Prince. Pray interrupt not. “By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather which stirs not.”
King. I knew not that there was one, brush it off.
Prince. “Did he suspire that light and weightless down
Perforce must move.”
King. And it hath moved already.
Prince. It hath not moved. “My gracious lord! my father!
This sleep is sound indeed, this is a sleep
[30] That from this golden rigol hath divorced
So many English –”
King. What meaneth rigol, Harry?
Prince. My liege, I know not, save that it doth enter
Most apt into the metre.
King. True, it doth.
But wherefore use a word which hath no meaning?
Prince. My lord, the word is said, for it hath passed
My lips, and all the powers upon this earth
Can not unsay it.
King. You are right, proceed.
Prince. “So many English kings; thy due from me
Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood
[40] Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, oh dear father, pay thee plenteously:
My due from thee is this imperial crown
Which as –”
King. ’Tis not your due, sir! I deny it!
Prince. It is, my liege! How dare you contradict me?
Moreover how can you, a sleeper, know
That which another doth soliloquise?
King. Your rhetoric is vain, for it is true:
Therefore no arguments can prove it false.
Prince. Yet sure it is not possible, my liege!
[50] King. Upon its possibility I dwelt not
I merely said ’twas true.
Prince. But yet, my liege,
What is not possible can never happen,
Therefore this cannot.
King. Which do you deny
That I have heard you or that I’m asleep?
Prince. That you’re asleep, my liege.
King. Go on, go on,
I see you are not fit to reason with.
Prince. “Which as immediate from thy place and blood
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, –
Which heaven itself shall guard, and put the world’s whole strength
[60] Into which giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me: this from thee
Will I to mine leave as ’tis left to me.”
Brother and Sister
“Sister, sister, go to bed,
Go and rest your weary head,”
Thus the prudent brother said.
“Do you want a battered hide
Or scratches to your face applied?”
Thus the sister calm replied.
“Sister! Do not rouse my wrath,
I’d make you into mutton broth
As easily as kill a moth.”
[10] The sister raised her beaming eye,
And looked on him indignantly,
And sternly answered “Only try!”
Off to the cook he quickly ran,
“Dear cook, pray lend a frying pan
To me, as quickly as you can.”
“And wherefore should I give it to you?”
“The reason, cook, is plain to view,
I wish to make an Irish stew.”
“What meat is in that stew to go?”
[20] “My sister’ll be the contents.” “Oh!”
“Will you lend the pan, Cook?” “NO!”
Moral: “Never stew your sister.”
The Trial of a Traitor
There was a strange being into the North,
And, oh, he was strange to see;
His chin was as broad as the Firth of Forth,
And as deep as the Zuyderzee.
Ne did his chin conceal his knees,
Ne did it show his waist;
Eke was it like a peck of peas,
In human skin encased.
The neighbours oft had viewed his chin
[10] With admiration mute;
“Soothly,” said they, “we will begin,
This man to prosecute.
“Who knows but that this chin may hide
A sword or pike or gun?
Perhaps the Government,” they cried,
“He’ll murder one by one!”
His warrant duly was enrolled,
“His body ye shall seize,
And in safe custody shall hold,
[20] Till further notices.”
The constables, a grimly pair,
Marched on their mission fell,
They took their victim by the hair,
And dragged him to his cell.
The lifelong night upon the stones
In fetters was he layn,
Whilom his sighs and eke his moans,
Betoken grief and pain.
The morrow morn the magistrate
His hair was short, though very straight,
Toward the skies it grew.
The magistrate he raised his hand,
Ne from his seat he stirred,
“Aside,” said he, “I pr’y thee stand,
Anon thou shalt be heard.”
“Soothly,” said he, “and that will I
For certes am I weard.”
He sunk into a chair hard by,
[40] And rubbed his frizzled beard.
The evidence was fairly tried,
The jury left the dock,
Upon their verdict to decide:
The key turned in the lock.
“Not guilty.” The judge forward bent,
His hair of eighty frosts,
“You see the prisoner’s innocent,
So you must pay the costs.”
Moral: “Pay the costs.”
The Juvenile Jenkins
The juvenile Jenkins was jumping with joy,
As he sported him over the sandy lea;
In his small fat hand there was many a toy
And many a cake in his mouth had he.
But the juvenile Jenkins he heard a voice
Which made him with horror thrill through and through,
“Come into the house, don’t make any noise,
For I have got a parcel for you!”
