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HUMOROUS POEMS.

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF
CANTERBURY.

FROM "PERCY'S RELIQUES."

AN ancient story I'll tell you anon

Of a notable prince that was called King John ;
And he ruled England with main and with might,
For he did great wrong, and maintained little
right.

And I'll tell you a story, a story so merry,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury ;
How for his house-keeping and high renown,
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.

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"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 highe, And now for the same thou needest must dye; For 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 noble of birthe,
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am
worthe.

"Secondly, 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."

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And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood,

And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise ;

For if you do but taste his blood, 'T will make your courage rise.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

ROBERT BURNS.

OF A CERTAINE MAN.

certaine

THERE was (not certaine when) a
preacher,
That never learned, and yet became a teacher,
Who having read in Latine thus a text
Of erat quidam homo, much perplext,
He seemed the same with studie great to scan,
In English thus, There was a certaine man.
But now (quoth he), good people, note you this,
He saith there was, he doth not say there is;
For in these daies of ours it is most plaine
Of promise, oath, word, deed, no man's certaine ;
Yet by my text you see it comes to passe
That surely once a certaine man there was :
But yet, I think, in all your Bible no man
Can finde this text, There was a certaine

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LOGIC OF HUDIBRAS.
FROM "HUDIBRAS," PART 1. CANTO 1.

HE was in logic a great critic,
Profoundly skilled in analytic ;
He could distinguish and divide
A hair, 'twixt south and southwest side;
On either which he would dispute,
Confute, change hands, and still confute;
He'd undertake to prove, by force
Of argument, a man 's no horse;
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
And that a lord may be an owl,

A calf an alderman, a goose a justice,
And rooks committee-men and trustees.
He'd run in debt by disputation,
And pay with ratiocination :
All this by syllogism true,

In mood and figure he would do.

DR. SAMUEL BUTLER.

THE VICAR OF BRAY.

"The Vicar of Bray in Berkshire, England, was Simon Alleyn or Allen, and held his place from 1540 to 1588. He was a Papist under the reign of Henry the Eighth, and a Protestant under Ed. ward the Sixth. He was a Papist again under Mary, and once more became a Protestant in the reign of Elizabeth. When this scandal to the gown was reproached for his versatility of religious creeds. and taxed for being a turn-coat and an inconstant changeling, as Fuller expresses it, he replied: Not so neither; for if I changed my religion, I am sure I kept true to my principle, which is to live and die the Vicar of Bray.'"- DISRAELI.]

IN good King Charles's golden days,
When loyalty no harm meant,
A zealous high-churchman was 1,
And so I got preferment.

To teach my flock I never missed :
Kings were by God appointed,
And lost are those that dare resist
Or touch the Lord's anointed.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever king shall reign,

Still I'll be the Vicar of Bray, sir

When royal James possessed the crown,
And popery came in fashion,
The penal laws I hooted down,

And read the Declaration;
The Church of Rome I found would fit
Full well my constitution;

And I had been a Jesuit
But for the Revolution.
And this is law, etc.

When William was our king declared,
To ease the nation's grievance;
With this new wind about I steered,
And swore to him allegiance;
Old principles I did revoke,

Set conscience at a distance;
Passive obedience was a joke,
A jest was non-resistance.
And this is law, etc.

When royal Anne became our queen,
The Church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory;
Occasional conformists base,

I blamed their moderation;
And thought the Church in danger was,
By such prevarication.

And this is law, etc.

When George in pudding-time came o'er,
And moderate men looked big, sir,
My principles I changed once more,
And so became a Whig, sir;

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Some thief, whom a halter will throttle, Some scoundrel has cut off the head of my horse, While I was engaged at the bottle,

Which went gluggity, gluggity - glug — glug — glug."

The tail of the steed pointed south on the dale, "T was the friar's road home, straight and level; But, when spurred, a horse follows his nose, not his tail,

So he scampered due north, like a devil : "This new mode of docking," the friar then said, "I perceive does n't make a horse trot ill; And 't is cheap, for he never can eat off his head While I am engaged at the bottle,

Which goes gluggity, gluggity - glug -glug-glug."

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Uncommon things, and rare, were his delight; From musings deep his brain ne'er gotten

ease,

Nor ceased he from study, day or night,

Until (advancing onward by degrees)

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Sing, heavenly Muse. Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme;" A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire.

He knew whatever breeds on earth or air or In silken or in leathern purse retains

HAPPY the man, who, void of cares and strife,

seas

He many a creature did anatomize,

"Almost unpeopling water, air, and land; Beasts, fishes, birds, snails, caterpillars, flies, Were laid full low by his relentless hand, That oft with gory crimson was distained;

He many a dog destroyed, and many a cat; Of fleas his bed, of frogs the marshes drained, Could tellen if a mite were lean or fat,

And read a lecture o'er the entrails of a gnat.

He knew the various modes of ancient times,

Their arts and fashions of each different guise, Their weddings, funerals, punishments for crimes,

Their strength, their learning eke, and rarities; Of old habiliments, each sort and size, Male, female, high and low, to him were known; Each gladiator dress, and stage disguise; With learned, clerkly phrase he could have

shown

How the Greek tunic differed from the Roman gown.

A curious medallist, I wot, he was,

And boasted many a course of ancient coin; Well as his wife's he knewen every face,

From Julius Cæsar down to Constantine: For some rare sculpture he would oft ypine, (As green-sick damosels for husbands do ;) And when obtained, with enraptured eyne, He'd run it o'er and o'er with greedy view, And look, and look again, as he would look it through.

His rich museum, of dimensions fair,

With goods that spoke the owner's mind was fraught:

Things ancient, curious, value-worth, and rare, From sea and land, from Greece and Rome, were brought,

Which he with mighty sums of gold had bought: On these all tides with joyous eyes he pored; And, sooth to say, himself he greater thought, When he beheld his cabinets thus stored, Than if he'd been of Albion's wealthy cities lord.

MARK AKENSIDE.

A Splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain
New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale;
But with his friends, when nightly mists arise,
To Juniper's Magpie, or Town Hall repairs;
Where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye
Transfixed his soul, and kindled amorous flames,
Chloe or Phyllis, he each circling glass
Wisheth her health and joy and equal love.
Meanwhile he smokes, and laughs at merry tale,
Or pun ambiguous or conundrum quaint.
But I, whom griping penury surrounds,
And hunger, sure attendant upon want,
With scanty offals, and small acid tiff
(Wretched repast !) my meagre corpse sustain :
In garret vile, and with a warming puff
Then solitary walk, or doze at home
Regale chilled fingers; or from tube as black
Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent.
As winter-chimney or well-polished jet,

Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size,
Smokes Cambro-Briton (versed in pedigree,
Full famous in romantic tale) when he
Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings

O'er

many a craggy hill and barren cliff, Upon a cargo of famed Cestrian cheese, High overshadowing rides, with a design To wend his wares at the Arvonian mart, Or Maridunum, or the ancient town Ycleped Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil! Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie With Massic, Setin, or renowned Falern.

Thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow,
With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun,
Horrible monster! hated by gods and men,
To my aerial citadel ascends. †

With vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate,
With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know
The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound,
What should I do? or whither turn? Amazed,
Confounded, to the dark recess I fly
Of wood-hole; straight my bristling hairs erect
Through sudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews
My shuddering limbs, and (wonderful to tell!)
So horrible he seems!
My tongue forgets her faculty of speech;
His faded brow

Intrenched with many a frown, and conic beard,
And spreading band, admired by modern saints,
Disastrous acts forebode; in his right hand

* A burlesque imitation of Milton's style.
To wit, his garret.

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