Chapter III: Preface (3)

Cocking his tail, a saucy prig, A Magpie hopped upon a Pig, To pull some hair, forsooth, to line his nest; And with such ease began the hair attack, As thinking the fee simple of the back Was by himself, and not the Pig, possessed.

The Boar looked up as thunder black to Mag, Who, squinting down on him like an arch wag, Informed Mynheer some bristles must be torn. Then briskly went to work, not nicely culling: Got a good handsome beakful by good pulling, And flew, without a "Thank ye" to his thorn.

The Pig set up a dismal yelling: Followed the robber to his dwelling, Who like a fool had built it 'midst a bramble. In manfully he sallied, full of might, Determined to obtain his right, And 'midst the bushes now began to scramble.

He drove the Magpie, tore his nest to rags, And, happy on the downfall, poured his brags: But ere he from the brambles came, alack! His ears and eyes were miserably torn, His bleeding hide in such a plight forlorn, He could not count ten hairs upon his back.

ADVICE TO YOUNG WOMEN, OR, THE ROSE AND STRAWBERRY. PETER PINDAR

Young women! don't be fond of killing,
Too well I know your hearts unwilling
To hide beneath the vail a charm--
Too pleased a sparkling eye to roll,
And with a neck to thrill the soul
Of every swain with love's alarm.

Yet, yet, if prudence be not near
Its snow may melt into a tear.

The dimple smile, and pouting lip,
Where little Cupids nectar sip,
Are very pretty lures I own:
But, ah! if prudence be not nigh,
Those lips where all the Cupids lie,
May give a passage to a groan.

A Rose, in all the pride of bloom,
Flinging around her rich perfume
Her form to public notice pushing,
Amid the summer's golden glow
Peeped on a Strawberry below,
Beneath a leaf, in secret blushing.

"Miss Strawberry," exclaimed the Rose,
"What's beauty that no mortal knows?
What is a charm, if never seen?
You really are a pretty creature:
Then wherefore hide each blooming feature?
Come up, and show your modest mien."

"Miss Rose," the Strawberry replied,
"I never did possess a pride
That wished to dash the public eye:
Indeed, I own that I'm afraid--
I think there's safety in the shade,
Ambition causes many a sigh."

"Go, simple child," the Rose rejoined,
"See how I wanton in the wind:
I feel no danger's dread alarms:
And then observe the god of day,
How amorous with his golden ray,
To pay his visits to my charms!"

No sooner said, but with a scream
She started from her favorite theme--
A clown had on her fixed his pat.
In vain she screeched--Hob did but smile;
Rubbed with her leaves his nose awhile,
Then bluntly stuck her in his hat.

ECONOMY.
PETER PINDAR.

Economy's a very useful broom; Yet should not ceaseless hunt about the room To catch each straggling pin to make a plumb: Too oft Economy's an iron vice, That squeezes even the little guts of mice, That peep with fearful eyes, and ask a crumb.

Proper Economy's a comely thing-- Good in a subject--better in a king; Yet pushed too far, it dulls each finer feeling-- Most easily inclined to make folks mean; Inclines them too, to villainy to lean, To over-reaching, perjury, and stealing.

Even when the heart should only think of grief It creeps into the bosom like a thief, And swallows up th' affections all so mild--Witness the Jewess, and her only child:--

THE JEWESS AND HER SON

Poor Mistress Levi had a luckless son,
Who, rushing to obtain the foremost seat,
In imitation of th' ambitious great,
High from the gallery, ere the play begun,
He fell all plump into the pit,
Dead in a minute as a nit:
In short, he broke his pretty Hebrew neck;
Indeed and very dreadful was the wreck!

The mother was distracted, raving, wild-- Shrieked, tore her hair, embraced and kissed her child-- Afflicted every heart with grief around: Soon as the shower of tears was somewhat past, And moderately calm th' hysteric blast, She cast about her eyes in thought profound And being with a saving knowledge blessed, She thus the playhouse manager addressed:

"Sher, I'm de moder of de poor Chew lad, Dat meet mishfartin here so bad-- Sher, I muss haf de shilling back, you know, Ass Moses haf not see de show."

But as for Avarice, 'tis the very devil; The fount, alas! of every evil: The cancer of the heart--the worst of ills: Wherever sown, luxuriantly it thrives; No flower of virtue near it lives: Like aconite where'er it spreads, it kills. In every soil behold the poison spring! Can taint the beggar, and infect the king.

The mighty Marlborough pilfered cloth and bread, So says that gentle satirist Squire Pope; And Peterborough's Earl upon this head, Affords us little room to hope, That what the Twitnam bard avowed, Might not be readily allowed.

THE COUNTBY LASSES.
PETER PINDAR.

