAM COWPER_

THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN

JOHN GILPIN was a citizen Of credit and renown, A train-band captain eke was he Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear: 'Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen.

'To-morrow is our wedding-day, And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton All in a chaise and pair.

'My sister, and my sister's child, Myself and children three, Will fill the chaise; so you must ride On horseback after we.'

He soon replied: 'I do admire Of womankind but one, And you are she, my dearest dear; Therefore, it shall be done.

'I am a linen-draper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend the calender Will lend his horse to go.'

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin: 'That's well said; And for that wine is dear, We will be furnished with our own, Which is both bright and clear.'

John Gilpin kissed his loving wife; O'erjoyed was he to find That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allowed To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaise was stayed, Where they did all get in; Six precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, Were never folk so glad; The stones did rattle underneath, As if Cheapside were mad.

John Gilpin at his horse's side Seized fast the flowing mane, And up he got, in haste to ride, But soon came down again;

For saddle-tree scarce reached had he, His journey to begin, When, turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in.

So down he came; for loss of time, Although it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more.

'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty screaming came down stairs: The wine is left behind!'

'Good lack!' quoth he--'et bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword When I do exercise.'

Now Mrs. Gilpin--careful soul!-- Had two stone-bottles found, To hold the liquor that she loved, And keep it safe and sound.

Each bottle had a curling ear, Through which the belt he drew, And hung a bottle on each side, To make his balance true.

Then over all, that he might be Equipped from top to toe, His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, He manfully did throw. Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones With caution and good heed.

But finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which galled him in his seat.

So, 'Fair and softly,' John he cried, But John he cried in vain; That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb and rein.

So stooping down, as needs he must Who cannot sit upright, He grasped the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might.

His horse, which never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more.

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; Away went hat and wig; He little dreamt when he set out Of running such a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Like streamer long and gay, Till, loop and button failing both, At last it flew away. Then might all people well discern The bottles he had slung; A bottle swinging at each side, As hath been said or sung.

The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all; And every soul cried out: 'Well done!' As loud as he could bawl.

Away went Gilpin--who but he? His fame soon spread around; He carries weight! he rides a race! 'Tis for a thousand pound!

And still, as fast as he drew near, 'Twas wonderful to view How in a trice the turnpike-men Their gates wide open threw.

And now, as he went bowing down His reeking head full low, The bottles twain behind his back Were shattered at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road, Most piteous to be seen, Which made his horse's flanks to smoke As they had basted been.

But still he seemed to carry weight, With leathern girdle braced; For all might see the bottle necks Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington These gambols he did play, Until he came unto the Wash Of Edmonton so gay;

And there he threw the wash about On both sides of the way, Just like unto a trundling mop, Or a wild goose at play.

At Edmonton his loving wife From the balcony spied Her tender husband, wondering much To see how he did ride.

'Stop, stop, John Gilpin!--Here's the house'-- They all aloud did cry; The dinner waits, and we are tired! Said Gilpin: So am I!'

But yet his horse was not a whit Inclined to tarry there; For why? his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware.

So like an arrow swift he flew, Shot by an archer strong; So did he fly--which brings me to The middle of my song.

Away went Gilpin out of breath, And sore against his will, Till at his friend the calender's His horse at last stood still.

The calender, amazed to see His neighbour in such trim, Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And thus accosted him:

'What news? what news? your tidings tell-- Tell me you must and shall Say why bareheaded you are come, Or why you come at all?'

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And loved a timely joke; And thus unto the calendar In merry guise he spoke:

'I came because your horse would come; And, if I well forebode, My hat and wig will soon be here-- They are upon the road.'

The calender, right glad to find His friend in merry pin, Returned him not a single word, But to the house went in;

Whence straight he came with hat and wig; A wig that flowed behind, A hat not much the worse for wear, Each comely in its kind.

He held them up, and in his turn Thus showed his ready wit: `My head is twice as big as yours, They therefore needs must fit.

But let me scrape the dirt away That hangs upon your face: And stop and eat, for well you may Be in a hungry case.'

Said John: 'It is my wedding-day, And all the world would stare If wife should dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Ware.'

So turning to his horse, he said: 'I am in haste to dine; 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, You shall go back for mine.'

Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast! For which he paid full dear; For, while he spake, a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear;

Whereat his horse did snort, as he Had heard a lion roar, And galloped off with all his might, As he had done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig; He lost them sooner than at first; For why?--they were too big.

Now Mrs. Gilpin, when she saw Her husband posting down Into the country far away, She pulled out half-a-crown;

And thus unto the youth she said That drove them to the Bell: 'This shall be yours when you bring back My husband safe and well.'

The youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back amain; Whom in a trice he tried to stop, By catching at his rein;

But not performing what he meant, And gladly would have done, The frighted steed he frighted more, And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away Went post-boy at his heels, The post-boy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With post-boy scampering in the rear, They raised the hue and cry:

Stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman Not one of them was mute; And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space; The tollmen thinking as before That Gilpin rode a race. And so he did, and won it too, For he got first to town; Nor stopped till where he had got up He did again get down.

Now let us sing, long live the king, And Gilpin, long live he; And, when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see!

THE' ROYAL GEORGE'

TOLL for the Brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore!

Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel And laid her on her side.

A land-breeze shook the shrouds, And she was overset; Down went the _Royal George_ With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock, She sprang no fatal leak, She ran upon no rock.

His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunders And plough the distant main:

But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more.

BOADICEA

WHEN the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods,

Sage beneath the spreading oak Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Every burning word he spoke Full of rage, and full of grief.

'Princess, if our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues.

'Rome shall perish--write that word In the blood that she has spilt; Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd, Deep in ruin as in guilt.

'Rome, for empire far renown'd, Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground-- Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!

'Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame.

'Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command.

'Regions Caesar never knew Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they.'

Such the bard's prophetic words, Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending as he swept the chords Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride, Felt them in her bosom glow; Rush'd to battle, fought, and died; Dying hurl'd them at the foe.

'Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Heaven awards the vengeance due Empire is on us bestow'd, Shame and ruin wait for you.'

_DAVID GARRICK_

HEARTS OF OAK

Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer, To add something more to this wonderful year, To honour we call you not press you like slaves, For who are so free as the sons of the waves? Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, We always are ready, Steady, boys, steady, We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay, They never see us but they wish us away; If they run, why, we follow, and run them ashore, For if they won't fight us, we cannot do more. Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, We always are ready, Steady, boys, steady, We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

Still Britain shall triumph, her ships plough the sea, Her standard be justice, her watchword 'Be free'; Then, cheer up, my lads, with one heart let us sing Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our king. Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, We always are ready, Steady, boys, steady, We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

_OLIVER GOLDSMITH_

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG

GOOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain his private ends, Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets The wondering neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every Christian eye: And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light, That show'd the rogues they lied, The man recover'd of the bite, The dog it was that died.

EDWIN AND ANGELINA

'TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray.

'For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go.'

'Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries, 'To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder phantom only flies To lure thee to thy doom.

'Here, to the houseless child of want, My door is open still: And though my portion is but scant, I give it with goodwill.

'Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy couch and frugal fare, My blessing and repose.

'No flocks that range the valley free, To slaughter I condemn; Taught by that power that pities me, I learn to pity them.

But from the mountain's grassy side, A guiltless feast I bring; A script, with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring.

Then, Pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; All earth-born cares are wrong: Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.'

Soft as the dew from heaven descends, His gentle accents fell; The modest stranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure, The lonely mansion lay; A refuge to the neighbouring poor, And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch Required a master's care; The wicket, opening with a latch, Received the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire, To take their evening rest, The hermit trimmed his little fire, And cheered his pensive guest;

And spread his vegetable store, And gaily pressed and smiled; And, skilled in legendary lore, The lingering hours beguiled.

Around, in sympathetic mirth, Its tricks the kitten tries; The cricket chirrups in the hearth, The crackling fagot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart, To soothe the stranger's woe; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spied, With answering care opprest: 'And whence, unhappy youth,' he cried, 'The sorrows of thy breast?

'From better habitations spurned, Reluctant dost thou rove? Or grieve for friendship unreturned, Or unregarded love?

'Alas! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; And those who prize the paltry things More trifling still than they.

'And what is friendship but a name: A charm that lulls to sleep! A shade that follows wealth or fame, And leaves the wretch to weep!

'And love is still an emptier sound, The modern fair-one's jest; On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest.

'For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, And spurn the sex,' he said: But while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betrayed.

Surprised he sees new beauties rise, Swift mantling to the view, Like colours o'er the morning skies, As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast, Alternate spread alarms; The lovely stranger stands confest A maid in all her charms.

'And ah! forgive a stranger rude, A wretch forlorn,' she cried, Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude Where heaven and you reside.

'But let a maid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray: Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way.

'My father lived beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he; And all his wealth was marked as mine He had but only me.

'To win me from his tender arms, Unnumbered suitors came; Who praised me for imputed charms, And felt, or feigned, a flame.

Each hour a mercenary crowd With richest proffers strove; Amongst the rest young Edwin bowed, But never talked of love.

'In humblest, simplest habit clad, No wealth nor power had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had; But these were all to me.

