From tears at missing Lady Jane;
Nine rolls I ate, in hope to gain
The roll that might have fallen to Jane."
John Skelton, a poet of the fifteenth century, in great repute as a wit
and satirist, was inordinately fond of writing in lines of three or four
syllables, and also of iteration of rhyme. This perhaps was the cause of
his writing much that was mere doggerel, as this style scarcely admits of
the conveyance of serious sentiment. Occasionally, however, his miniature
lines are interesting, as in this address to Mrs. Margaret Hussey:
"Merry Margaret,
As midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon,
Or hawk of the tower,
With solace and gladness,
Much mirth and no madness,
All good and no badness,
So joyously,
So maidenly,
So womanly,
Her demeaning,
In everything
Far, far passing
That I can indite
Or suffice to write
Of merry Margaret,
As midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon,
Or hawk of the tower."
The following national pasquinade we find in Egerton Brydges' "Censura
Literaria Restituta," written in commemoration of the failure of Spain by
her Invincible Armada to invade Britain. The iteration of metre is all
that approaches in it to the style of Skelton, of whose verse it is an
imitation:
"A Skeltonical salutation
Or condign gratulation,
At the just vexation
Of the Spanish nation,
That in a bravado
Spent many a crusado
In setting forth an Armado
England to invado.
Pro cujus memoria
Ye may well be soria,
Full small may be your gloria
When ye shall hear this storia,
Then will ye cry and roria,
We shall see her no moria.
O king of Spaine!
Is it not a paine
To thy hearte and braine,
And every vaine,
To see thy traine
For to sustaine
Withouten gaine,
The world's disdaine;
Which despise
As toies and lies,
With shoutes and cries,
Thy enterprise;
As fitter for pies
And butterflies
Then men so wise?
O waspish king!
Where's now thy sting.
The darts or sling,
Or strong bowstring,
That should us wring,
And under bring?
Who every way
Thee vexe and pay
And beare the sway
By night and day,
To thy dismay
In battle array,
And every fray?
O pufte with pride!
What foolish guide
Made thee provide
To over-ride
This land so wide,
From side to side;
And then untride,
Away to slide,
And not to abide;
But all in a ring
Away to fling?"
&c. &c.
EPITAPH ON DR. WILLIAM MAGINN.
"Here, early to bed, lies kind William Maginn,
Who with genius, wit, learning, life's trophies to win,
Had neither great lord, nor rich cit of his kin,
Nor discretion to set himself up as to tin;
So his portion soon spent, like the poor heir of Lynn,
He turned author, ere yet there was beard on his chin;
And whoever was out, or whoever was in,
For your Tories his fine Irish brains he would spin;
Who received prose and verse with a promising grin,
'Go a-head, you queer fish, and more power to your fin!'
But to save from starvation stirr'd never a pin.
Light for long was his heart, tho' his breeches were thin,
Else his acting, for certain, was equal to Quin:
But at last he was beat, and sought help of the bin:
(All the same to the doctor, from claret to gin!)
Which led swiftly to gaol, with consumption therein.
It was much, when the bones rattled loose in the skin,
He got leave to die here, out of Babylon's din.[8]
Barring drink and the girls, I ne'er heard of a sin,--
Many worse, better few, than bright, broken Maginn!"
THE MUSICAL ASS.
"The fable which I now present,
Occurred to me by accident:
And whether bad or excellent,
Is merely so by accident.
A stupid ass this morning went
Into a field by accident:
And cropped his food, and was content,
Until he spied by accident
A flute, which some oblivious gent
Had left behind by accident;
When, sniffing it with eager scent,
He breathed on it by accident,
And made the hollow instrument
Emit a sound by accident.
'Hurrah, hurrah!' exclaimed the brute,
'How cleverly I play the flute!'
A fool, in spite of nature's bent,
May shine for once,--by accident."
