And the same law ordains a pudding then,
To children grateful, nor unfit for men.
Take hens, geese, turkies, then, or something light,
Because their legs, if broil'd, will serve at night,
And, since I find that roast beef makes you sleep,
Corn it a little more, and so 'twill keep.
Roast it on Monday, pity it should be spoil'd;
On Tuesday mutton either roast or boil'd.
On Wednesday should be some variety,
A loin or breast of veal, and pigeon-pye.
On Thursday each man of his dish make choice,
'Tis fit on market-days we all rejoice.
And then on Friday, as I said before,
We'll have a dish of fish, and one dish more.
On Saturday stew'd beef, with something nice,
Provided quick, and toss'd up in a trice,
Because that in the afternoon, you know,
By custom, we must to the ale-house go;
For else how should our, houses e'er be clean,
Except we gave some time to do it then?
From whence, unless we value not our lives,
None part without rememb'ring first our wives.
But these are standing rules for every day,
And very good ones, as I so may say:
After each meal, let's take a hearty cup;
And where we dine, 'tis fitting that we sup.
"Now for the application, and the use:
I found your care for Sunday an abuse:
All would be asking, Pray, sir, where d'you dine?
I have roast beef, choice venison, turkey, chine:
Every one's hawling me. Then say poor I,
It is a bitter business to deny ;
But, who is't cares for fourteen meals a day,
As for my own part, I had rather stay,
And take them now and then,-and here and
According to my present bill of fare. [there,-
You know I'm single: if you all agree
To treat by turns, each will be sure of me."
The vestry all applauded with a hum,
And the seven wisest of them bade him come.
WHEN the young people ride the Skimmington,
There is a general trembling in a town:
Not only he for whom the person rides
Suffers, but they sweep other doors besides;
And by that hieroglyphic does appear
That the good woman is the master there.
At Jenny's door the barbarous heathens swept,
And his poor wife scolded until she wept ;
The mob swept on, whilst she sent forth in vain
Her vocal thunder and her briny rain.
Some few days after, two young sparks came there,
And whilst she does her coffee fresh prepare,
One for discourse of news the master calls,
T'other on this ungrateful subject falls.
"Pray, Mrs. Jenny, whence came this report,
For I believe there's no great reason for't,
As if the folks t'other day swept your door,
And half a dozen of your neighbours more?"
"There's nothing in't," says Jenny; "that is done
Where the wife rules, but here I rule alone,
And, gentlemen, you'd much mistaken be,
If any one should not think that of me.
Within these walls, my suppliant vassals know
What due obedience to their prince they owe,
And kiss the shadow of my papal toe.
My word's a law; when I my power advance,
There's not a greater monarch ev'n in France.
Not the mogul or czar of Muscovy,
Not Prester John, or cham of Tartary,
Are in their houses monarch more than I.
My house my castle is, and here I'm king,
I'm pope, I'm emperor, monarch, every thing.
What though my wife be partner of my bed,
The monarch's crown sits only on this head."
His wife had plaguy ears, as well as tongue, And, hearing all, thought his discoure too long: Her conscience said, he should not tell such lies, And to her knowledge such; she therefore cries, D'ye hear-you-Sirrah-Monarch-there ?
And grind the coffee-or I'll crack your crown."
JUST AS YOU PLEASE; OR,
THE INCURIOUS,
A VIRTUOSO had a mind to see
One that would never discontented be,
But in a careless way to all agree.
He had a servant, much of Æsop's kind,
Of personage uncouth, but sprightly mind:
"Humpus," says he, "I order that you find
Out such a man, with such a character,
As in this paper now I give you here;
Or I will lug your ears, or crack your pate,
Or rather you shall meet with a worse fate,
For I will break your back, and set you strait.
Bring him to dinner." Humpus soon withdrew,
Was safe, as having such a one in view
At Covent Garden dial, whom he found
Sitting with thoughtless air and look profound,
Who, solitary gaping without care,
Seem'd to say, "Who is't? wilt go any where?"
Says Humpus, "Sir, my master bade me pray
Your company to dine with him to-day."
He snuffs; then follows; up the stairs he goes,
Never pulls off his hat, nor cleans his shoes,
But, looking round him, saw a handsome room,
And did not much repent that he was come;
Close to the fire he draws an elbow-chair,
And, lolling easy, doth for sleep prepare.
