"Hark! hark! the tuckets sound on high!
'He comes! Sir Isengrim!' they cry.
The Wolf and all his kith and kin
Approach in long array! The din
Their multitudinous trampling made
Resounded like a cavalcade
Of mailed warriors on the march,
Or winds that, through a wood of larch,
The groaning branches swing and sway,
And thunder out and roar alway.
Still forward they their course observe,
Neither to right nor left they swerve;
But onward to the lists the band
March up, then halt, and take their stand.
When first the Wolf--'I here repeat
The Fox a villain is, and cheat!
I brand him murderer to boot!
Adulterer! with heart, as soot
Is, black! that solemn truth do I
Wager on hazard of this die!'
Then Reynard--'What the Wolf alleges
Are lies! I'll prove it! and my pledge is
The victory, which I by battle,
This day will gain o'er yon _base cattle_!'
The marshal of the lists then cried:
'The right shall by the might be tried,
What fair and fetis is, that do!
The god of battles prosper you!'
He said, then towards the side withdrew.
The rest soon follow'd; save the two,
Who occupied alone the space,
And stood for action face to face!
The marshal now, with plumed hat on,
Beside the barrier stood; his baton
Of office thrice he whirled aloft;
And not a soul or spake or _cough'd_.
'Oyez! oyez! oyez!' he cried,
'Will each of ye the issue bide?'
'We will!' they answer. 'Are ye ready?'
'Yes!' 'Yes!'--'Then LAISSEZ ALLER!' said he.
Reynard address'd him then to fight;
And Isengrim commenced to bite
The air, and show'd his teeth, by way
Of prelude to the coming fray;
Next, rear'd his snout, and brought the jowl
To Reynard's level; one loud howl
He utter'd, ere he crouch'd, then bounded
To where the Fox, no whit astounded
By noises so unknightly, stood;
For raising lofty as he could
His voice, the foe the terms defied.
'Come on,' he resolutely cried.
The struggle was commenced! The sternest
There present felt it was right earnest;
The Fox, as smaller of the two,
Was favourite; and when he drew
'_First claret_,' at that _tapping_ action
The mob express'd their satisfaction;
Exclaiming, '_go it! ten to one
Upon the varmint little 'un!'_
By this time had Dan Phoebus clomb
The summit of his glowing dome,
And Isengrim his power to feel
Began, which made the Wolf to reel.
He mourn'd his hapless want of claws,
His teeth, too, batter'd by the paws
Of Reynard, woefully he miss'd;
For grasp'd within his well-clench'd fist,
The Fox a flint stone firmly held,
With which he deftly aim'd and fell'd
One after t'other every fang,
Till down his weasand, at each bang,
Successively they flew. This thing
To Isengrim _so punishing_,
Set him forthwith to calculate
The odds on his _superior weight_,
How best it might the foeman tell on--
Which done, he threw himself pele-mele on
The Fox, to bear him down intending.
But Reynard saw: instead of spending
His strength in any vain endeavour
'Gainst Isengrim, he waited ever
Upon the Wolf--so this time he
Perceived the rushing enemy,
And as he near'd him slipp'd aside.
The Wolf came on with awful stride,
But meeting not with Reynard there,
He buffeted the yielding air
Instead, found no impediment,
His force him to the barrier sent,
Where toppling heels o'er head he went
With emphasis--a heavy _flop_,
'_My eyes,' the mob cry, 'what a whop!_'
Then Reynard to the Wolf stepp'd close,
And said aloud, 'How lik'st the dose?
Friend Isengrim, there yet may be
For pardon opportunity
Ere thou departest, only speed ye,
Or else the wandering ghosts, I rede ye,
Of all the lambs and kids thou'st slain
Will haunt thee through the wide champain
Whither thou'rt ebbing fast, down yonder;
But softly, is he kill'd I wonder?'
For so it seem'd. Through that vast crowd
A pin drop had resounded loud.
Thought Reynard, he has got it now!
I'll rest awhile, for any how
If he the fight again begin
I'll try the trick upon his shin.
Stunn'd lay the prostrate Wolf quite still
And stiff, nor moved a peg until
His squires, much fearing for his life,
Rush'd in, preceded by his wife;
And lifting him upon their knees,
They gave him _salts to make him sneeze_,
Which thirteen times he did repeat,
Then started lively to his feet.
A feeling of relief ran through
The crowd, whose visages look'd rue,
To think their fun forestall'd and spent
By that untoward accident.
Again the tuckets sound--again
The dauntless heroes give the rein
To their revenge. The Fox now charges
The Wolf, and both his eyes enlarges,
With _right and lefters planted well_,
And _punches on the nob that tell_;
So hard and fast the bangs and thumps,
You'd thought that firemen at their pumps
Were working--
----crafty Reynard quick
Deliver'd him a villain kick
Right in the midriff--down he dropp'd!
Like some tall forester when lopp'd
By stroke of woodman's axe. 'Twas all
He spake, not groaned in his fall,
Outstretch'd upon the ground there lay
The Wolf--he'd fainted clean away.
No herald's voice, no tucket's cheer,
The noble Isengrim could hear;
An all but victor lately, now
Prostrated, palsied by one blow;
Nay, not so, by a kick unknightly,
Foul aim'd, yet for the mark too rightly,
Alas, its only merit that!
But what cared Reynard, it was pat,
And told, and did its business well;
'Twas every thing desirable.
