the sequel."
After having regaled himself at the squire's house, and having said
five hundred more good things than he swallowed; having delighted his
host, and more than half won the hearts of his wife and daughters,
the sportsman proceeded on his return homewards.
In the course of his walk he passed through a farm-yard; in the front
of the farm-house was a green, in the centre of which was a pond, in
the pond were ducks innumerable swimming and diving; on its verdant
banks a motley group of gallant cocks and pert partlets, picking and
feeding--the farmer was leaning over the hatch of the barn, which
stood near two cottages on the side of the green.
Tom hated to go back with an empty bag; and having failed in his
attempts at higher game, it struck him as a good joke to ridicule the
exploits of the day himself, in order to prevent any one else from
doing it for him, and he thought to carry home a certain number of
the domestic inhabitants of the pond and its vicinity would serve the
purpose admirably. Accordingly, up he goes to the farmer and accosts
him very civilly--
"My good friend," says Tom, "I'll make you an offer."
"Of what, sur?" says the farmer.
"Why," replies Tom, "I've been out all day fagging after birds, and
haven't had a shot--now, both my barrels are loaded--I should like to
take home something; what shall I give you to let me have a shot with
each barrel at those ducks and fowls--I standing here--and to have
whatever I kill?"
"What sort of a shot are you?" said the farmer.
"Fairish," said Tom, "fairish."
"And to _have_ all you kill?" said the farmer, "eh?"
"Exactly so," said Tom.
"Half a guinea," said the farmer.
"That's too much," said Tom. "I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll give
you a seven-shilling piece, which happens to be all the money I have
in my pocket."
"Well," said the man, "hand it over."
The payment was made--Tom, true to his bargain, took his post by the
barn-door, and let fly with one barrel and then with the other; and
such quacking and splashing, and screaming and fluttering, had never
been seen in that place before.
Away ran Tom, and, delighted at his success, picked up first a hen,
then a chicken, then fished out a dying duck or two, and so on, until
he numbered eight head of domestic game, with which his bag was nobly
distended.
"Those were right good shots, sir," said the farmer.
"Yes," said Tom, "eight ducks and fowls were more than you
bargained for, old fellow--worth rather more, I suspect, than seven
shillings--eh?"
"Why, yes," said the man, scratching his head--"I think they be; but
what do I care for that--_they are none of them mine_!"
"Here," said Tom, "I was for once in my life _beaten_, and made off
as fast as I could, for fear the right owner of my game might make
his appearance--not but that I could have given the fellow that took
me in seven times as much as I did for his cunning and coolness."
POLLY HIGGINBOTTOM.[67]
In Chester's town a man there dwelt,
Not rich as Crœsus, but a buck;
The pangs of love he clearly felt--
His name was _Thomas Clutterbuck_.
The lady he did most approve
Most guineas gold had got 'em;
And Clutterbuck fell deep in love
With _Polly Higginbottom_.
O Thomas Clutterbuck!
And O Polly Higginbottom!
I sing the loves--the smiling lives--
Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom.
A little trip he did propose:--
Upon the Dee they got 'em;
The wind blew high--he blew his nose,
And sung to Polly Higginbottom.
The strain was sweet--the stream was deep--
He thought his notes had caught her;
But she, alas! first fell--asleep;
And then fell--in the water.
O Polly Higginbottom!
She went to the bottom--
I sing the death--the doleful death!--
Of pretty Polly Higginbottom!
Yet still he strain'd his little throat;
To love he did invite her;
And never miss'd her--till his boat,
He thought, went rather lighter.
But when he found that she was lost,
The summum of his wishes--
_He boldly paid the waterman_,
And jump'd among the fishes.
O Polly Higginbottom,
He comes to the bottom!
I sing the death--the double death--
Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom.
Round Chester stalk the river ghosts
Of this young man and fair maid:
His head looks like a _salmon-trout_;
Her tail is like a _mermaid_.
MORAL.
Learn this, ye constant lovers all,
Who live on England's island--
The way to shun a watery death
Is making love on dry land!
