By our full power of beauty we think fit
To damn the salique law impos'd on wit:
We'll try the empire you so long have boasted;
And if we are not prais'd, we'll not be toasted.
Approve what one of us presents to-night;
Or every mortal woman here shall write:
Rural, pathetic, narrative, sublime,
We'll write to you, and make you write in rhyme;
Female remarks shall take up all your time.
Your time, poor souls! we'll take your very money;
Female third days shall come so quick upon ye.
As long as we have eyes, or hands, or breath,
We'll look, or write, or talk you all to death.
Unless you yield for better and for worse:
Then the she-pegasus shall gain the course;
And the
gray mare will prove the better horse.
THE THIEF AND THE CORDELIER,
A BALLAD. TO THE TUNE OF KING JOHN AND
WHO has e'er been at Paris must needs know the
The fatal retreat of the unfortunate brave: Where honour and justice most oddly contribute, To ease heroes' pains by a halter and gibbet, Derry down, down, hey derry down.
There death breaks the shackles which force had
And the hangman completes what the judge but
There the squire of the pad, and the knight of the
Find their pains no more balk'd, and their hopes no more cross'd.
Great claims are there made, and great secrets are
And the king, and the law, and the thief has his own; But my hearers cry out, What a deuce dost thou ail? Cut off thy reflections, and give us thy tale. Derry down, &c.
'Twas there then, in civil respect to harsh laws, And for want of false witness, to back a bad cause, A Norman, though late, was obliged to appear; And who to assist, but a grave Cordelier?
The squire, whose good grace was to open the scene,
Seem'd not in great haste, that the show should begin:
Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart;
And often took leave; but was loth to depart.
Derry down, &c.
What frightens you thus, my good son? say the
You murder'd, are sorry, and have been confess'd.
O father! my sorrow will scarce save my bacon:
For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken.
Derry down, &c.
Pugh! prithee ne'er trouble thy head with such
fancies:
Rely on the aid you shall have from Saint Francis ;
If the money you promis'd be brought to the chest,
You have only to die: let the church do the rest.
Derry down, &c.
And what will folks say, if they see you afraid?
It reflects upon me, as I knew not my trade:
Courage, friend; to-day is your period of sorrow;
And things will go better, believe me, to-morrow.
Derry down, &c.
To-morrow? our hero replied in a fright:
He that's hang'd before noon, ought to think of to
Tell your beads, quoth the priest, and be fairly
For you surely to-night shall in Paradise sup.
Alas! quoth the squire, howe'er sumptuous the treat,
Parbleu, I shall have little stomach to eat:
I should therefore esteem it great favour and grace,
Would you be so kind, as to go in my place.
Derry down, &c.
That I would, quoth the father, and thank you to
But our actions, you know, with our duty must suit.
The feast, I propos'd to you, I cannot taste;
For this night, by our order, is mark'd for a fast.,
Derry down, &c.
Then turning about to the hangman, he said;
Dispatch me, I prithee, this troublesome blade:
For thy cord, and my cord both equally tie;
And we live by the gold for which other men die.
Derry down, &c.
Stet quicunque volet potens
Aulæ culmine lubrico, &c.
INTERR'D beneath this marble stone
Lie sauntering Jack and idle Joan.
While rolling threescore years and one
Did round this globe their courses run;
If human things went ill or well;
If changing empires rose or fell;
The morning past, the evening came,
And found this couple still the same.
They walk'd and eat, good folks: what then?
Why then they walk'd and eat again:
They soundly slept the night away;
They just did nothing all the day;
And having buried children four,
Would not take pains to try for more:
Nor sister either had, nor brother;
They seem'd just tallied for each other.
Their moral and economy
Most perfectly they made agree:
Each virtue kept its proper bound,
Nor trespass'd on the other's ground.
Nor fame, nor censure they regarded ;
They neither punish'd nor rewarded.
He car'd not what the footman did;
Her maids she neither prais'd nor chid;
So
every servant took his course;
And bad at first, they all grew worse.
Slothful disorder fill'd his stable;
And sluttish plenty deck'd her table.
Their beer was strong; their wine was port;
Their meal was large; their grace was short.
They gave the poor the remnant meat,
Just when it grew not fit to eat.
They paid the church and parish rate;
And took, but read not the receipt:
For which they claim their Sunday's due,
Of slumbering in an upper pew.
No man's defects sought they to know;
So never made themselves a foe.
No man's good deeds did they commend ;
So never rais'd themselves a friend.
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