Poems; chiefly Tales

Preface

. PERHAPS there is no instance upon record of a man like me, upwards of eighty, enlisting among the Poets ; and, for the first time, handing to the world a volume of Verse. I may justly be called " A short-lived Poet." Like my brethren of rhyme, I wish to amuse, but doubt of success. A man may wish, but not expect. I am not solicitous after profit; but should be sorry if another suffered by my pen. I do not attempt those flights of modern Poetry which demand the whole attention to understand, and often oblige the Reader to recede a few lines to recover the meaning. Here sense is lost in sub limity ! Nay, I have sometimes doubted whether the matter was understood by any except the a 3 writer, VI writer. This brings to my mind the remark made upon a school-master — "That he wrote two " hands; one of them none could read but him " self, and the other was even beyond his own 44 ability."

My Poems, like myself, are in the stile of the last generation. They boast no language but the intelligent ; neither will the tale admit of any other. They are remarks upon real life, charac ter, and incident. If the modern flowers of rhetoric do not flourish here, I have substituted something preferable — Truth. I believe every one of the tales is founded on fact. Many of them fell under my own eye. The history of my political life is rather singu lar. Love and Rhyme often start together in the career of youth ; I held both in 1747. One half continued till 1752. During that period I com posed a volume of Poems, which rested upon the shelf, and were scarcely ever opened, for thirty nine years. Nor did I write one Poem in die long interval of forty. In In the fatal year 1791, when the mad rioters, encouraged by those who ought to have acted otherwise, found infinite pleasure in destroying more than ten thousand pounds worth of my pro perty, my poor Poems perished in the flames.

If they did not feel, their author did. This loss, but chiefly withdrawing from public business, awoke the Muse, after sleeping a long age. A few of the pieces in the beginning, dated 1752, which remained upon memory, I have in serted. Though the work should not be so fortunate as to pay the bookseller, or please the reader, it has paid me; for I consider their fabrication among the happiest moments of my life. CONTENTS. 45. The CONTENTS. THE Poetical Club, 1. To a Lady with her Pocket Book, 3 The frowning Beauty, 4. To a Friend going into the Ministry, 5. Church-and-King-Club, 7. To the corpulent Counsellor W , 9. Lord Chesterfield and the Farmer's Wife, 11. ' and the Tinker, 17 The Sermon, 24. The Ant, 52. The attentive Shepherd, 37. King Edgar and the Servant Girl, 38. To Miss P , whose Lip was stung by a Wasp, The enlightened Priest, 46.

Justice, 50. The Pleasures of Matrimony, 59. The Tobacconist, 35. The Milkman, 98. The Wig, 109. John Bolders, 121, The Coach Horses, 130. The Parson in Pickle, 136 a X TheCobler, 147- ABC, 164. The silent Priest, 175. A Sermon on the Head-dress of the Ladies, 177. The Jack Daw, 179. The Jealous Head, 211. The happy Family, 229. The Wager, 237. The Double Wedding, 246. Mutation, 255. Election Ale, 258. Health, 269. Reconciliation, 271. The Parish Wedding, 282. The Petort, 289. Long Breeches, 290. The True Lover's Knot, 29 1- The Pen, 300. Receipt to make a Methodist, 303. Tour to Scotland, 304. To a new-married Man, 311. The Cottager, 315. The Valentine, 316. Triumvirate, 320. The Button, 323. A Precedent, 325. The Cuckold, 325. Happiness Happiness, 328. The Lover, 336, The Auctioneer, 338.

The Way to rule a Village, 339. The State of Matrimony, 340. The Profits of the Field, 341. The Grenadier, 343. The Way to bilk a Constable, 350. Robin Redbreast, 351. The Coachman's Fall, 35!. The Way to Church, 360. To Dr. Clievasse, 361. The Leicestershire Parson, 3G2. The spotted Coat, 363. The Birth-day, 365. Receipt to make a Priest, 368. Courtship, 372. The triple Courtship, 379. The Art of Speaking, 383. The timid Lover, 386. The Wedding Night, 388. Preferment, 390. Nancy's Courtship, 399. Hay-making, 402. The impatient Lass, 404. The Way of doing Penance, 405. Thirteen Wishes, 407. Penmain * • Penmain Mawr, 410. A Day, 410. Maxims, 416. Septennial Stages of Life, 421. The Way to supply the Navy with Liquor, 427. Three Eyes, 42S. To the Memory of Sarah Cock, 428. POEMS. Made POEMS, &c THE POETICAL CLUB, Who met at the Cock, spoke in rhyme, and pasted their Productions on the Wall. s LUTO, offended with a sprite, Discharged from the realms of night, (So masters turn away from school The turbulent they cannot rule.)