O Polly Higginbottom,
Who lies at the bottom!
So sing the ghosts--the water-ghosts--
Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom.
SONG.[68]
Mary once had lovers two--
Whining--pining--sighing:
"Ah!" cries one, "what shall I do?
Mary dear, I'm dying!"
T' other vow'd him just the same--
Dead in grief's vagary;
But sighs could never raise a flame
In the heart of Mary.
A youth there came, all blithe and gay--
Merry--laughing--singing--
Sporting--courting, all the day--
And set the bells a-ringing.
Soon he tripp'd it off to church,
Lightly, gay, and airy;
Leaving t' others in the lurch,
Sighing--after Mary.
PHILIP.
In the famed town of Cadiz
Lived the fairest of ladies,
Donna Louisa Isabella:
And she had a lover,
Who did his mind discover;
And she thought him a charming fellow.
Now this fairest of ladies
Had a father lived in Cadiz,
And he lock'd her within a high tower:
And her lover coming thither,
He promised to be with her
At a certain appointed hour.
He was there at the time,
And he call'd out in rhyme--
For his heart was consumed to a cinder--
"You have nothing now to fear,
Since your Philip now is here;--
Louisa, pray come to the window!"
The lady appears,
And quiets all his fears;
For his boldness she likes him the better.
"All I want," says he, "to do,
Is to get convey'd to you--
This very interesting letter!"
THE BLACKSMITH.
A blacksmith, you'll own, is so clever,
And great in the world is his place;
And the reason I've guess'd, why for ever
A blacksmith's deserving of grace.
Great lawyers who plead and who preach,
While many good causes they mar,
May yield to the blacksmith to teach,
For he labours still more at the _bar_!
When great men do wrong in the State,
The Commons try hard at their polls;
While the blacksmith, as certain as fate,
Could have 'em _haul'd over the coals_.
And if rogues put their name to a draft,
The law for their hanging will teaze;
But blacksmiths are free from all craft,
And may _forge_ just as much as they please.
The _vices_ of trade he holds cheap,
And laughs at the world as it rails,
For, spite of the pother they keep,
They can't make a smith _eat his nails_!
And if, to his praise be it spoke,
To raise him still higher and higher;
You may say, and without any joke,
All he gets is got _out of the fire_!
Then let blacksmiths be toasted round,
For well it may always be said,
When a fortune by blacksmiths is found,
They must hit the right _nail o' the head_.
No _irony_ now I'm about,
To his _metal_ you'll find him still true,
Since I've _hammer'd his history out_,
I hope 'twill be temper'd by you.
"MY FATHER DID SO BEFORE ME."[69]
When I was a chicken I went to school,
My master would call me an obstinate fool,
For I ruled the roast, and I roasted all rule,
And he wonder'd how ever he bore me.
His tables I blotted, his windows I broke,
I fired his wig, and I laughed at the smoke,
And always replied if he row'd at the joke,
Why--my father did so before me.
I met a young girl, and I pray'd to the miss,
I fell on my knee, and I ask'd for a kiss,
She twice said no, but she once said yes,
And in marriage declared she'd restore me.
We loved and we quarrell'd, like April our strife,
I guzzled my stoup, and I buried my wife;
But the thing that consoled me at this time of life
Was--my father did so before me.
Then now I'm resolv'd at all sorrows to blink--
Since winking's the tippy I'll tip 'em the wink,
I'll never get drunk when I cannot get drink,
Nor ever let misery bore me.
I sneer at the Fates, and I laugh at their spite,
I sit down contented to sit up all night,
And when my time comes, from the world take my flight,
For--my father did so before me.
"THROUGHOUT MY LIFE THE GIRLS I'VE PLEASED."
Throughout my life the girls I've pleased,
So merry, so blithe and gay;
I've coax'd, I've flatter'd, I've sigh'd, and teased,
And stole their young hearts away.
With their lips so red, and their eyes so bright,
Their nut-brown locks and their teeth so white,
The lasses were always my delight,
And I am the boy for them.
