With my sharp heel I three times mark the And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 90 And turn me thrice around, around, around.' "This pippin shall another trial make, FRIDAY; OR, THE DIRGEL BUMKINET, GRUBBINOL BUMKINET. WHY, Grubbinol, dost thou so wistful seem? There's sorrow in thy look, if right I deem. 'Tis true yon oaks with yellow tops appear, And chilly blasts begin to nip the year; From the tall elm a shower of leaves is borne, And their lost beauty riven beeches mourn. Yet ev'n this season pleasance blithe affords, 100 Now the squeez'd press foams with our apple boards, Come, let us hie, and quaff a cheery bowl, Let cyder new "wash sorrow from thy soul." With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' "As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree, 110 With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.’ "As I was wont, 1 trudg'd last market-day To town, with new-laid eggs preserv'd in hay. 120 I made my market long before 'twas night, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 130 "But hold our Lightfoot barks, and cocks his ears, O'er yonder stile see Lubberkin appears. GRUBBINOL. 10 Ah, Bumkinet! since thou from hence wert gone, From these sad plains all merriment is flown; Should I reveal my grief, 'twould spoil thy cheer, And make thine eye o'erflow with many a tear. BUMKINET. "Hang sorrow!" Let's to yonder hut repair, And with trim sonnets "cast away our care." "Gillian of Croydon" well thy pipe can play : Thou sing'st most sweet, "O'er hills and far away." Of "Patient Grissel" I devise to sing, And catches quaint shall make the vallies ring. A Come, Grubbinol, beneath this shelter, come; From hence we view our flocks securely roam. CRUBBINOL. Yes, blithsome lad, a tale I mean to sing, But with my woe shall distant vallies ring. The tale shall make our kidlings droop their head, For, woe is me!—our Blouzelind is dead! BUMKINET. Is Blouzelinda dead? farewell, my glee! The peerless maid that did all maids excel. Henceforth the morn shall dewy sorrow shed, And evening tears upon the grass be spread; The rolling streams with watery grief shall flow, And winds shall moan aloud-when loud they blow. Henceforth, as oft as Autumn shall return, The drooping trees, whene'er it rains, shall mourn: The season quite shall strip the country's pride, For 'twas in Autumn Blouzelinda dy'd. Where'er I gad, I Blouzelind shall view, Woods, dairy, barn, and mows, our passion kner, When I direct my eyes to yonder wood, Fresh rising sorrow curdles in my blood. Dirge, or dyrge, a mournful ditty, or song of lamentation, over the dead; not a contractia of the Latin dirige in the popish hymn, dinice gressus meos, as some pretend; but from the Teatonic dyrke, laudare, to praise and extol. Whence it is possible their dyrke, and our dirge, was a laudatory song to commemorate and applaud the dead. Cowell's Interpretet. Incipe, Mopse, prior, si quos aut Phyllidis ignes Aut Alconis habes laudes, aut jurgia Codri. Virg. Ver. 27. Glee, joy; from the Dutch glooren, a Ver. 15. Virg. I recreate. Thither I've often been the damsel's guide, If by the dairy's hatch I chance to hie, I shall her goodly countenance espy ; When in the barn the sounding flail I ply, 60 When Blouzelind expir'd, the wether's bell How shall I, void of tears, her death relate, 110 "Mother," quoth she, "let not the poultry need, Where from her sieve the chaff was wont to fly; 70 Let Susan keep for her dear sister's sake ; The poultry there will seem around to stand, I pitch'd the sheaves, (oh, could I do so now!) Lament, ye fields, and rueful symptoms show; GRUBBINOL. Albeit thy songs are sweeter to mine ear, Ver. 84 Pro molli viola, pro parpureo narcisso, 90 Virg. 120 130 My new straw hat, that's trimly lin'd with green, After the good man warn'd us from his text, 159 doubt, And spoke the hour-glass in her praise-quite out. Now we trudg'd homeward to her mother's farm, While bulls bear horns upon their curled brow, Ver. 153. 160 Dum juga montis aper, fluvios di m piscis amabit, They seiz'd the lass in apron clean array'd, SATURDAY; OR, THE FLIGHTS. BOWZYBEUS. SUBLIMER strains, O rustic Muse! prepare; Forget awhile the barn and dairy's care; Thy homely voice to loftier numbers raise, The drunkard's flights require sonorous lays; With Bowzybeus' songs exalt thy verse, While rocks and woods the various notes rehearse. 