Her impship, in a wretched plight, Patroll'dthe streets from morn till night ; Then curl'd her hair, adorn'd her spruce, And took the lovely name of Muse ; Went to the Cock in quest of sport, Where powerful Dulness keeps her court ; There, seated in a one-arm'd chair, Dissolv'd herself in empty air, Flew to the caverns of each brain, Which drowsy floods of life contain ; n » 1752, TO Made the slow currents change their tide, And through poetic channels glide : Silence was banish' d in disgrace, And tumult overflow'd the place. Thev try to spin harmonious verse, And make the voc;d walls rehearse. Thrice happy Bards, with genius small, Can animate a stupid wall ! O fertile wall, in barren times, Can bear a heavy crop of rhimes. True genius leads to certain fame, But, since her aid you can't attain, To m Jve your feeble names endure, A lump of marble each procure, When shap'd a busto, high in air Place it nine feet in Westminster, This, like the sun, for ages seen, Will keep your laurels ever green.

A close connection will appear 'Twixt marble heads, and those you wear. Pond'rous they are, by all allow'd, But equall'd by the rhiming crowd ; For, when they 're weigh'd in scales together Yours will be lighter than a feather. One to the other is a sequel, Beciiu e the brains of both are equal ; Thev, dull, and thick, and cold, 'tis true, And this is just the case with you. With till [f TO A LADY, a Pocket Book, which she refuses to accept something was written in it. YOUR word's obey'd ; nay, e'en your look Who can withstand ? — Receive the book Pale as the morn ere ting'd with red, But empty, as you know whose head To sounding fame has no pretence, Spotless as virgin innocence. Must it be fill'd with dying strains ? The sighs of nymphs, the vows of swains ? With scandal, dress, or China ware, Chief objects of a lady's care ?

Or, with Beau phrase, not understood, As, vastly little, devilish good ; With polish'd rubs, that current flow, Though antient fifty years ago ; A list of lovers, or of rhimes, A cure for Pug, — or Betty's crimes ? Must it contain tea-table heads, Or crippled verse, or silken shreds ? Who can its real worth declare When fill'd with such important ware < Too few its pages to display The tattle of a single day ; B <3 With And yet the size is much too large If these contents are ah its charge. If wjth such trump' ry it must shine, Let not a soul e'er read a line ; "swill issue in your own disgrace, You '11 lose the hearts gain'd by your face. But, if true merit you place there, You cannot siii it in a year. But this advantage then vou '11 spy, 'Twill pleasure give to ev'ry eye ; Who sees your face receives a dart, Who sees your book will lose his heart.

THE FROWNING BEAUTY. I.etrench, ye fair ones, ev'ry smile, And view Belinda's face awhile ; A wint'ry aspect see her wear, And yet, what Cupids revel there ! Though not one look, my heart to warm Yet she has every power to charm. What though no chearinp beams are seen, Love springs in me an ever-c-recn. With eager haste I View her eyes, And see a thousand beauties rise ; Grac'd with a thousand pleasing wiles, Surpassing every charmer's smiles* As frowns succeed, smile not, mv fair j Sol's dazzling ray, what eye can bear ? But let me still thy beauties trace, Behold the frown with every grace. Though each gay charmer I pursue, My heart, still constant, points to you ; The steel may round the compass roll, But, trembling, centres near the pole. 1752. TO A FRIEND GOING INTO THE MINISTRY; Through five years tedious space I view Thee, mantled o'er with sable hue; In lofty closet, pent on high, As if approaching near the sky : Here lie your classics variorum, And their Synopsis criticorum ; There Dr. Clark, whom none speaks harm on, From him, in need, purloin a sermon.