With my capering, tapering, twirling toe,
My billet-doux note or letter a;
My sighing--pining--whining--oh!
My person--eye--etcetera!
My taste is wondrous civil, too;
For mark, ye ladies, this--
There's nought you say, there's nought you do,
To me can come amiss.
If serious be your turn of mind,
To grunt and groan I'm then inclined;
But if you'll laugh, why, still you'll find
That I'm the boy for you.
With my capering, etc.
Then as to person, what of that?
Of all the girls I've seen,
If they've been plump, I've loved them fat;
If thin, admired them lean;
And as to height, make no ado;
It matters not, I tell you true,
Whether two feet six, or six feet two,
Still I am the boy for you.
With my capering, etc.
THE CHAMBERMAID.
When clouds obscure the evening sky,
And rains in torrents pour,
The inn with joy the travellers spy,
And seek its welcome door.
'Tis there I stand to please them all,
And follow still my trade;
I smile and run whene'er they call,
A merry little chambermaid.
But when appears the dawn of day,
Farewell to every guest,
They take their leaves and onward stray,
Some east and others west.
And when that horrid bore, the bill,
Is call'd for, read, and paid,
I cry, "I hope, give what you will,
You'll not forget the chambermaid."
Thus happy might I pass my life,
But love rules in my breast,
And till I'm made a happy wife,
I ne'er shall be at rest.
Then Fortune's gifts in vain she sheds,
For love I leave my trade;
And give my all to him who weds
The merry little chambermaid.
SONG.[70]
When I was a very little fellow,
To Italy I went
Upon music intent,
With a voice very pliable and mellow.
Il sondo to my earo
Si suito e so clearo.
I like it;--I love it;--I adore, oh
And den it was I resolved to have some more,
Che il gela del timore
Sua Pace in tanta pena
Tanta Smorza l'ardore,
Gia sento in ogni vena.
To Turkey then I bent my way;
Tink, tink, a ting a ring, oh!
When cymbals jingle, music play,
Ting, ting a ting a ring, oh!
Yet then I change;
To Germany I range;
And Holland, too, mynher vat is der name,
Bazzoon, O Gloch da cram bo
Vat can a, do, do!
Then turn again
To flippant Spain,
Fast as ever I can go,
Where pretty sets
With castanets
Tack a rack to the merry Fandango.
In France I there
Learn'd many an air,
And music made my gain
With _Comment ça_,
_Monsieur?_ Ha! Ha!
Miron ton ton ton tain!
But near home I got land,
And lilted I into Scotland,
Where Donald loo'd fair Maggie bonnie;
She loo'd Jock and hated Johnny;
Wi bit love between 'em ganging,
Sawney gied the lad a banging.
And now to Hibernia, the true land of harmony,
Tippling your whiskey to Shelim a gig,
Music, love, wine, and true friendship so charming ye,
Blood and ouns, boderoo, fizle my gig.
In England, no music is fit to be read,
Save one glorious tune that's in every one's head.
'Tis a tune we delight in,
So glorious to sing;
God save great George our King,
Long live our noble King!
GOD SAVE THE KING.
SIR TILBURY TOTT.[71]
The plump Lady Tott to her husband one day
Said, "Let us go driving this evening, I pray."
(Lady Tott was an alderman's daughter.)
"Well, where shall we go?" said Sir Tilbury Tott;
"Why, my love," said my lady, "the weather is hot,
Suppose we drive round by the water,--
The water,--
Suppose we drive round by the water."
The dinner was ended, the claret was "done,"
The knight getting up--getting down was the sun,--
And my lady agog for heart-slaughter;
When Sir Tilbury, lazy, like cows after grains,
Said, "The weather is lowering, my love; see, it rains,--
Only look at the drops in the water,--
The water,--
Only look at the drops in the water."
Lady Tott, who, when earnestly fix'd on a drive,
Overcame all excuses Sir Til might contrive,
Had her bonnet and parasol brought her:
Says she, "Dear Sir Til, don't let me ask in vain;
The dots in the pond which you take to be rain,
Are nothing but flies in the water,--
The water,--
Are nothing but flies in the water."