The above is a translation from the "Fabulas Litterarias" of Tomaso de
Yriarte (1750-1790). Yriarte conceived the idea of making moral truths the
themes for fables in the style of Æsop, and these he composed in every
variety of verse which seemed at all suitable. Even when the leading idea
presents no remarkable incident, Yriarte's fables please by their
simplicity.
BOXIANA.
"I hate the very name of box;
It fills me full of fears;
It minds me of the woes I've felt
Since I was young in years.
They sent me to a Yorkshire school,
Where I had many knocks;
For there my schoolmates box'd my ears,
Because I could not box.
I packed my box; I picked the locks,
And ran away to sea;
And very soon I learnt to box
The compass merrily.
I came ashore; I called a coach
And mounted on the box:
The coach upset against a post,
And gave me dreadful knocks.
I soon got well; in love I fell,
And married Martha Box;
To please her will, at famed Box Hill
I took a country box.
I had a pretty garden there,
All bordered round with box;
But ah! alas! there lived next door
A certain Captain Knox.
He took my wife to see the play;--
They had a private box:
I jealous grew, and from that day
I hated Captain Knox.
I sold my house; I left my wife;
And went to Lawyer Fox,
Who tempted me to seek redress
All from a jury-box.
I went to law, whose greedy maw
Soon emptied my strong box;
I lost my suit, and cash to boot,
All through that crafty Fox.
The name of box I therefore dread,
I've had so many shocks;
They'll never end; for when I'm dead
They'll nail me in a box."
THE RULING POWER.
"Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten, graven, hammered, and rolled;
Heavy to get, and light to hold;
Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold,
Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled;
Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old,
To the very verge of the churchyard mould;
Price of many a crime untold;
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!
Good or bad, a thousandfold!"
--_T. Hood._
NAHUM FAY ON THE LOSS OF HIS WIFE.
"Just eighteen years ago this day,
Attired in all her best array--
For she was airy, young, and gay,
And loved to make a grand display,
While I the charges would defray--
My _Cara Sposa_ went astray;
By night eloping in a sleigh,
With one whose name begins with J,
Resolved with me she would not stay,
And be subjected to my sway;
Because I wish'd her to obey,
Without reluctance or delay,
And never interpose her nay,
Nor any secrets e'er betray.
But wives will sometimes have their way,
And cause, if possible, a fray;
Then who so obstinate as they?
She therefore left my house for aye,
Before my hairs had turned to gray,
Or I'd sustained the least decay,
Which caused at first some slight dismay:
For I considered it foul play.
Now where she's gone I cannot say,
For I've not seen her since the day
When Johnston took her in his sleigh,
To his seductive arts a prey,
And posted off to Canada.
Now when her conduct I survey,
And in the scale of justice weigh,
Who blames me, if I do inveigh
Against her to my dying day?
But live as long as live I may,
I've always purposed not to pay
(Contract whatever debts she may)
A shilling for her; but I pray
That when her body turns to clay,
If mourning friends should her convey
To yonder graveyard, they'll not lay
Her body near to Nahum Fay."
THE RADENOVITCH.
A SONG OF A NEW DANCE.
"Are you anxious to bewitch?
You must learn the Radenovitch!
Would you gain of fame a niche?
You must dance the Radenovitch!
'Mong the noble and the rich,
All the go's the Radenovitch!
It has got to such a pitch,
All must dance the Radenovitch!
If without a flaw or hitch
You can dance the Radenovitch,
Though you've risen from the ditch
(Yet have learned the Radenovitch),
You'll get on without a hitch,
Dancing of the Radenovitch.
If for glory you've an itch,
Learn to dance the Radenovitch;
And, though corns may burn and twitch,
While you foot the Radenovitch;
In your side though you've a stitch,
All along o' the Radenovitch,
You will gain an eminence which
You will owe the Radenovitch!
Therefore let the Maitre's switch
Teach your toes the Radenovitch!"
FOOTMAN JOE.
"Would you see a man that's slow?