With B 1752. THE With Latin, you the flock may take in, Which far surpasses stocking-making. ' When walking spruce along the street What eyes you draw ! what bows you meet t Future directions seem far better, With Reverend fronting every letter. Then, for expressions delicate, The tribe Levitic, imitate Thus, when you in the pulpit stand, Adorn' d with powder'd wig and band. When gloves are in the pocket thrusted, And stud and wristband both adjusted, Your handkerchief and sermon fixt, " Chapter the fourth, and verse the sixth, " My general heads" — a hem, " are two — " The method which I shall pursue — " Beloved — Now to be more plain — " If time allows — but now again — " The doctrine — brethren — come we next " Then — in a word — to close my text — " The application — use — I say — " Consider what you've heard." — This way You'll gain the wond'ring hearers praise, Thus amply vers'd in pulpit phraise.

THE CHURCH^AND.KING CLUB j OR, THE STATE OF RELIGION IN BIRMINGHAM AT THE RIOTS IN 1791. The Catholics steady, and truly devout, Are so hemm'd in by Parsons they cannot get out; They need not be anxious their own eyes to use, For the Priest will see for them as long as they chuse. The keen Sons of Jacob appear rather low, Their wealth and their honest}- are but so, so ; Perfection, they plead, as from Abraham descended, So 'tis not worth their notice to try to be mended ; His faith's a soft pillow, without variation, On which thev deposit their future salvation. The Quakers abundant in riches are grown, And meddle with no man's affairs but their own > The}- pay such attention to act as they ought, We should almost declare, they were men without fault. Indepcndants and Baptists, but let them alone, They 're peaceable people, and quarrel with none.

A Church without blemish is not among men ; Then don't pry too deep, and you '11 find none in them. The Methodists, numerous, herd altogether, And keep their religion quite dry from the weather ; B 4 Ini n jrin? improving in morals, good order, and plight ; Were the rioters Methodists, all had been right. The props of Jerusalem here a place find, From Emanuel Swedenborg's love to mankind. May the props never moulder, nor power on them trample. Till the rest of the Churches pursue their example ! The poor Presbyterians to church can't resort, For cruelty left them no church to support ; The children of Satan, let loose, did fire bring, And made a burnt-offering to Church, and to King. Down tumbled their temples, instructions, and praise, While Church-and-the-King's-men rejoie'd at the blaze.

The religion of Meekness, which bids us be quiet, Is the purest religion for — making a riot. One class of the people, and hence spring our boasts, Are so fond of divine things, they drink them in toasts. Their church's support comes from eating and drinking, A Church-and-a-King-club prevents her from sinking ; She floats quite secure, on a butt of bright claret, She '11 ne'er find the bottom — they '11 find it, ne'er fear it. The Church-and-King-Club-Men are votaries able, Their devotions ascend with the snaoak of the table ; The more they '11 abound, as good eating grows plenty, And nothing disturbs like a Lottie that 's empty : They 're models of meekness, — what men can be more When perfectly tipsy, humbly lie on the floor ! for the good of religion, their appetites cram, And support Church and King with fervent G D Nov. 12, 1792, TO TO inn -doors, One THE CORPULENT COUNSELLOR W- On his being compared to Bacchus Comparisons are foolish stuff, When they are found untrue ; There 's no two things are farther off, i Than Bacchus is from you.

Curiously wrought in wood, or stone, And dress'd in smiles, his face, While yours, as ev'ry one must own, Smiles in eternal brass. . In fable, I '11 no verse equip, But sober truth will tell ye ; In circumf'rence you far outstrip The God of wond'rous belly. In that great swell, above your fobs, A swell outdone by few, If empty, then a dozen gods Might dance a jig or two. His fees pass under him, through the Tours issue from a flaw, He kindly casts an eye within doors, You, to a Court of Law. We'll One tongue in silence may be laid, Another talk by fits, But yours wag by the hour, 'tis said, While Bacchus silent sits. He ne'er, in all his days, maintain'd A thing that was not true ; Though both are by the bar sustain'd ; Can this be said of you ? Besides his grapes, a wreath divine His sacred temples bound ; He rides triumphant on a sign, Toil waddle on the ground.