Peter lasheth the Ladies.--He turneth Story-teller.--Peter grieveth.

Although the ladies with such beauty blaze,
They very frequently my passion raise--
Their charms compensate, scarce, their want of TASTE.
Passing amidst the Exhibition crowd,
I heard some damsels FASHIONABLY loud;
And thus I give the dialogue that pass'd.

"Oh! the dear man!" cried one, "look! here's a bonnet! He shall paint ME--I am determin'd on it-- Lord! cousin, see! how beautiful the gown! What charming colors! here's fine lace, here's gauze! What pretty sprigs the fellow draws! Lord, cousin! he's the cleverest man in town!"

"Ay, cousin," cried a second, "very true-- And here, here's charming green, and red, and blue! There's a complexion beats the ROUGE of Warren! See those red lips; oh, la! they seem so nice! What rosy cheeks then, cousin, to entice!-- Compar'd to this, all other heads are carrion.

"Cousin, this limner quickly will be seen, Painting the Princess Royal, and the Queen: Pray, don't you think as I do, COZ? But we 'll be painted FIRST that POZ."

Such was the very PRETTY conversation That pass'd between the PRETTY misses, While unobserv'd, the glory of our nation, Close by them hung Sir Joshua's matchless pieces Works! that a Titian's hand could form alone-- Works! that a Reubens had been proud to own.

Permit me, ladies, now to lay before ye What lately happen'd--therefore a true story:--

A STORY.

Walking one afternoon along the Strand,
My wond'ring eyes did suddenly expand
Upon a pretty leash of country lasses.

"Heav'ns! my dear beauteous angels, how d'ye do?
Upon my soul I'm monstrous glad to see ye."
"Swinge! Peter, we are glad to meet with you;
We're just to London come--well, pray how be ye?

"We're just a going, while 'tis light,
To see St. Paul's before 'tis dark.
Lord! come, for once, be so polite,
And condescend to be our spark."

"With all my heart, my angels."--On we walk'd, And much of London--much of Cornwall talk'd. Now did I hug myself to think How much that glorious structure would surprise, How from its awful grandeur they would shrink With open mouths, and marv'ling eyes!

As near to Ludgate-Hill we drew,
St. Paul's just opening on our view;
Behold, my lovely strangers, one and all,
Gave, all at once, a diabolic squawl,
As if they had been tumbled on the stones,
And some confounded cart had crush'd their bones.

After well fright'ning people with their cries,
And sticking to a ribbon-shop their eyes,
They all rush'd in, with sounds enough to stun,
And clattering all together, thus begun:--

"Swinge! here are colors then, to please!
Delightful things, I vow to heav'n!
Why! not to see such things as these,
We never should have been forgiv'n.

"Here, here, are clever things--good Lord!
And, sister, here, upon my word--
Here, here!--look! here are beauties to delight:
Why! how a body's heels might dance
Along from Launceston to Penzance,
Before that one might meet with such a sight!"

"Come, ladies, 'twill be dark," cried I--"I fear. Pray let us view St. Paul's, it is so near"-- "Lord! Peter," cried the girls, "don't mind St. Paul! Sure! you're a most INCURIOUS soul-- Why--we can see the church another day; Don't be afraid--St. Paul's can't RUN AWAY."

Reader, If e'er thy bosom felt a thought SUBLIME, Drop tears of pity with the man of rhyme!

THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS.
PETER PINDAR.

Peter continueth to give great Advice, and to exhibit deep reflection --He telleth a miraculous Story.

There is a knack in doing many a thing, Which labor can not to perfection bring: Therefore, however great in your own eyes, Pray do not hints from other folks despise:

A fool on something great, at times, may stumble,
And consequently be a good adviser:
On which, forever, your wise men may fumble,
And never be a whit the wiser

Yes! I advise you, for there's wisdom in't, Never to be superior to a, hint-- The genius of each man, with keenness view-- A spark from this, or t'other, caught, May kindle, quick as thought, A glorious bonfire up in you. A question of you let me beg-- Of fam'd Columbus and his egg. Pray, have you heard? "Yes."--O, then, if you please I'll give you the two Pilgrims and the Peas.

THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS. A TRUE STORY.

A brace of sinners, for no good,
Were order'd to the Virgin Mary's shrine,
Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood,
And in a fair white wig look'd wondrous fine.

Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel, With something in their shoes much worse than gravel In short, their toes so gentle to amuse, The priest had order'd peas into their shoes:

A nostrum famous in old Popish times For purifying souls that stunk of crimes: A sort of apostolic salt, Which Popish parsons for its powers exalt, For keeping souls of sinners sweet, Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat.