The juvenile Jenkins he entered the door,
[10] And, lo, on the table the parcel lay,
He wiped his feet on the mat on the floor,
While his mother reluctantly did say,
“Perhaps it may be a sock or a mitten:”
He covered her face with his kisses soft,
As he read the directions upon it written,
“The juvenile Jenkins.”
Moral: “A present from Croft.”
Facts
Were I to take an iron gun,
And fire it off towards the sun;
I grant ’twould reach its mark at last,
But not till many years had passed.
But should that bullet change its force,
And to the planets take its course;
’Twould never reach the nearest star,
Because it is so very far.
The Angler’s Adventure
As I was ling’ring by the river’s stream
Striving to lure the shoals of glitt’ring fish
With hook and line, methought I had a dream,
That what I caught was placed upon a dish.
No tail it had, it could not be a beast,
No wings, it could by no means be a bird.
Its flesh, when tasted, proved a luscious feast,
And yet, methought, its name I’d never heard.
Speckles it had of most enchanting hue,
[10] An unknown foreign creature it appeared;
It might be anything, perhaps a Jew,
I almost wondered it had not a beard.
While thus
I slept and dreamed, I felt a twitch
Which almost pulled my fishing rod away,
I started to my feet. Oh! what a rich
Vision of splendour in the water lay!
The creature of my dreams! most wonderful,
Struggling most violently on the hook,
I landed it with one most desperate pull,
[20] Ere that I ventured on its form to look.
In every item it did correspond
Exactly with what I in sleep had seen,
It seemed in fact almost to go beyond
The former in the grandeur of its mien.
I scarce could fancy that there did exist
A creature which in beauty so surpassed.
I pondered o’er each fish and bird and beast,
And puzzled out its name, I thought, at last.
By thinking over Buffon’s history,
[30] And Bewick’s Birds, and Isaak Walton’s book,
I seemed to penetrate the mystery,
The name of that which hung upon my hook.
Remembering Isaak Walton’s own instructions
And other anglers’ who have gone before us,
By algebra, and eke the help of fluxions,
I made it out, it was a Plesiosaurus!
“Is it not so?” I said unto my maid,
She wrung her hands as through the room she strode,
“Take it away! Oh master mine,” she said,
[40] “It is, it is, it is, it is a toad! ! ! ! ! ! ! !”
Moral: “Don’t dream.”
A Fable
The Khalif Emir sat upon his throne,
He ravaged all the land till he was left alone.
The Brahmin Mufti came his throne before,
He told a tale all full of learned lore;
“An ancient owl he sat upon a tree,
A younger owl, and he would married be,
He asked him for a boon and dowry fair,
Since he to all his property was heir.
He said, ‘My son, I have it not to give
[10] But if one year our khalif he should live
I’ll give you, dearest duck, as sure as fate
One hundred farms all waste and desolate.’ ”
He ceased his tale: he gazed upon his face,
He saw his tears come trickling down apace,
He thought upon it for an hour or more,
He did what he had never done before,
He changed his conduct, he the people bless’d
(No more he made them weep)
And the land was steeped in happiness
[20] (Full eighteen inches deep.)
Moral: “Change your conduct.”
Rules and Regulations
A short direction
To avoid dejection:
By variations
In occupations,
And prolongation
Of relaxation,
And combinations
Of recreations,
And disputations
[10] On the state of the nation
In adaptation
To your station,
By invitations
To friends and relations,
By evitation
Of amputation,
By permutation
In conversation,
And deep reflection
[20] You’ll avoid dejection.
Learn well your grammar,
And never stammer,
Write well and neatly,
And sing most sweetly,
Be enterprising,
Love early rising,
Go walks of six miles,
Have ready quick smiles.
With lightsome laughter,
[30] Soft flowing after.
Drink tea not coffee;
Never eat toffy.
Eat bread with butter.
Once more, don’t stutter.
Don’t waste your money,
Abstain from honey.
Shut doors behind you,
(Don’t slam them, mind you.)
Drink beer, not porter.
[40] Don’t enter the water,
Till to swim you are able.
Sit close to the table.
Take care of a candle.
Shut a door by the handle,
Don’t push with your shoulder
Until you are older.
Lose not a button.
Refuse cold mutton,
Starve your canaries,
[50] Believe in fairies.
If you are able,
Don’t have a stable
With any mangers.
Be rude to strangers.
Moral: “Behave.”