Sir Tilbury saw that he could not escape;
So he put on his coat, with a three-doubled cape,
And then by the hand gently caught her;
And lifting her up to his high one-horse "shay,"
She settled her "things," and the pair drove away,
And skirted the edge of the water,--
The water,--
And skirted the edge of the water.
Sir Til was quite right; on the top of his crown,
Like small shot in volleys, the rain pepper'd down,--
Only small shot would do much more slaughter,--
Till the gay Lady Tott, who was getting quite wet,
Said, "My dear Sir T. T.," in a kind of half pet,
"Turn back, for I'm drench'd with rain-water,--
Rain-water,--
Turn back, for I'm drench'd with rain-water."
"Oh, dear Lady T," said Til, winking his eye,
"You everything know so much better than I;"
(For, when angry, with kindness he fought her.)
"You may fancy this rain, as I did before,
But you show'd me my folly;--'tis really no more
Than the skimming of flies in the water,--
The water,--
Than the skimming of flies in the water."
He drove her about for an hour or two,
Till her ladyship's clothes were completely soak'd through,
Then home to Tott Cottage he brought her,
And said, "Now, Lady T., by the joke of to-night,
I'll _reign_ over you; for you'll own that I'm right,
And know rain, ma'am, from flies in the water,--
The water,--
Know rain, ma'am, from flies in the water."
VENICE PRESERVED.[72]
_Tune_--"The Sprig of Shillelagh."
Och, tell me truth now, and did you ne'er hear
Of a pair of big traitors, call'd Jaffier and Pierre,
Who thought that their country was shockingly served?
Who met in the dark, and the night, and the fogs,--
Who "howl'd at the moon" and call'd themselves "dogs,"
Till Jaffier to Pierre pledged his honour and life,
And into the bargain his iligant wife,--
By which very means was ould Venice preserved.
The ringleaders held a snug club in the town,
The object of which was to knock the Doge down,
Because from his duty they thought he had swerved.
They met every evening, and more was their fault,
At the house of a gentleman, Mr. Renault,
Who--och, the spalpeen!--when they all went away,
Stay'd at home, and made love to the sweet Mrs. J.,--
By which, in the end, was ould Venice preserved.
When Jaffier came back, his most delicate belle--
Belvidera they call'd her--determined to tell
How she by old Renault that night had been served.
This blew up a breeze, and made Jaffier repent
Of the plots he had laid: to the Senate he went.
He got safe home by twelve: his wife bade him not fail;
And by half-after-one he was snug in the gaol,--
By which, as we'll see, was ould Venice preserved.
The Doge and the Court, when J.'s story they'd heard,
Thought it good for the country to forfeit their word,
And break the conditions they should have observed.
So they sent the police out to clear every street,
And seize whomsoever by chance they might meet;
And before the bright sun was aloft in the sky,
Twenty-two of the party were sentenced to die,--
And that was the way was ould Venice preserved.
Mr. Jaffier, who 'peach'd, was let off at the time;
But that wouldn't do, he committed a crime,
Which punishment more than his others deserved;
So when Pierre was condemn'd, to the scaffold he went,
Pierre whisper'd and nodded, and J. said "Content."
They mounted together, till kind Mr. J.,
Having stabb'd Mr. P., served himself the same way,--
And so was their honour in Venice preserved.
But och! what a scene, when the beautiful Bell,
At her father's, found out how her dear husband fell!
The sight would the stoutest of hearts have unnerved.
She did nothing but tumble, and squabble, and rave,
And try to scratch J., with her nails from the grave.
This lasted three months, when, cured of her pain,
She chuck'd off her weeds, and got married again,--
By which very means was this _Venus_ preserved.
DAYLIGHT DINNERS.[73]
When Summer's smiles rejoice the plains,
And deck the vale with flowers;
And blushing nymphs, and gentle swains,
With love beguile the hours;
Oh! then conceive the ills that mock
The well-dress'd London sinner,
Invited just at seven o'clock
To join a "daylight dinner."