The fight was o'er--the Wolf dragg'd out
More dead than living, 'mid the shout
Of rabble, whilst the heralds cry
'Largesse,' the others 'Victory.'
The air with noise and din resounded.
The friends of Isengrim, confounded,
Slunk off, whilst Reynard's stay'd; indeed
The very people who agreed
The Fox's death a public good
Had been, now 'mong the foremost stood,
By acclamations to attest
Regard outheroding the rest!"
We have not the heart to criticise this last and greatest effort of the
reproducer. Its slang speaks for itself, and certainly carries along
with it an undeniable "certificate of origin".
A good translation of any thing is perhaps an impossibility. But it must
be confessed, that the attempt of the German foreigner is highly
creditable to him, and, with a little amendment, would probably afford
our countrymen as fair an idea of the original as they are ever likely
to see. Certain it is, that Mr Naylor has not improved upon it.
If our readers think, that in the samples we have given of Mr Naylor's
beauties, we have not sufficiently brought forward some of the more
striking peculiarities of the Cockney school, we shall meet this
complaint by presenting them with the subjoined anthology, the fragrance
of which we think will satisfy their highest anticipations.
"The first in consequence at _court_,
As foremost in the public _thought_."
"Your cap and gloves you've left in _pawn_,
Thus adding ribaldry to _scorn_."
"What visitors had been? they _tell her_
How Reynard call'd, and said, 'nice _fellow_.'"
"Malkin should fall! and now the _fork_
By Martin turn'd to toma_hawk_."
"No sooner had the foe with_drawn_
To howl around the priest for_lorn_."
"Besides, he must have more than _thought once_
Upon the very vast _importance_."
"Of solemn asses half-a-_score_,
Who kick, when tickled with a _straw_!"
"I left him trapp'd, and then made _sheer off_:
His sufferings you can't form _idea of_."
"From underneath the frame I _draw_
The pin that propp'd it: with a _roar_."
"Their eggs upon a heap of _straw_,
Then loitering hindermost, the _more_."
"When it was bruited round the _court_
How Reynard was by greybeard _brought_."
"Grimalkin there one eye had _lost_,
His scalp from Bruin's head been _forced_."
"With any thing, in short, to _fasten_
Guilt on him--burglary--e'en _arson_!"
"Than at the words the Queen, _alarm'd_,
Nigh swoon'd before her fears were _calm'd_."
"The son dishonour'd: not a _straw_
It weigh'd with him, to think how _sore_."
"There dwelt my father; him they _sought_,
And plotted, whilst they soak'd his _port_."
"To practise after my pa_pa_--
Through life my light and exem_plar_!"
"Another life to lead he's _sworn_:
And will to-morrow at the _dawn_."
"Then, turning to the Queen, _besought_
Her majesty in merry _sport_."
"Quoth Reynard, as with sudden _thought_
Before the portal stopping _short_."
"We have so many a sally-_port_,
And _cul-de-sac_, we can't be _caught_."
"Send far and near the heralds _forth_,
By blast of trump to tell my _wrath_."
"At Rome, I on our banker _draw_,
And when that's gone, I send for _more_."
"That none dared venture! This he _saw_
And felt his pluck return once _more_."
"But I've no _claws_
And therefore am not fit for _wars_."
"By envy eaten up, they _saw_
Me prosper; looking all _before_."
"And ever, when they walk'd _abroad_
Each arm'd with hunting-whip and _cord_."
If any of our readers doubt the authenticity of some of the rhymes above
set down, we are willing that they should buy the book, as we have done,
and ascertain for themselves.
Merciful as we are by nature, and growing more and more so every day by
age, we yet feel that the enormities we have now denounced are beyond
endurance. Such poetry as this, neither gods, men, nor booksellers
should tolerate; and with the highest respect for the very excellent
publishers who have assisted in the birth of this production, and to
whom we owe so many useful and admirable contributions to knowledge and
literature, we do venture humbly to submit, that their peculiar duty
makes them somewhat more responsible for what is thus brought forth,
than ordinary obstetrical practitioners can be for what they may help
into the world. There is no reason that such a bantling should be born
at all, and at least we would recommend the continuance of gestation for
nine times the Horatian period. Seriously speaking, we always regret to
miss the general security which the title-page should give us, that in
what we buy, we shall have something for our money. A bad or inferior
book may, inadvertently, issue from the most respectable quarter. But
when a work is ushered into the light with such pomp and pageantry of
paper, printing, and getting up, as are here lavished, we hold that the
public have a right to expect that it has received the imprimatur of
some discerning judge, and to enforce the implied warranty that the
inside, as well as the outside, is a merchantable commodity in the
market of Parnassus.
But the publisher's part of it is the least of the evil. It is obvious
that the natives of Cockneyland are forgetting themselves. A new
generation has sprung up that do not remember the castigations bestowed
on their fathers of yore, and which for a time kept them in tolerable
subjection. A young Londoner, who happens to have enthusiasm, or
industry, or information, on a particular subject, may deserve
commendation for the laudable direction of his private studies; but is
he, therefore, entitled to _haspire_ to write, and not to write merely,
but to write poetry, and to disfigure a venerable old poem under
pretence of reproducing it? That is a different question, which needs to
be seriously and decidedly dealt with. This is not the first time,
within a brief period, that we have been compelled to make an example of
similar delinquencies; and, as sure as the crutch is in yonder corner,
it shall not be the last, if the nuisance be not speedily and completely
abated.