Two mice, dear boy, of genteel fashion,
And (what is more) good education,
Frolic and gay, in infant years,
Equally shared their parents' cares.
The sire of these two babes (poor creature!)
Paid his last debt to human nature;
A wealthy widow left behind,
Four babes, three males, one female kind.
The sire being under ground and buried,
'Twas thought his spouse would soon have married;
Matches proposed, and numerous suitors,
Most tender husbands, careful tutors,
She modestly refused, and showed
She'd be a mother to her brood.
Mother! dear mother! that endearing thought Has thousand and ten thousand fancies brought. Tell me, oh! tell me, (thou art now above) How to describe thy true maternal love; Thy early pangs, thy growing anxious cares, Thy flattering hopes, thy fervent pious prayers, Thy doleful days and melancholy nights, Cloistered from common joys and just delights: How thou didst constantly in private mourn, And wash with daily tears thy spouse's urn; How it employed your thoughts and lucid time, That your young offspring might to honour climb; How your first care, by numerous griefs oppressed, Under the burden sunk, and went to rest; How your dear darling, by consumption's waste, Breathed her last piety into your breast;
you, alas! tired with your pilgrimage,
Bowed down your head, and died in good old age.
Though not inspired, oh! may I never be
Forgetful of my pedigree, or thee!
Ungrateful howsoe'er, mayn't I forget
To pay this small, yet tributary debt!
And when we meet at God's tribunal throne,
Own me, I pray thee, for a pious son.
But why all this? is this your fable?
Believe me, Mat, it seems a babble:
If you will let me know the intent on 't.
Go to your Mice, and make an end on 't.
Well then, dear brother:
As sure as Hudi's sword could swaddle,
Two Mice were brought up in one cradle;
Well bred, I think, of equal port,
One for the gown, one for the court:
They parted (did they so, an 't please you?)
Yes, that they did (dear sir) to ease you.
One went to Holland, where they huff folk, 50
T'other to vend his wares in Suffolk.
That Mice have travelled in old times,
Horace and Prior tell in rhymes,
Those two great wonders of their ages,
Superior far to all the sages!
Many days passed, and many a night,
Ere they could gain each other's sight;
At last, in weather cold, nor sultry,
They met at the Three Cranes in Poultry.
After much buss and great grimace
(Usual you know in such a case),
Much chat arose, what had been done,
What might before next summer's sun;
Much said of France, of Suffolk's goodness,
The gentry's loyalty, mob's rudeness.
That ended, o'er a charming bottle,
They entered on this tittle-tattle.
Quoth Suffolk, by pre-eminence
In years, though (God knows) not in sense:
All's gone, dear brother, only we
Remain to raise posterity;
Marry you, brother; I'll go down,
Sell nouns and verbs, and lie alone;
May you ne'er meet with feuds or babble,
May olive-branches crown your table!
Somewhat I'll save, and for this end,
To prove a brother and a friend.
What I propose is just, I swear it;
Or may I perish, by this claret!
The dice are thrown, choose this or that
('Tis all alike to honest Mat);
I'll take then the contrary part,
And propagate with all my heart.
After some thought, some Portuguese,
Some wine, the younger thus replies;
Fair are your words, as fair your carriage, Let me be free, drudge you in marriage;
Get me a boy called Adrian,
Trust me, I'll do for't what I can.
Home went well pleased the Suffolk tony, 20
Heart free from care, as purse from money;
He got a lusty squalling boy
(Doubtless the dad's and mamma's joy).
In short, to make things square and even,
Adrian he named was by Dick Stephen.
Mat's debt thus paid, he now enlarges,
And sends you in a bill of charges,
A cradle, brother, and a basket
(Granted as soon as e'er I ask it);
A coat not of the smallest scantling,
Frocks, stockings, shoes, to grace the bantling;
These too were sent (or I'm no drubber)
Nay, add to these the fine gum-rubber;
Yet these won't do, send t'other coat,
For, faith, the first 's not worth a groat,
Dismally shrunk, as herrings shotten,
Supposed originally rotten.
Pray let the next be each way longer,
Of stuff more durable, and stronger;
Send it next week, if you are able.
By this time, sir, you know the fable.
From this, and letters of the same make,
You'll find what 'tis to have a name-sake.
Cold and hard times, sir, here (believe it).
I've lost my curate too, and grieve it.
At Easter for what I can see,
(A time of ease and vacancy)
If things but alter, and not undone,
I'll kiss your hands, and visit London.
Molly sends greeting; so do I, sir;
Send a good coat, that's all; good-by, sir.
FIRST PRINTED IN THE EXAMINER, MDCCX.
SPHINX was a monster that would eat
Whatever stranger she could get;
Unless his ready wit disclosed
The subtle riddle she proposed.
Edipus was resolved to go,
And try what strength of parts would do.
Says Sphinx, On this depends your fate;
Tell me what animal is that
Which has four feet at morning bright,
Has two at noon, and three at night?
'Tis man, said he, who, weak by nature,
At first creeps, like his fellow creature,
Upon all four; as years accrue,
With sturdy steps he walks on two;
In age, at length, grows weak and sick,
For his third leg adopts a stick.
Now, in your turn, 'tis just, methinks,
You should resolve me, Madam Sphinx.
What greater stranger yet is he,
Who has four legs, then two, then three;
Then loses one, then gets two more,
And runs away at last on four?
EPIGRAM EXTEMPORE.1
I STOOD, sir, patient at your feet,
Before your elbow chair;
But make a bishop's throne your seat,
I'll kneel before you there.
One only thing can keep you down,
For your great soul too mean;
You'd not, to mount a bishop's throne,
Pay homage to the queen.
1 This epigram is printed from a pamphlet published in 1751, entitled, The friendly and honest Advice of an old Tory to the Vice Chancellor of Cambridge,' 8vo.
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