Clara
Solemnly sighing,
Like one a-dying,
The countess Clara on her pillow lay:
Along the pillow white,
Through the drear, drear night
Her golden ringlets thickly cluster,
“Woe’s me, woe’s me!”
Thus did she sadly say,
“My punishment is just; what can be juster?
[10] Yet am I wretched and in misery.
Why hath he left me here alone?
Why doth he thus delay his coming?
I hear no sound but the fitful drone,
Of the beetle idly humming.
I live in woe and hopeless love,
And gaze on the lovely moon above.
The yellow moon, the yellow moon!
She looketh down aloft,
And through the dark and murky night
[20] She sends her whispers soft.
With rays of light through the murky night
She makes the dark as noon,
Oh! would I were a screech owl now,
To woo the yellow moon!
“Through distant lands of pleasantness
A region of despair,
I wander on in weariness
And madly tear my hair.
Is it not so? Do not I hear his voice
[30] Ah me! My heart, rejoice!
Woe! woe! woe! woe!
My brain it reels, my heart is all on fire,
As curls the smoke from yonder village spire!”
Alas, oh! no!
Sudden she hears a thundring charger’s stamp
She hears a horseman tramp
She hears a vacant tone
Still wild and wilder grown
“Ha! ha! ha! ha!
[40] Some beer there, ho!
Who said so? hey?
Answer you baseborn churl!
One, two, three, four,
I took you for a door,
But still you are an earl!
Stay!
Fetch me the bottle, ’tis not empty yet!
What? Will you fret?
I didn’t do it, no!
[50] I’ll bet you two to three I win –
What’s that?
Fish up that fish without a fin –
Fetch me my walking stick and hat –
Who trod upon the collar of my coat?
I do not care a groat.
Fill, fill the cup –
Let’s have a sup!
Have not I rid the livelong night?
Dear me! I cannot stand upright!”
[60] At the sound of his voice, and at his tone,
The Lady Clara gave a moan,
Thus said she, “Oh!
Oh! what a go!
What did he say? I did not understand.
The gaiety, the sadness of the land
Through bounding binnocks ever flows
Like the red rose!
The smoke it curls, the chimney topples near!
The stars all quake for fear!
[70] Ah me! I make my troublous moan,
But he is wild and wilder grown,
His wrath is hot,
Oh, is it not?
“I shriek with agony’s attack,
I scream with sudden pain,
I would I were a maniac!
I would I were insane!”
Through the dim darkness of the night,
She saw a vision bright,
[80] An aged, hoary monk,
Thus he the silence broke,
And thus he spoke,
Extending forth his shrivelled hand,
It seemed a mountain, dimly grand,
That did before the Lady stand.
“Weep not for him, Lady fair!
Tear not off thy golden hair!
Do not scream, and do not faint,
Utter not thy loud complaint,
[90] He’s only swallowed too much beer,
He’ll not come to any harm,
Don’t waste time in useless fear,
And indulge not in alarm!
Go down and let thy guilty husband in.”
Thus spake the monk,
“He’s only been a drinking too much gin,
And got dead drunk!”
Moral: “Woo the yellow moon.”
A Visitor
Well, if you must know all the facts, I was merely reading a pamphlet
When what should I hear at the door but a knock as soft as a Zephyr.
I listened and heard it again, so, as loud as I possibly could call,
I shouted, “Don’t stand waiting there, come in, let me know who you are, sir!”
Mild he entered the room, with his hat in his hand and his gloves off,
And a meek gentle bow he performed, while my anger was rapidly rising,
“Who are you?” I angrily cried, and with hand on his heart as he bowed low,
In the gentlest of terms he replied, “Your servant, Sir Pokurranshuvvle.”
Didn’t I just ring the bell, “here, Tom, Dick, George, Andrew!” I bawled out,
[10] “Come here! Show this stranger the door!”
My summons they heard and they did it:
Soon to the door was he guided; once more he
Turned to me and bowed low,
And so, with his hand on his heart, with all possible meekness departed.
The Rectory Magazine (c. 1848)
Tears
For more than sixty years,
Less than a hunderd,
I lived in sighs and tears
And often wondered,
If I should ever be
An indiwiddle,
Brim-full of jollity,
Playing a fiddle.
I played a broken fife,
[10] And sung in a dull key.
Thus I remained for life
Wretched and sulky.
As It Fell Upon a Day
As I was sitting on the hearth
(And o! but a hog is fat!)
A man came hurrying up the path,
(And what care I for that?)