In comes the family, but he sits still,
Thinks, "Let them take the other chairs that
will!"
The master thus accosts him, "Sir, you're wet,
Pray have a cushion underneath your feet."
Thinks he, "If I do spoil it, need I care?
I see he has eleven more to spare."
Dinner's brought up; the wife is bid retreat, And at the upper end must be his seat. "This is not very usual," thinks the clown: But is not all the family his own? And why should I, for contradiction's sake, Lose a good dinner, which he bids me take? If from this table she discarded be, What need I care! there is the more for me." After a while, the daughter's bid to stand, And bring him whatsoever he'll command. Thinks he, "The better from the fairer hand!" Young master next must rise, to fill him wine, And starve himself, to see the booby dine:
you give a stranger vinegar?"
Sir, 'twas Champagne I gave him."-" Sir, indeed!
Take him and scourge him till the rascal bleed;
Don't spare him for his tears or age: I'll try
If cat-of-nine-tails can excuse a lie."
Thinks the clown, "That 'twas wine I do beBut such young rogues are aptest to deceive: He's none of mine, but his own flesh and blood, And how know I but 't may be for his good?" When the desert came on, and jellies brought, Then was the dismal scene of finding fault: They were such hideous, filthy, poisonous stuff, Could not be rail'd at, nor reveng'd enough. Humpus was ask'd who made them. Trembling he Said, "Sir, was my lady gave them me."No more such poison shall she ever give, I'll burn the witch; 't'ent fitting she should live : Set faggots in the court, I'll make her fry; And pray, good sir, may't please you to be by?" Then, smiling, says the clown, "Upon my life, A pretty fancy this, to burn one's wife! And, since I find 'tis really your design, [mine." Pray let me just step home, and fetch you
For a dream cometh through the multitude of business. ECCLES. v. 4.
Somnia, quæ ludunt mente volitantibus umbris, Non delubra deûm nec ab æthere numina mittunt, Sed sibi quisque facit, &c.
THE fitting dreams, that play before the wind,
Are not by Heaven for prophesies desiga'd;
Nor by ethereal beings sent us down,
But each man is creator of his own:
For, when their weary limbs are sunk in ease,
The souls essay to wander where they please;
The scatter'd images have space to play,
And night repeats the labours of the day.
THE ART OF MAKING PUDDINGS.
I SING of food, by British nurse design'd,
To make the stripling brave, and maiden kind.
Delay not, Muse, in numbers to rehearse
The pleasures of our life, and sinews of our verse.
Let pudding's dish, most wholesome, be thy theme,
And dip thy swelling plumes in fragrant cream.
Sing then that dish so fitting to improve
A tender modesty and trembling love;
Swimming in butter of a golden hue,
Garnish'd with drops of rose's spicy dew.
Sometimes the frugal matron seems in haste,
Nor cares to beat her pudding into paste:
Yet milk in proper skillet she will place,
And gently spice it with a blade of mace;
Then set some careful damsel to look to't,
And still to stir away the bishop's-foot;
For, if burnt milk should to the bottom stick,
Like over-heated zeal, 'twould make folks sick.
Into the milk her flour she gently throws,
As valets now would powder tender beaux :
The liquid forms in hasty mass unite
Forms equally delicious, as they're white,
In shining dish the hasty mass is thrown,
And seems to want no graces but its own.
Yet still the housewife brings in fresh supplies,
To gratify the taste, and please the eyes.
She on the surface lumps of butter lays,
Which, melting with the heat, its beams displays;
From whence it causes, wondrous to behold,
A silver soil bedeck'd with streams of gold!
II. A HEDGE-HOG AFTER A QUAKING-PUDDING. As Neptune, when the three-tongu'd fork he takes,
With strength divine the globe terrestrial shakes,
The highest hills, Nature's stupendous piles,
Break with the force, and quiver into isles;
Yet on the ruins grow the lofty pines,
And snow unmelted in the vallies shines:
Thus when the dame her hedge-hog-pudding
Her fork indents irreparable streaks.
The trembling lump, with butter all around,
Seems to perceive its fall, and then be drown'd;
And yet the tops appear, whilst almonds thick
With bright loaf-sugar on the surface stick.