The knaves set off on the same day, Peas in their shoes, to go and pray: But very diff'rent was their speed, I wot: One of the sinners gallop'd on, Swift as a bullet from a gun; The other limp'd, as if he had been shot.

One saw the Virgin soon--peccavi cried--
Had his soul white-wash'd all so clever;
Then home again he nimbly hied,
Made fit, with saints above, to live forever.

In coming back, however, let me say, He met his brother rogue about half way-- Hobbling, with out-stretch'd hands and bending knees; Damning the souls and bodies of the peas: His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat, Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet.

"How now," the light-toed, white-washed pilgrim broke
"You lazy lubber! 'Ods curse it," cried the other, "'tis no joke--
My feet, once hard as any rock,
Are now as soft as any blubber.

"Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear-- As for Loretto I shall not get there; No! to the Dev'l my sinful soul must go, For damme if I ha'nt lost ev'ry toe.

"But, brother sinner, pray explain How 'tis that you are not in pain: What pow'r hath work'd a wonder for YOUR toes: While _I_, just like a snail am crawling, Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling, While not a rascal comes to ease my woes?

"How is't that YOU can like a greyhound go, Merry, as if that naught had happen'd, burn ye?" "Why," cried the other, grinning, "you must know, That just before I ventur'd on my journey, To walk a little more at ease, I took the liberty to boil MY peas.'"

ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLDFISHES. THOMAS GRAY.

'Twas on a lofty vase's side, Where China's gayest art had dyed The azure flowers that blow, Demurest of the tabby kind, The pensive Selima, reclined, Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared; The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws, Her coat that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, She saw, and purred applause.

Still had she gaz'd, but, 'midst the Two angel forms were seen to glide, The Genii of the stream: Their scaly armor's Tyrian hue, Through richest purple, to the view Betrayed a golden gleam.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw A whisker first, and then a claw, With many an ardent wish, She stretched in vain to reach the prize; What female heart can gold despise? What Cat's averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent, Again she stretched, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between: (Malignant Fate sat by and smiled) The slippery verge her feet beguiled; She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood, She mewed to every watery god Some speedy aid to send. No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred, Nor cruel Tom or Susan heard: A fav'rite has no friend!

From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived, Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold: Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, Nor all that glistens gold.

THE RETIRED CAT.
WILLIAM COWPER.

A poet's cat, sedate and grave As poet well could wish to have, Was much addicted to inquire For nooks to which she might retire, And where, secure as mouse in chink, She might repose, or sit and think. I know not where she caught the trick; Nature perhaps herself had cast her In such a mold PHILOSOPHIQUE, Or else she learned it of her master. Sometimes ascending, debonair, An apple-tree, or lofty pear, Lodged with convenience in the fork, She watched the gardener at his work; Sometimes her ease and solace sought In an old empty watering-pot, There wanting nothing, save a fan, To seem some nymph in her sedan, Appareled in exactest sort, And ready to be borne to court.

But love of change it seems has place Not only in our wiser race; Cats also feel, as well as we, That passion's force, and so did she. Her climbing, she began to find, Exposed her too much to the wind, And the old utensil of tin Was cold and comfortless within: She therefore wished, instead of those, Some place of more serene repose, Where neither cold might come, nor air Too rudely wanton in her hair, And sought it in the likeliest mode Within her master's snug abode.

A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined With linen of the softest kind, With such as merchants introduce From India, for the ladies' use; A drawer, impending o'er the rest, Half open, in the topmost chest, Of depth enough, and none to spare, Invited her to slumber there; Puss with delight beyond expression, Surveyed the scene and took possession Recumbent at her ease, ere long, And lulled by her own humdrum song, She left the cares of life behind, And slept as she would sleep her last, When in came, housewifely inclined, The chambermaid, and shut it fast, By no malignity impelled, But all unconscious whom it held.

Awakened by the shock (cried puss) "Was ever cat attended thus! The open drawer was left, I see, Merely to prove a nest for me, For soon as I was well composed, Then came the maid, and it was closed. How smooth those 'kerchiefs, and how sweet Oh what a delicate retreat! I will resign myself to rest Till Sol declining in the west, Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, Susan will come, and let me out."

The evening came, the sun descended, And puss remained still unattended. The night rolled tardily away (With her indeed 'twas never day), The sprightly morn her course renewed, The evening gray again ensued, And puss came into mind no more Than if entombed the day before; With hunger pinched, and pinched for room, She now presaged approaching doom. Nor slept a single wink, nor purred, Conscious of jeopardy incurred.