The sun, no trees the eye to shade,
Glares full into the windows,
And scorches widow, wife, and maid
Just as it does the Hindoos;
One's shoes look brown, one's black looks grey,
One's legs if thin, look thinner;
There's nothing equals, in its way,
A London daylight dinner.
The cloth seems blue, the plate's like lead,
The faded carpet dirty,
Grey hairs peep out from each dark head,
And twenty looks like thirty.
You sit beside an heiress gay,
And do your best to win her,
But oh!--what can one do or say,
If 'tis a daylight dinner?
A lovely dame just forty-one,
At night a charming creature,
My praise unqualified had won,
In figure, form, and feature,
That _she_ was born, without a doubt,
Before the days of Jenner,
By sitting next her, I found out,
Once at a daylight dinner.
Freckles, and moles, and holes, and spots,
The envious sun discloses,
And little bumps, and little dots,
On chins, and cheeks, and noses.
Last Monday, Kate, when next me placed
(A most determined grinner),
Betray'd four teeth of mineral paste,
Eating a daylight dinner.
* * * * *
CLUBS.
_Tune_--"Bow, wow, wow."
If any man loves comfort and has little cash to buy it, he
Should get into a _crowded_ club--a most _select_ society;
While solitude and mutton-cutlets serve _infelix uxor_, he
May have his club (like Hercules) and revel there in luxury.
Bow, wow, wow, etc.
Yes, _Clubs_ knock taverns on the head! e'en _Hatchetts_ can't
demolish them;
_Joy grieves_ to see their magnitude, and _Long_ longs to
abolish them.
The _Inns_ are _out_! hotels for single men scarce keep alive on it,
While none but houses that are in the _Family way_ thrive on it!
Bow, wow, wow, etc.
There's first the Athenæum club, so wise, there's not a man of it
That has not sense enough for six, (in fact, that is the plan of it:)
The very waiters answer you with eloquence Socratical,
And always place the knives and forks in order mathematical.
Bow, wow, wow, etc.
Then opposite the _mental_ club you'll find the _regi_mental one,
A meeting made of men of war, and yet a very gentle one;
If _uniform_ good living please your palate, here's excess of it,
Especially at private dinners, when they _make a mess of it_!
Bow, wow, wow, etc.
E'en Isis has a house in Town! and Cam abandons _her_ city!
The _Master_ now hangs out at the United University;
In Common Room she gave a route! (a novel freak to hit upon)
Where Masters gave the Mistresses of Arts no chairs to sit upon!
Bow, wow, wow, etc.
The Union Club is quite superb--it's best apartment daily is
The lounge of lawyers, doctors, merchants, beaux _cum multis aliis_:
At half-past six, the _joint concern_, for eighteenpence, is given
you--
Half-pints of port are sent in _ketchup bottles_ to enliven you!
Bow, wow, wow, etc.
The travellers are in Pall Mall, and smoke cigars so cosily,
And dream they climb the highest Alps, or rove the plains of Moselai;
The world for them has nothing new, they have explor'd all parts
of it,
And now they are club-footed! and they sit and look at charts of it.
Bow, wow, wow, etc.
The Orientals homeward bound, now seek their clubs much sallower,
And while they eat green fat, they find their own fat growing
yellower:
Their soup is made _more savoury_, till bile to shadows dwindles 'em,
And Messrs. _Savory_ and _Moore_ with seidlitz draughts rekindles 'em.
Bow, wow, wow, etc.
Then there are clubs where persons Parliamentary preponderate,
And clubs for men _upon the turf_--(I wonder they aren't _under it_)--
Clubs where the _winning_ ways of _sharper_ folks pervert the _use_ of
clubs,
Where _knaves_ will make subscribers cry, "Egad, this is the _deuce_
of clubs."
Bow, wow, wow, etc.
For country Squires the only club in London now is Boodles, sirs,
The Crockford club for playful men, the Alfred club for noodles, sirs,
These are the stages which all men propose to play their parts upon,
For _clubs_ are what the Londoners have clearly set their _hearts_
upon.