Half down, half up, which of the two In kindnesses surpass ; You hack the Presbyterians through, He offers them a glass. His bottle makes his clients gay By dissipating trouble ; But yours, their vitals suck'd away, Perceive their cales are double. Naked, he braves th' inclement skies, And overlooks the town, While you, in vain, attempt to rise, And reach a silken gown. 1792. WIFE Who We '11 now conclude, as we begun, A subject that allures ; His bauble rests upon his tun, Your tun rests upon yours. Dec. 29 LORD CHESTERFIELD and the FARMER'S The middling, great, and little folk, Express a fondness tor a joke ; And what man can a joke gain-say, When he, who gives it, means to pay ? My rising Muse shall, now and then, Record the acts of Noble Men. Whoe'er on human worth refines, And glorious in the Senate shines ; I '11 never interrupt his course, He shall rise higher in my verse : Let Stanhope then my verse engage, A Stanhope shall adorn my page ; For he, while I his fame make known, Will rather tend to swell my own.

An Earl of Chesterfield there were At Bretby Hall, in Derbyshire, >» Her Who ate and drank, who slept and woke, Soon after Charles had left the oak ; Plain was bis person to the scan, As any farmer, or his man ; While others shone in wig and lace^ He figur'd in a homely case : Flis manners, too, were like his dressy A compliment could scarce express, For what mouth the word Sir can spare, Except it first shall enter there ? He seldom made a courtly bow, Nay, we much doubt, if he knew how. The morning fine, sweet sung the larks He strcll'd about in Bretby park ; Whoever saw him would not guess An Earl was hid in such a dress ; The passenger, from town to town, Suppos'd he saw a brother clown, Was neither struck with joy or sorrow, But gave a nod, or said, " Good morrow, Along the foot-path, he descry'd A woman ; he attentive ey'd Her age : we 're not exactly told, But she was far from beino; old, Seem'd as belonging' to a farm, A basket hung upon her arm ; A large straw hat her temples bind, Deck'd with straw ornaments behind ; »f Her Her ap*on, and her stockings too, With handkerchief, were clean and blue j What colours might her garters show My Lord himself did not yet know ; For to a husband should be known 1 he colours there, and him ajone ; Her gown, of honse'ife's stuff was trimm'd, ; And carefully behind was pinn'd. " How far away, Dame ?" savs the Peer. 44 To market, with my butter, here."

" How manv pounds have you to sell ? f4 And what 's the price ? — I like it well." " I've thirty j and its very nice ; " The weight is l.irge ; a groat's the price." " Give me the basket, as you 're willing, " I'll buy the whole. — So here's te : shilling. She seem'd surpriz'd, but yet obey'd ? Such customers slie seldom had. But, what was her astonishment, Wiien to a large oak-tree he went, And on the root, completely round, He slamm'd t;ie butter, pound by pound. So great a tree, all England through, Had never in May butter grew. In silence she beheld the wrong, Because amazement tied her tongue ; During seven minutes looking on The profits of a week were gone. ** What Her powers within were sorely heated To see such butter rudely treated ; More waste she saw, in that short strife, Than she 'd committed all her life.

The neat devices on each pound' Were sticking to the bark around, Which many figures made, no doubt, But then it blotted all her's out. The basket, emptied of its ware, He then return'd, with easy air ; While she the martyr'd butter mourn'd, He march'd away, quite unconcern'd. She, too, went back, my Lord could see, But ey'd the man, and ey'd the tree ; Hurt to see butter in that plight, She wish'd the fellow out of sight ; While he, suspecting her design, Rcsolv'd her plot to countermine. The moment out of view was he, She hasten'd to the butter'd tree ; Began the work of separating The clean and foul, for profit-making : A work she always counted good, Which she from childhood understood. " The best would serve for market still, " The rest would serve to greese a wheel." But ere she could the butter pack, Lord Chesterfield was at her back.

He'fl " What right have you, my Dame," sa}'s he, "/To anv thing about the tree ? " To take that property 's a crime, " I bought, and paid you at the time ; " The error lies with you alone " For taking what is not your own." Says she, " 'Tis pity to abuse " Whatever we can bring in use ; *' Some trifling purpose I shall try " To put it to." " And so shall I," Reply' d the Earl, without a frown, And instantly he threw her down. Pull'd up her petticoats behind, Regardless both of wet and wind, When on her butt-eud, slamm'd as free The butter, as he 'J done the tree. The whole applied, with dext'rous art, Instantly swell' d her nether part ; ' She look'd, for all the world, as plump As if she'd put on a cork rump. The fashion chang'd of female kind, Some swell before, but she b.iund. 41 There, Goody, as you 're son J of gains, " Take that large plaister for your pains,' Then, in a moment, turn'd to go, Regardless whether watch'd or no. A curious figure you might spy, A woman, butter'd hail-way high. 9, 1793 LORD He 's wisdom to a large amount, Who turns misfortunes to account ; Like bees, who follow nature's law, Can sweetness from rank poison draw.