'The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refined, Could nought of purity display, To emulate his mind.

'The dew, the blossoms of the tree, With charms inconstant shine; Their charms were his; but, woe to me, Their constancy was mine.

'For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain; And while his passion touched my heart, I triumphed in his pain.

'Till quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride; And sought a solitude forlorn, In secret, where he died!

'But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay: I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay.

'And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die: 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.'

Forbid it, Heaven!' the hermit cried, And clasped her to his breast: The wondering fair one turned to chide 'Twas Edwin's self that prest!

'Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee.

Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign; And shall we never, never part, My life--my all that's mine?

'No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true; The sigh that rends thy constant heart, Shall break thy Edwin's too.'

_LADY ANNE BARNARD_

AULD ROBIN GRAY

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye's come hame, And a' the weary warld to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, Unkent by my gudeman, wha sleeps sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride, But saving ae crown-piece he had naething beside; To make the crown a pound my Jamie gaed to sea, And the crown and the pound--they were baith for me.

He hadna been gane a twelvemonth and a day, When my father brake his arm and the cow was stown away; My mither she fell sick--my Jamie was at sea, And Auld Robin Gray came a courting me.

My father couldna work--my mither couldna spin-- I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e, Said: 'Jeanie, O for their sakes, will ye no marry me?'

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back, But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack, His ship was a wrack--why didna Jamie die, Or why am I spared to cry wae is me?

My father urged me sair--my mither didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break; They gied him my hand--my heart was in the sea-- And so Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife a week but only four, When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door, I saw my Jamie's ghaist, for I couldna think it he Till he said: 'I'm come hame, love, to marry thee!'

Oh, sair sair did we greet, and mickle say of a', I gied him ae kiss, and bade him gang awa'-- I wish that I were dead, but I'm na like to die, For, though my heart is broken, I'm but young, wae is me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin, I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin, But I'll do my best a gude wife to be, For, oh! Robin Gray, he is kind to me.

_ALEXANDER ROSS_

WOO'D, AND MARRIED, AND A'.

THE bride cam' out o' the byre, And, oh, as she dighted her cheeks: 'Sirs, I'm to be married the night, And have neither blankets nor sheets;

Have neither blankets nor sheets, Nor scarce a coverlet too; The bride that has a' thing to borrow, Has e'en right muckle ado.' Woo'd, and married, and a', Married, and woo'd, and a'! And was she nae very weel off, That was woo'd, and married, and a'?

Out spake the bride's father, As he cam' in frae the pleugh: 'Oh, haud your tongue, my dochter, And ye'se get gear eneugh; The stirk stands i' the tether, And our braw bawsint yaud, Will carry ye hame your corn-- What wad ye be at, ye jaud?'

Out spake the bride's mither: What deil needs a' this pride? I hadna a plack in my pouch That night I was a bride; My gown was linsey-woolsey, And ne'er a sark ava; And ye hae ribbons and buskins, Mae than ane or twa.'

Out spake the bride's brither, As he cam' in wi' the kye: 'Poor Willie wad ne'er hae ta'en ye, Had he kent ye as weel as I; For ye're baith proud and saucy, And no for a poor man's wife; Gin I canna get a better, I'se ne'er tak ane i' my life.'

_ANONYMOUS_

THE BRITISH GRENADIERS

SOME talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules, Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these, But of all the world's great heroes, there's none that can compare, With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadier!

Those heroes of antiquity ne'er saw a cannon ball, Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal; But our brave boys do know it, and banish all their fears, Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers!

Whene'er we are commanded to storm the palisades, Our leaders march with fuses, and we with hand grenades, We throw them from the glacis, about the enemies' ears, Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers!

And when the siege is over, we to the town repair, The townsmen cry, Hurrah, boys, here comes a Grenadier! Here come the Grenadiers, my boys, who know no doubts or fears!' Then sing, tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers!

Then let us fill a bumper, and drink a health to those Who carry caps and pouches, and wear the louped clothes, May they and their commanders live happy all their years, With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers!

_ANONYMOUS_

HERE 'S TO THE MAIDEN

HERE 's to the maiden of bashful fifteen; Now to the widow of fifty; Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean And here's to the housewife that 's thrifty. Let the toast pass, Drink to the lass, I'll warrant she'll prove An excuse for the glass.

Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize, Now to the damsel with none, Sir, Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, And now to the nymph with but one, Sir.

Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow, Now to her that's as brown as a berry, Here's to the wife with a face full of woe, And now to the damsel that's merry.