Come and see our footman Joe:
Most unlike the bounding roe,
Or an arrow from a bow,
Or the flight direct of crow,
Is the pace of footman Joe;
Crabs that hobble to and fro,
In their motions copy Joe.
Snails, contemptuous as they go,
Look behind and laugh at Joe.
An acre any man may mow,
Ere across it crawleth Joe.
Trip on light fantastic toe,
Ye that tripping like, for Joe;
Measured steps of solemn woe
Better suit with solid Joe.
Danube, Severn, Trent, and Po,
Backward to their source will flow
Ere despatch be made by Joe.
Letters to a Plenipo
Send not by our footman Joe.
Would you Job's full merit know,
Ring the bell, and wait for Joe;
Whether it be king or no,
'Tis just alike to lazy Joe.
Legal process none can show,
If your lawyer move like Joe.
Death, at last, our common foe,
Must trip up the heels of Joe;
And a stone shall tell--'Below,
Hardly changed, still sleepeth Joe.
Loud shall the final trumpet blow,
But the last corner will be Joe!'"
--_G. Hebert._
TO A LADY
WHO ASKED FOR A POEM OF NINETY LINES.
"Task a horse beyond his strength
And the horse will fail at length;
Whip a dog, the poor dog whines--
Yet you ask for ninety lines.
Though you give me ninety quills,
Built me ninety paper-mills,
Showed me ninety inky Rhines,
I could not write ninety lines.
Ninety miles I'd walk for you,
Till my feet were black and blue;
Climb high hills, and dig deep mines,
But I can't write ninety lines.
Though my thoughts were thick as showers,
Plentiful as summer flowers,
Clustering like Italian vines,
I could not write ninety lines.
When you have drunk up the sea,
Floated ships in cups of tea,
Plucked the sun from where it shines,
Then I'll write you ninety lines.
Even the bard who lives on rhyme,
Teaching silly words to chime,
Seldom sleeps, and never dines,--
He could scarce write ninety lines.
Well you know my love is such,
You could never ask too much;
Yet even love itself declines
Such a work as ninety lines.
Though you frowned with ninety frowns,
Bribed me with twice ninety towns,
Offered me the starry signs,
I could not write ninety lines.
Many a deed I've boldly done
Since my race of life begun;
But my spirit peaks and pines
When it thinks of ninety lines.
Long I hope for thee and me
Will our lease of this world be;
But though hope our fate entwines,
Death will come ere ninety lines.
Ninety songs the birds will sing,
Ninety beads the child will string;
But his life the poet tines,
If he aims at ninety lines.
Ask me for a thousand pounds,
Ask me for my house and grounds;
Levy all my wealth in fines,
But don't ask for ninety lines.
I have ate of every dish--
Flesh of beast, and bird, and fish;
Briskets, fillets, knuckles, chines,
But eating won't make ninety lines.
I have drunk of every cup,
Till I drank whole vineyards up;
German, French, and Spanish wines,
But drinking won't make ninety lines.
Since, then, you have used me so,
To the Holy Land I'll go;
And at all the holy shrines
I shall pray for ninety lines.
Ninety times a long farewell,
All my love I could not tell,
Though 'twas multiplied by nines,
Ninety times these ninety lines."
--_H. G. Bell._
We give the following curious old ballad a place here, not only on account
of the iteration of rhyme, but also as the original of the macaronic
verses on p. 95:
THE WIG AND THE HAT.
"The elderly gentleman's here,
With his cane, his wig, and his hat;
A good-humoured man all declare,
But then he's o'erloaded with fat.
By the side of a murmuring stream
This elderly gentleman sat
On the top of his head was his wig,
And a-top of his wig was his hat.
The wind it blew high and blew strong,
As this elderly gentleman sat,
And bore front his head in a trice
And plunged in the river his hat.
The gentleman then took his cane,
Which lay on his lap as he sat,
And dropped in the river his wig
In attempting to get out his hat.
