The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 58

"Constables came up, for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-- Stocks for a vagrant.

"I should be glad to drink your Honor's health in A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence; But for my part, I never love to meddle With politics, sir."

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

"I give thee sixpence! I will see thee d.a.m.ned first-- Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance-- Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, Spiritless outcast!"

[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.]

INSCRIPTION

FOR THE DOOR OF THE CELL IN NEWGATE, WHERE MRS. BROWNRIGG, THE 'PRENTICE-CIDE WAS CONFINED PREVIOUS TO HER EXECUTION.*

FROM THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 1797

For one long term, or e'er her trial came, Here BROWNRIGG linger'd. Often have these cells Echoed her blasphemies, as with shrill voice She screamed for fresh Geneva. Not to her Did the blithe fields of Tothill, or thy street, St. Giles, its fair varieties expand; Till at the last, in slow-drawn cart she went To execution. Dost thou ask her crime?

SHE WHIPP'D TWO FEMALE 'PRENTICES TO DEATH, AND HID THEM IN THE COAL-HOLE. For her mind Shaped strictest plans of discipline. Sage schemes!

Such as Lycurgus taught, when at the shrine Of the Orthyan G.o.ddess he bade flog The little Spartans; such as erst chastised Our Milton, when at college. For this act Did Brownrigg swing. Harsh laws! But time shall come When France shall reign, and laws be all repeal'd!

*INSCRIPTION BY SOUTHEY

FOR THE APARTMENT IN CHEPSTOW CASTLE, WHERE HENRY MARTEN, THE REGICIDE WAS IMPRISONED THIRTY YEARS.

For thirty years, secluded from mankind, Here MARTEN lingered. Often have these walls Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread He paced around his prison: not to him Did Nature's fair varieties exist; He never saw the sun's delightful beams, Save when through yon high bars he pour'd a sad And broken splendor. Dost thou ask his crime?

He had REBELL'D AGAINST THE KING, AND SAT In JUDGMENT ON HIM; for his ardent mind Shaped goodliest plans of happiness on earth, And peace and liberty. Wild dreams! but such As Plato loved; such as with holy zeal Our Milton wors.h.i.+p'd. Bless'd hopes! awhile From man withheld, even to the latter days When Christ shall come, and all things be fulfill'd.

SONG [Footnote: There is a curious circ.u.mstance connected with the composition of this song, the first five stanzas of which were written by Mr. Canning. Having been accidentally seen, previous to its publication, by Mr. Pitt, who was cognizant of the proceedings of the "Anti-Jacobin" writers, he was so amused with it that he took up a pen and composed the last stanza on the spot.]

SUNG BY ROGERO IN THE BURLESQUE PLAY OF "THE ROVER."

FROM THE ANTI-JACOBIN, 1798.

CANNING.

I.

Whene'er with haggard eyes I view This dungeon that I'm rotting in, I think of those companions true Who studied with me at the U --niversity of Gottingen-- --niversity of Gottingen.

[Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with which he wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds--]

II.

Sweet kerchief, check'd with heavenly blue, Which once my love sat knotting in!-- Alas! Matilda THEN was true!

At least I thought so at the U-- --niversity of Gottingen-- --niversity of Gottingen.

[At the repet.i.tion of this line ROGERO clanks his chains in cadence.]

III.

Barbs! Barbs! alas! how swift you flew Her neat post-wagon trotting in!

Ye bore Matilda from my view; Forlorn I languish'd at the U-- --niversity of Gottingen-- --niversity of Gottingen.

IV.

This faded form! this pallid hue!

This blood my veins is clotting in, My years are many--they were few When first I entered at the U-- --niversity of Gottingen-- --niversity of Gottingen.

V.

There first for thee my psssion grew, Sweet! sweet Matilda Pottingen!

Thou wast the daughter of my tu-- --tor, law professor at the U-- --niversity at Gottingen-- --niversity of Gottingen.

VI.

Sun, moon and thou, vain world, adieu, That kings and priests are plotting in; Here doom'd to starve on water gru-- --el, never shall I see the U-- --niversity of Gottingen-- --niversity of Gottingen.

[During the last stanza ROGERO dashes his head repeatedly against the walls of his prison; and, finally, so hard as to produce a visible contusion; he then throws himself on the floor in an agony. The curtain drops; the music still continuing to play till it is wholly fallen.]

THE AMATORY SONNETS OF ABEL SHUFFLEBOTTOM.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

I.

DELIA AT PLAY.

She held a CUP AND BALL of ivory white, LESS WHITE the ivory than her snowy hand!

Enrapt, I watched her from my secret stand, As now, intent, in INNOCENT delight, Her taper fingers twirled the giddy ball, Now tost it, following still with EAGLE SIGHT, Now on the pointed end INFIXED its fall.

Marking her sport I mused, and musing sighed.

Methought the BALL she played with was my HEART; (Alas! that sport like THAT should be her pride!) And the KEEN POINT which steadfast still she eyed Wherewith to pierce it, that was Cupid's DART; Shall I not then the cruel Fair condemn Who ON THAT DART IMPALES my BOSOM'S GEM?

II.

THE POET PROVES THE EXISTENCE OF A SOUL FROM HIS LOVE FOR DELIA.

Some have denied a soul! THEY NEVER LOVED.

Far from my Delia now by fate removed, At home, abroad, I view her everywhere: HER ONLY in the FLOOD OF NOON I see, My G.o.dDESS-MAID, my OMNIPRESENT FAIR.

FOR LOVE ANNIHILATES THE WORLD TO ME!

And when the weary SOL AROUND HIS BED CLOSES THE SABLE CURTAINS OF THE NIGHT, SUN OF MY SLUMBERS, on my dazzled sight She s.h.i.+nes confest. When EVERY SOUND IS DEAD, The SPIRIT OF HER VOICE comes then to ROLL The surge of music o'er my wavy brain.

Far, far from her my BODY drags its chain, But sure with Delia I EXIST A SOUL!

III.

THE POET EXPRESSES HIS FEELINGS RESPECTING A PORTRAIT IN DELIA'S PARLOR.

I would I were that portly gentleman With gold-laced hat and golden-headed cane, Who hangs in Delia's parlor! For whene'er From book or needlework her looks arise, On him CONVERGE THE SUN-BEAMS OF HER EYES, And he UNBLAMED may gaze upon MY FAIR, And oft MY FAIR his FAVORED form surveys.

O HAPPY PICTURE! still on HER to gaze; I envy him! and jealous fear alarms, Lest the STRONG GLANCE of those DIVINEST charms WARM HIM TO LIFE, as in the ancient days, When MARBLE MELTED in Pygmalion's arms.

I would I were that portly gentleman, With gold-laced hat and golden-headed cane!

THE LOVE ELEGIES OF ABEL SHUFFLEBOTTOM.