BEN BOUCHER,

_The Dudley Poet and Rhymist_.

"Oh! rare Ben Boucher, Boucher Ben;

The best of Poets, but worst of men."

[Illustration: BEN BOUCHER. _THE DUDLEY POET, 1847._]

This extraordinary old man was truly a "curiosity" in himself; for

many years he enlivened the Black Country with _distiches_ of the ins

and outs of life, in all its varied phases, by his peculiar doggerel

poetry or songs, which the old man used to compose on any public event

which struck his fancy or provoked his wrath. He then sallied out to

the wondering public, and sold his songs at one penny per sheet, and

familiar indeed was the figure of the old poet, daily in our streets

vending his singular wares. He took up all sorts of sad, grim, and

pleasurable subjects, from the hanging of some wretch at Stafford

Gaol, to a dog, or cock fight at Sedgley, or Tipton. Ben Boucher was

a Collier by trade, and was born at Horseley Heath, in the year 1769,

but the greater part of his singular and irregular life was spent in

Dudley, at certain favourite public house haunts, where his talents

were appreciated, and his songs admired and read by the curious.

The following is a sample of some of his effusions:--On the death of

Dr. Booker, away from Dudley.

St. Luke is dead--a Poet and Divine--

I hope his spirit doth in glory shine.

To save expense, and the roads being ugly,

Or the Doctor would have come to Dudley.

* * * * *

In Dudley town there lives a man

Who deals in silk and clothes, sir;

If you trust him your mutton to Cook,

He'll be sure to spoil your broth, sir.

A certain tailor kept a horse for amusement in those days, not in the

best condition, so we have the horse described:--