Cool reflection at length came across,
While this elderly gentleman sat;
So he thought he would follow the stream,
And look for his fine wig and hat.
His breast it grew cold with despair,
And full in his eye madness sat;
So he flung in the river his cane,
To swim with his wig and his hat.
His head, being thicker than common,
O'er-balanced the rest of his fat,
And in plunged this son of a woman
To follow his wig, cane, and hat.
A Newfoundland dog was at hand--
No circumstance could be more pat--
The old man he brought safe to land,
Then fetched out his wig, cane, and hat.
The gentleman, dripping and cold,
Seem'd much like a half-drowned rat,
But praised his deliverer so bold,
Then adjusted his cane, wig, and hat.
Now homeward the gentleman hied,
But neither could wear wig or hat;
The dog followed close at his side,
Fawn'd, waggled his tail, and all that.
The gentleman, filled with delight,
The dog's master hastily sought;
Two guineas set all things to right,
For that sum his true friend he bought.
From him the dog never would part,
But lived much caressed for some years;
Till levelled by Death's fatal dart,
When the gentleman shed many tears.
Then buried poor Tray in the Green.
And placed o'er the grave a small stone,
Whereon a few lines may be seen,
Expressive of what he had done."
_ANAGRAMS._
Anagrams are curious and frequently clever examples of formal literary
trifling. Camden, in his "Remains," gave to the world a treatise showing
that in his day anagrams were endowed with an undue and superstitious
importance, being regarded as nothing less than the occult and mysterious
finger of Fate, revealed in the names of men.
"The only quintessence," says this old writer, "that hitherto the alchemy
of wit could draw out of names, is _anagrammatisme_ or _metagrammatisme_,
which is the dissolution of a name, truly written, into the letters as its
elements, and a new connection of it by artificial transposition, without
addition, subtraction, or change of any letter, into different words,
making some perfect sense applicable to the person named." Precise
anagrammatists adhere strictly to these rules, with the exception of
omitting or retaining the letter _h_ according to their convenience,
alleging that _h_ cannot claim the rights of a letter; others, again,
think it no injury sometimes to use _e_ for _æ_, _v_ for _w_, _s_ for _z_,
_c_ for _k_, and contrariwise, and several of the instances which follow
will be found variously imperfect. Camden calls the charming difficulty of
making an anagram, "the whetstone of patience to them that shall practise
it; for some have been seen to bite their pen, scratch their head, bend
their brows, bite their lips, beat the board, tear their paper, when the
names were fair for somewhat, and caught nothing therein,--yet,
notwithstanding the sour sort of critics, good anagrams yield a delightful
comfort and pleasant motion to honest minds."
Camden places the origin of the anagram as far back as the time of Moses,
and conjectures that it may have had some share in the mystical
traditions, afterwards called the "Cabala," communicated by the Jewish
lawgiver. One part of the art of the cabalists lay in what they called
_themuru_--that is, changing--or finding the hidden and mystical meaning
in names, which they did by transposing and fantastically combining the
letters in those names. Thus of the letters of Noah's name in Hebrew they
made _Grace_, and of the Messiah's _He shall rejoice_. Whether the above
origin be theoretical or not, the anagram can be traced to the age of
Lycophron, a Greek writer, who flourished about 300 B.C.
Among the moderns, the French have most cultivated the anagram. Camden
says: "They exceedingly admire the anagram, for the deep and far-fetched
antiquity and mystical meaning therein. In the reign of Francis the First
(when learning began to revive), they began to distil their wits therein."
There is a curious anecdote of an anagrammatist who presented a king of
France with the two following upon his name of Bourbon:
Borbonius, Borbonius,
_Bonus orbi_; or _Orbus boni_;
That is, "Bourbon good to the world;" or "Bourbon destitute of good;"
while on another celebrated Frenchman we have--
Voltaire,
_O alte vir_.