Bow, wow, wow, etc.
VISITINGS.
N.B.--A lady having presented the Author, on a visit, with her
_thumb_ to shake _hands_ with, the Muse opened her mouth and spake as
follows:--
Some women at parting scarce give you
So much as a simple good-bye,
And from others as long as you live, you
Will never be bless'd with a sigh;
Some will press you so warmly, you'd linger
Beside them for ever, and some
Will give you an icy forefinger,
But Fanny presents you a thumb.
Some will give you a look of indifference,
Others will give you a smile;
While some of the colder and stiffer ones,
Bow in their own chilly style.
There are some who look merry at parting,
And some who look wofully glum;
Some give you a blessing at starting,
But Fanny just gives you a thumb.
There are some who will go to the door with you,
Some ring for the man or the maid;
Some who do less, and some more, with you,
And a few would be glad if you stay'd.
A good many wish you'd be slack again,
Their way on a visit to come;
Two or three give you leave to go back again,
But Fanny gives only her thumb.
With a number, ten minutes are longer
Than you find yourself welcome to stay;
While some, whose affections are stronger,
Would like to detain you all day.
Some offer you sherry and biscuit,
Others give not a drop nor a crumb;
Some a sandwich, from sirloin or brisket,
But Fanny gives simply her thumb.
Some look with a sort of a squint to you,
Some whisper they've visits to make;
Some glance at their watches--a hint to you,
Which, if you are wise, you will take.
Some faintly invite you to dinner,
(So faint, you may see it's all hum,
Unless you're a silly beginner,)
But Fanny presents you a thumb.
Some chatter--thirteen to the dozen--
Some don't speak a word all the time;
Some open the albums they've chosen,
And beg you to scribble in rhyme;
Some bellow so loud, they admonish
Your ear to take care of its drum;
Some give you an ogle quite _tonish_,
But Fanny gives nought, save her thumb.
Some wonder how long you've been absent,
Despair of your coming again;
While some have a coach or a cab sent,
To take you away if it rain.
Some shut up their windows in summer,
Some won't stir the fire, though you're numb;
Some give you hot punch in a rummer,
But Fanny gives only her thumb.
Some talk about scandal, or lovers,
Some talk about Byron or Scott;
Some offer you eggs laid by plovers,
Some offer the luck of the pot;
A great many offer you nothing,
They sit, like automata, dumb,
The silly ones give you a loathing,
But Fanny gives merely her thumb.
Some bore you with six-year-old gabies,
In the shape of a master or miss;
Others hold up their slobbering babies,
Which you must be a brute not to kiss:
Some tell you their household disasters,
While others their instruments strum;
Some give you receipts for corn plasters,
But Fanny presents you her thumb.
Some talk of the play they've been last at,
And some of the steam-driven coach;
While those who are prudes look aghast at
Each piece of new scandal you broach:
Some talk of converting the Hindoos,
To relish, like Christians, their rum;
Some give you a view from their windows,
But Fanny gives only her thumb.
Some ask what you think of the tussel, man,
Between the all-lies and the Porte;
And Cod-rington's thrashing the muscle-man
(Puns being such people's forte).
The men speak of change in the Cabinet;
The women--how can they sit mum?
Give their thoughts upon laces and tabinet,
But Fanny gives merely her thumb.
Some speak of the Marquis of Lansdowne,
Who, to prove the old proverb, has set
About thief-catching--laying wise plans down
In the _Hue and Cry_ weekly gazette.
Some think that the Whigs are but noodles
(But such are, of course, the mere scum);
Some give you long tales of their poodles,
But Fanny presents you her thumb.
Good luck to them all!--where I visit,
I meet with warm hearts and warm hands;
But that's not a common thing, is it?
For I neither have houses nor lands:
Not a look but the soul has a part in it,
(How different the looks are of some!)
Oh! give me a hand with a heart in it,
And the devil take finger and thumb.
TO MR. ----, WHO PUTS OVER HIS DOOR "PEN AND QUILL MANUFACTURER."