That night, by chance, the poet, watching, Heard an inexplicable scratching; His noble heart went pit-a-pat, And to himself he said--"What's that?" He drew the curtain at his side, And forth he peeped, but nothing spied. Yet, by his ear directed, guessed Something imprisoned in the chest; And, doubtful what, with prudent care Resolved it should continue there. At length a voice which well he knew, A long and melancholy mew, Saluting his poetic ears, Consoled him, and dispelled his fears; He left his bed, he trod the floor, He 'gan in haste the drawers explore, The lowest first, and without stop The next in order to the top. For 'tis a truth well know to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it come to light, In every cranny but the right. Forth skipped the cat, not now replete As erst with airy self-conceit, Nor in her own fond comprehension, A theme for all the world's attention, But modest, sober, cured of all Her notions hyperbolical, And wishing for a place of rest, Any thing rather than a chest. Then stepped the poet into bed With this reflection in his head:

MORAL.

Beware of too sublime a sense Of your own worth and consequence. The man who dreams himself so great, And his importance of such weight, That all around in all that's done Must move and act for him alone, Will learn in school of tribulation The folly of his expectation.

SAYING NOT MEANING.
WILLIAM BASIL WAKE.

Two gentlemen their appetite had fed, When opening his toothpick-case, one said, "It was not until lately that I knew That anchovies on terra firma grew. "Grow!" cried the other, "yes, they GROW, indeed, Like other fish, but not upon the land; You might as well say grapes grow on a reed, Or in the Strand!"

"Why, sir," returned the irritated other,
"My brother,
When at Calcutta
Beheld them bona fide growing;
He wouldn't utter
A lie for love or money, sir; so in
This matter you are thoroughly mistaken."
"Nonsense, sir! nonsense! I can give no credit
To the assertion--none e'er saw or read it;
Your brother, like his evidence, should be shaken."

"Be shaken, sir! let me observe, you are Perverse--in short--" "Sir," said the other, sucking his cigar, And then his port-- "If you will say impossibles are true, You may affirm just any thing you please-- That swans are quadrupeds, and lions blue, And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese! Only you must not, FORCE me to believe What's propagated merely to deceive."

"Then you force me to say, sir, you're a fool,"
Return'd the bragger.
Language like this no man can suffer cool:
It made the listener stagger;
So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied,
"The traveler LIED
Who had the impudence to tell it you;"
"Zounds! then d'ye mean to swear before my face
That anchovies DON'T grow like cloves and mace?"
"I DO!"

Disputants often after hot debates Leave the contention as they found it--bone, And take to duelling or thumping tetes; Thinking by strength of artery to atone For strength of argument; and he who winces From force of words, with force of arms convinces!

With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint,
Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding,
Our friends advanced; and now portentous loading
(Their hearts already loaded) serv'd to show
It might be better they shook hands--but no;
When each opines himself, though frighten'd, right
Each is, in courtesy, oblig'd to fight!
And they DID fight: from six full measured paces
The unbeliever pulled his trigger first;
And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces,
The whizzing lead had whizz'd its very worst,
Ran up, and with a DUELISTIC fear
(His ire evanishing like morning vapors),
Found nim possess'd of one remaining ear,
Who in a manner sudden and uncouth,
Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth;
For while the surgeon was applying lint,
He, wriggling, cried--"The deuce is in't--Sir! I MEANT--CAPERS!"

JULIA.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

--medio de fonte leporum
Surgit amari aliquid.--Lucret.

Julia was blest with beauty, wit, and grace: Small poets loved to sing her blooming face. Before her altars, lo! a numerous train Preferr'd their vows; yet all preferr'd in vain. Till charming Florio, born to conquer, came, And touch'd the fair one with an equal flame. The flame she felt, and ill could she conceal What every look and action would reveal. With boldness then, which seldom fails to move, He pleads the cause of marriage and of love; The course of hymeneal joys he rounds, The fair one's eyes dance pleasure at the sounds. Naught now remain'd but "Noes"--how little meant-- And the sweet coyness that endears consent. The youth upon his knees enraptured fell:-- The strange misfortune, oh! what words can tell? Tell! ye neglected sylphs! who lap-dogs guard, Why snatch'd ye not away your precious ward? Why suffer'd ye the lover's weight to fall On the ill-fated neck of much-loved Ball? The favorite on his mistress casts his eyes, Gives a melancholy howl, and--dies! Sacred his ashes lie, and long his rest! Anger and grief divide poor Julia's breast. Her eyes she fix'd on guilty Morio first, On him the storm of angry grief must burst. That storm he fled:--he woos a kinder fair, Whose fond affections no dear puppies share. 'Twere vain to tell how Julia pined away;-- Unhappy fair, that in one luckless day (From future almanacs the day be cross'd!) At once her lover and her lap-dog lost!

A COCK AND HEN STORY.
ROBERT SOUTHEY