Southey, in his "Doctor," says that "anagrams are not likely ever again to
hold so high a place among the prevalent pursuits of literature as they
did in the seventeenth century. But no person," he continues, "will ever
hit upon an apt one without feeling that degree of pleasure with which any
odd coincidence is remarked." In that century, indeed, the artifice
appears to have become the fashionable literary passion of the day--the
amusement of the learned and the wise, who sought
"To purchase fame,
In keen iambics and mild anagram."
While Andreas Rudiger was yet a student at college, and intending to
become a physician, he one day pulled the Latinised form of his name to
pieces, Andreas Rudigeras, and borrowing an _i_, transposed it into _Arare
Rus Dei Dignus_ ("Worthy to cultivate the land of God"). He fancied from
this that he had a divine call to become an ecclesiastic, and thereupon
gave up the study of medicine for theology. Soon after, Rudiger became
tutor in the family of the philosopher Thomasius, who one day told him
"that he would greatly benefit the journey of his life by turning it
towards physic." Rudiger confessed that his tastes lay rather in that
direction than to theology, but having looked upon the anagram of his name
as an indication of a divine call, he had not dared to turn away from
theology. "How simple you have been," replied Thomasius; "it is just that
very anagram which calls you towards medicine--'_Rus Dei_,' the land of
God (God's acre), what is that but the cemetery--and who labours so
bravely for the cemetery as a physician does?" Rudiger could not resist
this, returned to medicine, and became famous as a physician.
An anagram on Monk, afterwards Duke of Albemarle on the restoration of
Charles II., forms also a chronogram, including the date of the event it
records--
Georgius Monke, Dux de Aumarle--
_Ego Regem reduxi, anno sa_ MDCLVV.
In this anagram the _c_ takes the place of the _k_.
The old Puritan biographer, Cotton Mather, claims for John Wilson--the
subject of one of his lives--the kingship of anagrammatising. "Of all the
anagrammatisers," he says in the third book of his "Magnalia Christi
Americana," "that have been trying their fancies for the 2000 years that
have run out since the days of Lycophron, or the more than 5000 since the
days of our first father, I believe there never was a man that made so
many, or so nimbly, as our Mr. Wilson; who, together with his quick turns
upon the names of his friends, would ordinarily _fetch_, and rather than
_lose_, would even _force_, devout instructions out of his anagrams. As
one, upon hearing my father (Increase Mather) preach, Mr. Wilson
immediately gave him that anagram upon his name 'Crescentius Matherus,'
_Eu! Christus Merces Tua_ (Lo! Christ is thy reward). There would scarcely
occur the name of any remarkable person without an anagram raised
thereupon."
This said John Wilson "forced instruction" out of his own name--first
rendering it into Latin, Johannes Wilsonus, he found this anagram in it,
"_In uno Jesu nos salvi_" (We are saved in one Jesus). This mode of
Latinising names was common enough among those who liked this literary
folly; thus we have Sir Robert Viner, or Robertus Vinerus, rendered "_Vir
Bonus et Rarus_" (a good and rare man). The disciples of Descartes made a
perfect anagram upon the Latinised name of their master, "Renatus
Cartesius," one which not only takes up every letter, but which also
expresses their opinion of that master's speciality--"_Tu scis res
naturæ_" (Thou knowest the things of nature).
Pierre de St. Louis became a Carmelite monk on discovering that his name
yielded a direction to that effect:
Ludovicus Bartelemi--
_Carmelo se devolvit_.
And, in the seventeenth century, André Pujom, finding that his name
spelled _Pendu à Riom_, fulfilled his destiny by cutting somebody's throat
in Auvergne, and was actually hung at Riom, the seat of justice in that
province.
Occasionally when the anagram of a name did not make sense, there was
added a rhyme to bring out a meaning. Thus, in a sermon preached by Dr.
Edward Reynolds upon Peter Whalley, and entitled "Death's Advantage,"
every letter of the name is to be found in the first line of this verse:
"_They reap well_,
That Heaven obtain;
Who sow like thee,
Ne'er sow in vain."