This fine accomplishment I name, Was easy to the farmer's dame ; She long the powers had understood, From evil of substracting good. Her fingers did, without delay, Rake all the .parts where profit lay ; Then knife applied, to hill and gutter, With which the buyer tastes the butter ; Moulded it fresh, both neat and round ; Her eye could nearly guess a pound. Well pleas'd it was but little worse, To Burton market bent her course, And sold her ware, with profit more Than ever she had done before. Of thirty pounds, but five were wasted ; Her pen-knife neither smelt nor tasted ; Nor did the buyer once discern 'Twas gather'd from the lower churn. June LORD CHESTERFIELD and the TINKER. The lowest class of men may be Rais'd to stale of high degree, Their blackness gone, such brightness shone, That self by self is scarcely known.

When we are travelling abroad, We cannot always chuse our road ; But prudent men will pick the best, And cautiously avoid the rest ; '.' But, should a dirty slough appear ;" " What then ?" he never plac'd it there. All that is ever done by man Is to tread lightly as he can ; Thus Poets, with a just decorum, Must take the road which lies before 'em. My road, but take it not amiss, Is not so clean as I could wish ; But rough, or smooth, or dark, or clear, The Muse resolves to send me there ; And no reluctance must be se£n, I 've forty years a rebel been. Which, Reader, will you most decry, A dirty truth, or polish'd lie ? Leave C For, Leave it to me, and never fear, I '11 not offend the nicest ear. The same Lord Chesterfield I sing, Who dealt in butter in the spring. He rose, he dress'd, went out of door, The lark, and morning, as before ; The lawns, the hills, the clumps, were dress's And Summer wore a lovely vest ; Nay, turn his eyes which way he will, He was the only thing dress'd ill.

The park most beautifully shone, 'Twas all delight 'twas all his own. At no great distance, with his load, A Tinker mov'd along the road ; He bent his back, he dropt a heap, Which nature would not let him keep. My Lord approach'd, in angry mood, Before the Tinker 'd made all good ; Or, rather, seem'd in wrath to run, That he might introduce some fun. *' What right have you, you dirty hound, " With your vile filth, to daub the ground ? *' This instant take it in your hand, 44 And clean convey it off the land." Feeling reduc'd by what had pass'd, The son of Vulcan stood aehast ; He neither seem'd inclin'd to obey, Nor yet attempted much to say ; And For, when surpriz'd in situations, Rather beneath our usual stations, The mind feels little, to its cost Its wonted dignity is lost. Although his hands no whiteness boasted, They were not with such stuff accosted ; But, if about that wbrk he set, Thev would become more dirty yet.

Much altercation now ensued, And all that altercation rude. The Earl grewhigher still, and higher, 'Till he blew up the Tinker's fire ; So that, my friend, had you been there, You would have thought both tinkers were^ The colour of each face, 'tis true, Were equally of swarthy hue ; For Stanhopes do, in ev'ry case, Hold fairer intelleets than face ; And tink'rish, to declare I 'm loath, The polish'd manners were of both. The language us'd on either side I think myself oblig'd to hide ; For decency won 't let me speak, Nor faithfulness rtiy promise break. The Tinker made so bold a stand, He seem'd to have the upper hand ; With doubled fist began to stammer, A fist as big as Vulcan's hammer, C The And just the colour, seem'd to show The strongest argument we know, «c That if he did not change his note, " He 'd ram the bolus down his throat."

My Lord now suffer'd a defeat, Unus'd, at second-hand, to eat ; For having no auxiliary near, He was not wholly without fear ; So spoke less loud ; parley'd a while ; Stood at a distance ; forc'd a smile ; And told the man of black, " that he, " With servants, at the hall, was free j " That if he would attend him there " Was sure to find the best of cheer." He took the tinker, without cost, To eat acid drink, full what he 'd lost. What Tinker would not wish to cease A war, when offer'd such a peace ? He order'd meat, he order'd drink, And, to the servants, tipp'd the wink, Who 'tic'd him to a room behind, " Where he a charming tap should find." Yet he no liquor could see there But what was weaker than small-beer ; For all the vessels he beheld Was a vast tub, with water fill'd. The servants told him to untrim, And let them see if he could swim.

