The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 99

MOLL.

DEAN SWIFT.

Mollis abuti, Has an acuti, No la.s.so finis, Molli divinis.

[Footnote: Moll is a beauty, Has an acute eye; No la.s.s so fine is, Molly divine is.]

TO MY MISTRESS.

DEAN SWIFT.

O mi de armis tres, Imi na dis tres.

Cantu disco ver Meas alo ver?

[Footnote: O my dear mistress I am in a distress.

Can't you discover Me as a lover?]

A LOVE SONG.

DEAN SWIFT.

Apud in is almi de si re, Mimis tres I ne ver re qui re, Alo veri findit a gestis, His miseri ne ver at restis.

[Footnote: A pudding is all my desire, My mistress I never require; A lover I find it a jest is, His misery never at rest is.]

A GENTLE ECHO ON WOMAN.

IN THE DORIC MANNER.

DEAN SWIFT.

Shepherd. Echo, I ween, will in the woods reply, And quaintly answer questions: shall I try?

Echo. Try.

Shepherd. What must we do our pa.s.sion to express?

Echo. Press.

Shepherd. How shall I please her, who ne'er loved before?

Echo. Before.

Shepherd. What most moves women when we them address?

Echo. A dress.

Shepherd. Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore?

Echo. A door.

Shepherd. If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre.

Echo. Liar.

Shepherd. Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her?

Echo. Buy her.

Shepherd. When bought, no question I shall be her dear?

Echo. Her deer.

Shepherd. But deer have horns: how must I keep her under?

Echo. Keep her under.

Shepherd. But what can glad me when she's laid on bier?

Echo. Beer.

Shepherd. What must I do when women will be kind?

Echo. Be kind.

Shepherd. What must I do when women will be cross?

Echo. Be cross.

Shepherd. Lord, what is she that can so turn and wind?

Echo. Wind.

Shepherd. If she be wind, what stills her when she blows?

Echo. Blows.

Shepherd. But if she bang again, still should I bang her?

Echo. Bang her.

Shepherd. Is there no way to moderate her anger?

Echo. Hang her.

Shepherd. Thanks, gentle Echo! right thy answers tell What woman is and how to guard her well.

Echo. Guard her well.

TO MY NOSE.

ANONYMOUS.

Knows he that never took a pinch, Nosey! the pleasure thence which flows?

Knows he the t.i.tillating joy Which my nose knows?

Oh, nose! I am as fond of thee As any mountain of its snows!

I gaze on thee, and feel that pride A Roman knows!

ROGER AND DOLLY.

BLACKWOOD.

Young Roger came tapping at Dolly's window-- Thumpaty, thumpaty, thump; He begg'd for admittance--she answered him no-- Glumpaty, glumpaty, glump.

No, no, Roger, no--as you came you may go-- Stumpaty, stumpaty, stump.

O what is the reason, dear Dolly? he cried-- Humpaty, humpaty, hump-- That thus I'm cast off and unkindly denied?-- Trumpaty, trumpaty, trump-- Some rival more dear, I guess, has been here-- Crumpaty, crumpaty, crump-- Suppose there's been two, sir, pray what's that to you, sir Numpaty, numpaty, nump-- Wi' a disconsolate look his sad farewell he took-- Trumpaty, trumputy, trump-- And all in despair jump'd into a brook-- Jumpaty, jumpaty, jump-- His courage did cool in a filthy green pool-- Slumpaty, slumpaty, slump-- So he swam to the sh.o.r.e, but saw Dolly no more-- Dumpaty, dumpaty, dump-- He did speedily find one more fat and more kind-- Plumpaty, plumpaty, plump-- But poor Dolly's afraid she must die an old maid-- Mumpaty, mumpaty, mump.

THE IRISHMAN.

BLACKWOOD.

I.