For let her be clumsy, or let her be slim, Young or ancient, I care not a feather, So fill up a bumper, nay, fill to the brim, And let us e'en toast 'em together, Let the toast pass, Drink to the lass, I'll warrant she'll prove An excuse for the glass.

_THOMAS CHATTERTON_

BRISTOW TRAGEDY

THE feathered songster chanticleer Had wound his bugle-horn, And told the early villager The coming of the morn:

King Edward saw the ruddy streaks Of light eclipse the gray, And heard the raven's croaking throat, Proclaim the fated day.

'Thou'rt right,' quoth he, for by the God That sits enthroned on high! Charles Bawdin, and his fellows twain, To-day shall surely die.'

Then with a jug of nappy ale His knights did on him wait; 'Go tell the traitor, that to-day He leaves this mortal state.'

Sir Canterlone then bended low, With heart brimful of woe; He journeyed to the castle-gate, And to Sir Charles did go.

But when he came, his children twain, And eke his loving wife, With briny tears did wet the floor, For good Sir Charles's life.

'O good Sir Charles,' said Canterlone, 'Bad tidings I do bring.' 'Speak boldly, man,' said brave Sir Charles 'What says the traitor-king?'

'I grieve to tell: before yon sun Does from the welkin fly, He hath upon his honour sworn, That thou shalt surely die.'

'We all must die,' said brave Sir Charles, Of that I'm not afraid; What boots to live a little space? Thank Jesus, I'm prepared.

'But tell thy king, for mine he's not, I'd sooner die to-day, Than live his slave, as many are, Though I should live for aye.'

Then Canterlone he did go out, To tell the mayor straight To get all things in readiness For good Sir Charles's fate.

Then Mr. Canynge sought the king, And fell down on his knee; 'I'm come,' quoth he, unto your grace, To move your clemency.'

'Then,' quoth the king, your tale speak out, You have been much our friend: Whatever your request may be, We will to it attend.'

My noble liege, all my request Is for a noble knight, Who, though mayhap he has done wrong, He thought it still was right.

He has a spouse and children twain; All ruined are for aye, If that you are resolved to let Charles Bawdin die to-day.'

'Speak not of such a traitor vile,' The king in fury said; 'Before the evening-star doth shine, Bawdin shall lose his head:

'Justice does loudly for him call, And he shall have his meed: Speak, Mr. Canynge, what thing else At present do you need?'

'My noble liege,' good Canynge said, Leave justice to our God, And lay the iron rule aside; Be thine the olive rod.

'Was God to search our hearts and reins, The best were sinners great; Christ's vicar only knows no sin, In all this mortal state.

Let mercy rule thine infant reign, 'Twill fix thy crown full sure; From race to race thy family All sovereigns shall endure.

But if with blood and slaughter thou Begin thy infant reign, Thy crown upon thy children's brows Will never long remain.'

'Canynge, away! this traitor vile Has scorned my power and me; How canst thou, then, for such a man Entreat my clemency?'

'My noble liege, the truly brave Will valorous actions prize: Respect a brave and noble mind, Although in enemies.'

'Canynge, away! By God in heaven That did me being give, I will not taste a bit of bread Whilst this Sir Charles doth live!

'By Mary, and all saints in heaven, This sun shall be his last!' Then Canynge dropped a briny tear, And from the presence passed.

With heart brimful of gnawing grief, He to Sir Charles did go, And sat him down upon a stool, And tears began to flow.

We all must die,' said brave Sir Charles; 'What boots it how or when? Death is the sure, the certain fate, Of all we mortal men.

'Say why, my friend, thy honest soul Runs over at thine eye; Is it for my most welcome doom That thou dost child-like cry?'

Saith godly Canynge: 'I do weep, That thou so soon must die, And leave thy sons and helpless wife 'Tis this that wets mine eye.'

'Then dry the tears that out thine eye From godly fountains spring; Death I despise, and all the power Of Edward, traitor-king.

'When through the tyrant's welcome means I shall resign my life, The God I serve will soon provide For both my sons and wife.

'Before I saw the lightsome sun, This was appointed me; Shall mortal man repine or grudge What God ordains to be?

'How oft in battle have I stood, When thousands died around; When smoking streams of crimson blood Imbrued the fattened ground?

'How did I know that every dart That cut the airy way, Might not find passage to my heart, And close mine eyes for aye?

'And shall I now, for fear of death, Look wan and be dismayed? No! from my heart fly childish fear; Be all the man displayed.

'Ah, godlike Henry, God forefend, And guard thee and thy son, If 'tis his will; but if 'tis not, Why, then his will be done.

'My honest friend, my fault has been To serve God and my prince; And that I no time-server am, My death will soon convince.