The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 9

JOHN G. SAXE Dum tacent CLAMant

Inglorious friend! most confident I am Thy life is one of very little ease; Albeit men mock thee with their similes And prate of being "happy as a clam!"

What though thy sh.e.l.l protects thy fragile head From the sharp bailiffs of the briny sea?

Thy valves are, sure, no safety-valves to thee, While rakes are free to desecrate thy bed, And bear thee off--as foemen take their spoil-- Far from thy friends and family to roam; Forced, like a Hessian, from thy native home, To meet destruction in a foreign broil!

Though thou art tender, yet thy humble bard Declares, O clam! thy case is shocking hard!

VENUS OF THE NEEDLE.

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

O Maryanne, you pretty girl, Intent on silky labor, Of sempstresses the pink and pearl, Excuse a peeping neighbor!

Those eyes, forever drooping, give The long brown lashes rarely; But violets in the shadows live,-- For once unvail them fairly.

Hast thou not lent that flounce enough Of looks so long and earnest?

Lo, here's more "penetrable stuff,"

To which thou never turnest.

Ye graceful fingers, deftly sped!

How slender, and how nimble!

O might I wind their skeins of thread, Or but pick up their thimble!

How blest the youth whom love shall bring, And happy stars embolden, To change the dome into a ring, The silver into golden!

Who'll steal some morning to her side To take her finger's measure, While Maryanne pretends to chide, And blushes deep with pleasure.

Who'll watch her sew her wedding-gown, Well conscious that it IS hers, Who'll glean a tress, without a frown, With those so ready scissors.

Who'll taste those ripenings of the south, The fragrant and delicious-- Don't put the pins into your mouth, O Maryanne, my precious!

I almost wish it were my trust To teach how shocking that is; I wish I had not, as I must, To quit this tempting lattice.

Sure aim takes Cupid, fluttering foe, Across a street so narrow; A thread of silk to string his bow, A needle for his arrow!

NARRATIVE

TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE [OLD BALLAD, QUOTED BY SHAKSPEARE, IN OTh.e.l.lO.]

PERCY RELIQUES

This winters weather itt waxeth cold, And frost doth freese on every hill, And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold, That all our cattell are like to spill; Bell, my wiffe, who loves noe strife, Shee sayd unto me quietlye, Rise up, and save cow c.u.mbockes liffe, Man, put thine old cloake about thee.

HE.

O Bell, why dost thou flyte and scorne?

Thou kenst my cloak is very thin: Itt is soe bare and overworne A cricke he theron cannot renn: Then Ile no longer borrowe nor lend, For once Ile new appareld bee, To-morrow Ile to towne and spend, For Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE.

Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe, Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle, She has helpt us to b.u.t.ter and cheese, I trow And other things shee will not fayle; I wold be loth to see her pine, Good husband councell take of mee, It is not for us to go soe fine, Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

HE.

My cloake it was a very good cloake Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare, But now it is not worth a groat; I have had it four and forty yeere; Sometime itt was of cloth in graine, 'Tis now but a sigh clout as you may see.

It will neither hold out winde nor raine; And Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE.

It is four and fortye yeeres agoe Since the one of us the other did ken, And we have had betwixt us towe Of children either nine or ten; Wee have brought them up to women and men; In the feare of G.o.d I trow they bee; And why wilt thou thyselfe misken?

Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

HE.

O Bell, my wiffe, why dost thou floute!

Now is nowe, and then was then: Seeke now all the world throughout, Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen.

They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or gray, Soe far above their owne degree: Once in my life Ile doe as they, For Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE.

King Stephen was a worthy peere, His breeches cost him but a crowne, He held them sixpence all too deere; Therefore he calld the taylor Lowne.

He was a wight of high renowne, And thouse but of a low degree: Itt's pride that putts this countrye downe, Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

HE.

"Bell, my wife, she loves not strife, Yet she will lead me if she can; And oft, to live a quiet life, I am forced to yield, though Ime good-man;"

Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape, Unlesse he first gave oer the plea: As wee began wee now will leave, And Ile take mine old cloake about mee.

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT.

[AN OLD ENGLISH BALLAD--LONG VERY POPULAR.]

PERCY RELIQUES

An ancient story Ile tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called King John; And he ruled England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.

And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye; How for his house-keeping, and high renowne, They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say, The abbot kept in his house every day; And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, Thou keepest a farre better house than mee, And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.

My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne, I never spend nothing but what is my owne; And I trust your grace will doe me no deere For spending of my owne true-gotten geere.

Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is high And now for the same thou needest must dye; Por except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead, With my crowne of golde so faire on my head, Among all my liege-men, so n.o.ble of birthe, Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride the whole world about, And at the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what I do think.