III. PUDDINGS OF VARIOUS COLOURS IN A DISII.
You, painter-like, now variegate the shade, And thus from puddings there's a landscape made. And Wise and London', when they would dispose So mix their colours, that each different plant Their ever-greens into well-order'd rows, Gives light and shadow as the others want,
IV. MAKING OF A GOOD PUDDING GETS A GOOD
YE virgins, as these lines you kindly take, So may you still such glorious pudding make, That crouds of youth may ever be at strife, To gain the sweet-composer for his wife!
V. SACK AND SUGAR TO QUAKING-PUDDING. "OH, delicious!"
But where must our confession first begin, If sack and sugar once be thought a sin?
VI. BROILED PUDDING.
HID in the dark, we mortals seldom know
From whence the source of happiness may flow:
Who to broil'd pudding would their thoughts have
bent
From bright Pewteria's love-sick discontent?
Yet so it was, Pewteria felt love's heat
In fiercer flames than those which roast her meat.
No pudding's lost, but may with fresh delight
Be either fried next day, or broil'd at night.
VII. MUTTON PUDDING.
BUT mutton, thou most nourishing of meat,
Whose single joint2 may constitute a treat;
When made a pudding, you excel the rest
As much as that of other food is best!
OF oats decorticated take two pound,
And of new milk enough the same to drown;
Of raisins of the sun, ston'd, ounces eight;
Of currants, cleanly pick'd, an equal weight;
Of suet, finely slic'd, an ounce at least;
And six eggs newly taken from the nest:
Season this mixture well with salt and spice;
"Twill make a pudding far exceeding rice;
And you may safely feed on it like farmers,
For the receipt is learned Dr. Harmer's.
FROM far Barbadoes, on the western main, Fetch sugar, half a pound; fetch sack, from Spain, A pint; then fetch, from India's fertile coast, Nutmeg, the glory of the British toast.
UPON A GIANT'S ANG LING, His angle-rod made of a sturdy oak, His line a cable, which in storms ne'er broke, His hook he baited with a dragon's tail, And sate upon a rock, and bobb'd for whale.
TO TAKE HIS LEAVE OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
HORACE, you now have long enough
At Cambridge play'd the fool:
Take back your criticing stuff
To Epicurus' school,
But, in excuse of this, you'll say,
You're so unwieldy grown,
That, if amongst that herd you lay,
You scarcely should be known.
How many butter'd crusts you've tost
Into your weem so big,
That you're more like (at college cost)
A porpoise than a pig.
But you from head to foot are brawn,
And so from side to side:
You measure (were a circle drawn)
No longer than you're wide.
Then, bless me, sir, how many craggs
You've drunk of potent ale!
No wonder if the belly swaggs
That's rival to a whale.
E'en let the Fellows take the rest,
They've had a jolly taster:
But no great likelihood to feast,
'Twixt Horace and the master!
CASAR, possess'd of Egypt's queen, And conqueror of her charms, Would envy, had he Darco seen When lock'd in Zabra's arms.
Should Memnon, that fam'd Black, revive,
Aurora's darling son,
For Zabra's heart in vain he'd strive,
Where Darco reigns alone.
Fresh mulberries new-press'd disclose
A blood of purple hue;
And Zabra's lips, like crimson rose,
Swell with a fragrant dew.
The amorous Sun has kiss'd his face;
And, now those beams are set,
A lovely night assumes the place,
And tinges all with jet.
Darkness is mystic priest to love,
And does its rites conceal;
O'erspread with clouds, such joys we'll prove
As day shall ne'er reveal.
In gloom of night, when Darco's eyes
Are guides, what heart can stray?
Whoever views his teeth, descries
The bright and milky way.
Though born to rule fierce Libya's sands, That with gold's lustre shine,
• With ease I quit those high commands Whilst Zabra thus is mine.
Should I to that blest world repair, Where Whites no portion have; I'd soon, if Darco were not there, Fly back, and be a slave.
WHO could believe that a fine needle's smart
Should from a finger pierce a virgin's heart;
That, from an orifice so very small
The spirits and the vital blood should fall?
Strephon and Phaon, I'll be judg'd by you,
If more than this has not been found too true.
From smaller darts, much greater wounds arise,
When shot by Cynthia's or by Laura's eyes.
SAM WILLS had view'd Kate Bets, a smiling lass;
And for her pretty mouth admir'd her face.
Kate had lik'd Sam, for nose of Roman size,
Not minding his complexion or his eyes.
They met says Sam, "Alas, to say the truth,
I find myself deceiv'd by that small mouth!"