The The Tinker turn'd a little souer, But there's no standing against power. Then, with main strength, they forc'd him in, Which took him fully to the chin. He swore, and threaten'd, when he spoke, But they alone enjoy'd the joke ; To see the Tinker stand in prim, They all laugh'd heartily, but him. It seem'd to them a curious matter, A dark head rising; from the water. He could not bow. I 'm pretty clear, Even had George the Third been there ; Nor bend his back in light or dark, As he 'd just done within the park. While thev enjoy'd the pleasing sight, Viewing the Tinker bolt upright, His Lordship enter'd, full of wrath, And bluster'd like the man of Gat h. With hasty step, with savage eye, And naked sword, which he rais'd high, V. Where is the wretch, which quarrels foment, " I '11 strike his head off in a moment j" And, while the vengeful spirits flow, Aim'd a decapitating blow, Which the poor Tinker, to avoid, Instantly sunk beneath the tide.

His note was alter'd from before, For now he rather pray'd than swore. C Nay, The Earl he struck, and struck amain, The Tinker dipt, and dipt again ; Whenever Stanhope aim'd a blow, The ft ighten'd Tinker sunk below. Who would not sink as deep to th' full, When its to save his only skull ? By risingup, and diving down, Th' afflicted man began to drown. My Lord's sham wrath began to cool ; A man too long may play the fool. He srave his folks another nod, Which was completely understood ; They drew him forth, without a laugh, For all agreed he 'd div'd enough. The Tinker, too, believ'd the same, As clear as any one of them. A sight, now curious to be seen, They stripp'd the Tinker to the skin, (But all descriptions I shall wave, That I my former word may save) And terminating all dispute, They cloth'd him well from head to foot 5 So gaily he appear'd to view, That .now himself he hardly knew.

When he'd survey'd his dress awhile, Could not repress the rising smile ; For, should he meet a stranger now, He almost merited a bow ; > THE Nay, not one thing could cause the lack Except the budget on his back. He 'd thump, in this luxurious case, A kettle, with a double grace ; And, whether finish' d rough or nice, Would bring him in a better price. No soul had seen, for this long while, So fine a Tinker mount a stile. His belly fill'd, his budget plac'd, A gift, in cash, his pocket grac'd. He now prepar'd to march away, And shine upon a summer's day. But now reflection call'd to mind The dang'rous scene he 'd left behind. He rather wish'd a man would dub him Knight of the hammer, than to tub him. In casks of water there 's no beauty ; He lik'd the pay, but not the duty ; And, as on dry land he 'd remain, Was cautious where he bent again.

Jan. 11. 1793. C * The THE SERMON. In spite of all the rules you can On men bestow — he still is man ; For who can, by a human feat, Divest the sun of light and heat ! Why may n't a Priest, for once, appear, Better than priests in common are ! A faithful shepherd out I'll trim, Who loy'd his flock — his flock lov'd him. By penetration, he could tell The art of spiritual ruling well ; That mode of ruling ne'er should cease Which has its origin in peace. The parts sublime of priesthood knew, And ev'ry part he brought to view ; Kept up his visits in rotation, Knew where to find the best potation ; Knew when the jack would turn and rest, And where the meat was roasted best. His judgment was exceeding clear, In strength and quantity of beer ; Could tell what oysters, and what ale, Were needful for a full regale.

If with the better sort he dine, He well knew how to praise the wine ; Should The compliment was sure to pass, And introduce another glass. Could praise the girl, and stroke the boy, Which always gives the parent joy ; For ev'ry mother fancies well Her child's a perfect nonpareil ; Therefore exerted all his power In commendations by the hour. A minister his fate would bless, In finding all this happiness; For how can he be reckon'd poor, Supported by the pantry door ; Nor need he ever fear mishap, When to assistance comes the tap. Our philosophic Parson thought The world might soon be better taught The reason why men did not mend, The priest began at the wrong end. That fowler, who 'd success engage, Decoys the bird into his cage. If you should want your horse from grass, You 'd think your servant but an ass, And acted like a silly clown, Should he attempt to run him down.