In this sermon Peter Whalley is also anagrammatised into _A Whyte
Perle_--this would not be a bad one, if orthography were of as little
consequence as many of the old triflers in this way used to account it.
We read that when Alexander the Great was baffled before the walls of
Tyre, and was about to raise the siege, he had a dream wherein he saw a
satyr leaping about and trying to seize him. He consulted his sages, who
read in the word Satyrus (the Greek for satyr), "_Sa Tyrus_"--"Tyre is
thine!" Encouraged by this interpretation, Alexander made another assault
and carried the city.
In a "New Help to Discourse" (London, 1684), there is one with a very
quaint exposition:
TOAST--A SOTT.
"A _toast_ is like _a sot_; or what is most
Comparative, _a sot_ is like a _toast_;
For when their substances in liquor sink,
Both properly are said to be in drink."
It will be seen, however, that anagrams have chiefly been made upon proper
names, and a reversing of their letters may sometimes pay the owner a
compliment; as of the poet Waller:
"His brows with laurel need not to be bound,
Since in his _name_ with _laurel_ he is crowned."
George Thompson, the well-known anti-slavery advocate, was at one time
solicited to go into parliament for the more efficient serving of the
cause he had so much at heart. The question whether he would comply with
this request or not was submitted to his friends, and one of them gave the
following for answer:
George Thompson,
_O go, the Negro's M.P._!
This clever instance was given in "Notes and Queries" a short time ago:
Thomas Carlyle,
_A calm holy rest_.
The following are additional instances.
Sir Francis Bacon, Lord Keeper--
_Is born and elect for a rich speaker_.
When, at the General Peace of 1814, Prussia absorbed a portion of Saxony,
the king issued a new coinage of rix dollars, with their German name, _Ein
Reichstahler_, impressed on them. The Saxons, by dividing the word, _Ein
Reich stahl er_, made a sentence of which the meaning is, "He stole a
kingdom!"
A good one is--
Henry John Templeton, Viscount Palmerston,
_Only the Tiverton M.P. can help in our mess_.
If we take from the words, _La Revolution Française_, the word _veto_,
known as the first prerogative of Louis XIV., the remaining letters will
form "_Un Corse la finira_"--_A Corsican shall end it_, and this may be
regarded as an extraordinary coincidence, if nothing more. Many anagrams
were made upon the name of Napoleon by superstitious persons, as--
Napoleon Bonaparte {_Bona rapta, leno, pone._
{_No, appear not at Elba._
Louis Napoleon Bonaparte.
_Arouse, Albion, an open plot._
A very apt anagram is the one founded upon--Sir Edmundbury Godfrey, _I
find murdered by rogues_.
EVIL.
"If you transpose what ladies wear, _Veil._
'Twill plainly show what bad folks are; _Vile._
Again if you transpose the same,
You'll see an ancient Hebrew name; _Levi._
Change it again, and it will show
What all on earth desire to do; _Live._
Transpose the letters yet once more,
What bad men do you'll then explore." _Evil._
The following are very apposite--
Sir Robert Peel,
_Terrible Poser_.
Christianity,
_It's in charity_.
Poorhouse,
_O sour hope_.
Soldiers,
_Lo! I dress_.
Notes and Queries,
_A question sender_.
Solemnity,
_Yes, Milton_.
Determination,
_I mean to rend it_.
Elegant,
_Neat leg_.
Matrimony,
_Into my arm_.
Misanthrope,
_Spare him not_.
Radical reform,
_Rare mad frolic_.
Melodrama,
_Made moral_.
Arthur Wellesley,
_Truly he'll see war_.
The Field Marshall the Duke,
_The Duke shall arm the field_.
Monarch,
_March on_.
Charades,
_Hard case_.
David Livingstone,
_Go (D. V.) and visit the Nile_.
Stones,
_Notes_.
_THE ACROSTIC._