"Alas," cries Kate, "could any one suppose,
I could be so deceiv'd by such a nose!
But I henceforth shall hold this maxim just,
To have experience first, and then to trust!"
STEWARD TO THE LORD CARTERET.
ACCEPT of health from one, who, writing this,
Wishes you in the same that now he is;
Though to your person he may be unknown,
His wishes are as hearty as your own:
For Carter's drink, when in his master's hand,
Has pleasure and good-nature at command.
What though his lordship's lands are in your trust,
'Tis greater to his brewing to be just.
As to that matter, no one can find fault,
If you supply him still with well-dried malt.
Still be a servant constant to afford
A liquor fitting for your generous lord;
Liquor, like him, from seeds of worth in light,
With sparkling atoms still ascending bright:
May your accompts so with your lord stand clear,
And have your reputation like your beer;
The main perfection of your life pursue,
In March, October, every month, still brew,
And get the character of "Who but you?"
We know how ruin once did reign,
When Rome was fir'd, and senate slain;
The prince, with brother's gore imbru'd;
His tender mother's life pursued;
How he the carcase, as it lay,
Did without tear or blush survey,
And censure each majestic grace
That still adorned that breathless face:
Yet he with sword could domineer
Where dawning light does first appear
From rays of Phoebus; and cominand
Through his whole course, ev'n to that strand
Where he, abhorring such a sight,
Sinks in the watery gloom of night:
Yet he could death and terrour throw,
Where Thulé starves in northern snow;
Where southern heats do fiercely pass
O'er burning sands that melt to glass.
Fond hopes! could height of power assuage
The mad excess of Nero's rage?
Hard is the fate, when subjects find
The sword unjust to poison join'd!
PRIMUS ab Angliacis, Caroline Tyntus1 in oras,
Palladias artes secum, cytharamque sonantem
Attulit; ast illi comites Parnassido una
Adveniunt, autorque viæ consultis Apollo:
Ille idem sparsos longè latèque colonos
Legibus in cœtus æquis, atque oppida cogit;
Hinc hominum molliri animos, hinc mercibus optis
Crescere divitias et surgere tecta deorum.
Talibus auspiciis docte conduntur Athenæ,
Sic byrsa ingentem Didonis crevit in urbem
Carthago regum domitrix; sic aurea Roma
Orbe triumphato nitidum caput intulit astris.
! Major Tynte, governor of Carolina,
TYNTE was the man who first, from British Palladian arts to Carolina bore; [shore,
His tuneful harp attending Muses strung,
And Phoebus' skill inspir'd the lays he sung.
Strong towers and palaces their rise began,
And listening stones to sacred fabrics ran.
Just laws were taught, and curious arts of peace,
And trade's brisk current flow'd with wealth's in-
On such foundations learned Athens rose; [crease.
So Dido's thong did Carthage first enclose:
So Rome was taught old empires to subdue,
As Tynte creates and governs, now, the neto.
ULYSSES AND TIRESIAS.
ULYSSES.
TELL me, old prophet, tell me how,
Estate when sunk, and pocket low,
What subtle arts, what secret ways,
May the desponding fortune raise?
You laugh: thus misery is scorn'd!
Sure 'tis enough, you are return'd Home by your wit, and view again Your farm of Ithac, and wife Pen.
Sage friend, whose word's a law to me, My want and nakedness you see : The sparks who made my wife such offers, Have left me nothing in my coffers: They 've kill'd my oxen, sheep, and geese, Eat up my bacon and my cheese. Lineage and virtue, at this push, Without the gelt, 's not worth a rush.
Why, not to mince the matter more,
You are averse to being poor;
Therefore find out some rich old cuff,
That never thinks he has enough:
Have you a swan, a turkey-pie,
With woodcocks, thither let them fly,
The first-fruits of your early spring,
Not to the gods, but to him bring.
Though he a foundling bastard be,
Convict of frequent perjury;
His hands with brother's blood imbrued,
By justice for that crime pursued;
Never the wall, when ask'd, refuse,
Nor lose your friend, to save your shoes.
"Twixt Damas and the kennel go! Which is the filthiest of the two? Before Troy-town it was not so.
There with the best I us'd to strive.
Why, by that means you'll never thrive.
It will be very hard, that's true: Yet I'll my generous mind subdue,
So when bold mariners, whom hopes of ore
Have urg'd to seek some unfrequented shore;
The sea grown high, and pole unknown, do find
How false is every wave, and treacherous every
wind!
If wish'd-for land some happier sight descries,
Distant huzzas, saluting clamours, rise:
Each strives to show his mate th' approaching bay,
Forgets past danger, and the tedious way,
WHEN Saturn reign'd in Heaven, his subjects here
Array'd with godly virtues did appear;
Care, pain, old age, and grief, were banish'd far,
With all the dread of laws and doubtful war:
But cheerful friendship, mix'd with innocence,
Feasted their understanding and their sense;
Nature abounded with unenvied store,
Till their discretest wits could ask no more;
And when, by Fate, they came to breathe their last,
Dissolv'd in sleep their flitting vitals pass'd.
Then to much happier mansions they remov'd,
There prais'd their god, and were by him belov'd.
THAME AND ISIS.
So the god Thame, as through some pond he glides,
Into the arms of wandering Isis slides:
His strength, her softness, in one bed combine,
And both with bands inextricable join.
Now no cerulean nymph, or sea god, knows,
Where Isis, or where Thame, distinctly flows;
But with a lasting charm they blend their stream,
Producing one imperial river-Thame.
I WAKED, SPEAKING THESE OUT OF A DREAM IN
THE MORNING.
NATURE a thousand ways complains,
A thousand words express her pains:
But for her laughter has but three,
And very small ones, Ha, ha, he!
THE STUMBLING BLOCK.
FROM CLAUDIAN'S RUFINUS'.
TWENTY Conundrums have of late
Been buzzing in my addle pate.
If earthly things are rul'd by Heaven,
Or matters go at six and seven,
The coach without a coachman driven?
A pilot at the helm to guide,
Or the ship left to wind and tide?
A great first cause to be ador'd,
Or whether all's a lottery-board?
1 See a serious translation, above, p. 287.
For when, in viewing Nature's face,
I spy so regular a grace!
So just a symmetry of features,
From stem to stern, in all her creatures!
When on the boistrous sea I think,
How 'tis confin'd like any sink!
How summer, winter, spring, and fall,
Dance round in so exact a hawl!
How, like a chequer, day and night,
One's mark'd with black, and one with white!
Quoth I, "I ken it well from hence,
There's a presiding influence!
Which won't permit the rambling stars
To fall together by the ears:
Which orders still the proper season
For hay and oats, and beans and peasen:
Which trims the Sun with its own beams;
Whilst the Moon ticks for her's, it seems,
And, as asham'd of the disgrace,
Uninasks but seldom all her face:
Which bounds the ocean within banks,
To hinder all its mad-cap pranks:
Which does the globe to an axle fit,
Like wheel to nave, or joint to spit!
"But then again! How can it be
Whilst such vast tracks of carth we see
O'er-run by barbarous tyranny!
Vile sycophants in clover bless'd;
Whilst patriots with duke Humphry feast,
Brow-beaten, bullied, and oppress'd!
Pimps rais'd to honour, riches, rule;
Whilst he, who seems to be a tool,
Is the priest's knave, the placeman's fool!"
This whimsical phænomenon,
Confounding all my pro and con,
Bamboozles the account again,
And draws me nolens volens in,
Like a press'd soldier, to espouse
The sceptic's hypothetic cause:
Who Kent will to a codling lay us,
That cross-or-pile refin'd the chaos;
That jovial atoms once did dance,
And form'd this merry orb by chance,
No art or skill were taken up,
But all fell out as round as hoop!
A vacuum's another maxim;
Where, he brags, experience backs him:
Denying that all space is full,
From inside of a Tory's skull.
As to a deity; his tenet
Swears by it, there is nothing in it;
Else 'tis too busy, or too idle,
With our poor bagatelles to meddle.
Anna's a curb to lawless Louis,
Which as illustrious as true is;
Her victories o'er despotic right,
That passive non-resisting bite,
Have brought this mystery to light:
Have fairly made the riddle out,
And answer'd all the squeamish doubt;
Have clear'd the regency on high,
From every presumptuous why.
No more I boggle as before,
But with full confidence adore;
Plain, as nose on face, expounding
All this intricate 'dumb-founding;
Which to the mean'st conception is,
As followeth hereunder, viz.
"Tyrants mount but like a meteor,
To make their headlong fall the greater."
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