30 Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long? The mugs were large, the drink was wondrous strong! Thou should'st have left the fair before 'twas night; But thou sat'st toping till the morning light." Cicely brisk maid, steps forth before the rout, An kiss'd with smacking lip the snoaring lout: (For cut m says, "Whoe'er this venture proves, For such a kiss demands a pair of gloves.") By her example Dorcas bolder grows, Ad plays a tickling straw within his nose. He rubs his nostril, and in wonted joke The sneering swains with stammering speech bespoke : 86 To you, my lads, I'll sing my carols o'er, As for the ma'ds-I've something else in store." No sooner 'gan he raise his tuneful song, But lads and lasses round about him throng. Ver. 22. 40 Serta procul tantum capiti delapsa jacebant. Virg. Ver. 40. Sanguineis frontem moris & tempora pingit. Virg. Ver. 43. Carmina, quæ vultis, cognoscite: carmina vobis ; Huic aliud mercedis erit. Virg. Not ballad-singer plac'd above the crowd 50 Of Nature's laws his carols first begun, Why the grave owl can never face the Sun. For owls, as swains observe, detest the light, And only sing and seek their prey by night. How turnips hide their swelling heads below; And how the closing coleworts upwards grow; How Will-a-wisp misleads night-faring clowns O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless downs. Of stars he told, that shoot with shining trail, And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his tail. 60 He sung where woodcocks in the Summer feed, And in what climates they renew their breed (Some think to northern coasts their flight they Or to the Moon in midnight hours ascend); [tend, Where swallows in the Winter's season keep, And how the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep; How Nature does the puppy's eyelid close Till the bright Sun has nine times set and rose That puppies still nine rolling suns are blind). 70 (For huntsmen by their long experience find, Now he goes on, and sings of fairs and shows, For still new fairs before his eyes arose. How pedlars' stalls with glittering toys are laid, The various fairings of the country maid. Long silken laces hang upon the twine, And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine; How the tight lass knives, combs, and scissars spies, And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes, Of lotteries next with tuneful note he told, Where silver spoons are won, and rings of gold. 80 The lads and lasses trudge the street along, And all the fair is crowded in his song. The mountebank now treads the stage, and sells His pills, his balsams, and his ague-spells; And on the rope the venturous maiden swings; Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler springs, Jack Pudding in his party-colour'd jacket Tosses the glove, and jokes at every packet. Of raree-shows he sung, and Punch's feats, Of pockets pick'd in crowds, and various cheats. 90 Then sad he sung the Children in the Wood: (Ah, barbarous uncle, stain'd with infant blood!) And fearless at the glittering falchion smil’d; How blackberries they pluck'd in deserts wild, Their little corpse the robin-red-breasts found, And strow'd with pious bill the leaves around. (Ah, gentle birds! if this verse lasts so long, Your names shall live for ever in my song.) For Buxom Joan he sung the doubtful strife, How the sly sailor made the maid a wife. To louder strains he rais'd his voice, to tell What woeful wars in Chevy-chace befell, Ver. 47. 100 109 When Percy drove the deer with hound and horn, Then he was seiz'd with a religious qualm, He sung of Taffey Welch, and Sawney Scot, Lilly-bullero, and the Irish Trot. Why should I tell of Bateman. or of Shore, Or Wantley's Dragon, slain by valiant Moor, Deborah i. 44 v. 87 iv. 18 Kid i. 54 Kidling v. 25 The Bower of Rosamond, or Robin Hood, And how the grass now grows where Troy town stood? His carols ceas'd: the listening maids and swains Seem still to hear some soft imperfect strains. Sudden he rose; and, as he reels along, Swears kisses sweet should well reward his song. The damsels laughing fly the giddy clown Again upon a wheat-sheaf drops adown; The power that guards the drunk, his sleep attends, Till ruddy, like his face, the Sun descends. 120 Deer i. 36 Kingcup i. 43 Goody Dobson Eggs Elm Virg. Endive v. 60 iii. 55 vi. 116 Epitaph Virg. Ver. 117-120. Old English ballads, ALPHABETICAL CATALOGUE OF Ginger iii. 28 V. 96 Goose v. 114 Midsummer-eve iv. 27 Mountebank v. 157 vi. 83 Adder vi. 20 Boobyclod i. 33 Green gown Apple iv. 126 Apron ii. 105. v. 50 Bowzybeus Butcher vi. iii. 90 Grass Ass v. 85 Gypsy ii. 74 B с i. 16, 55 Ballad-singer vi. 47 Capon i. 90 Hare Bat iii. 117 Car iii. 20 P Bays iii. 18 Cicely ii. 20. vi. 35 Hemlock v. 86 Barn i. 122. v. 69 Clover grass Hour-glass Blackberry vi. 93 Clumsilis iii. 30 Holly Blind-man's-buff vi. 77 Cow i. 16. 82. Colin Clout ii. 104 Hobnelia Hot-cockles i. 2 iii. 40 151 vi. 120 i. 86 ii. 55 True-love's knot iv. 115 Parish clerk vi. 49 parabella i. 61 vi. 80 iii. i. 107 Gaffer Treadwell v. Threshing Udder i. 92 v. 43 i. 63 vi. 61 v. 54 Valentine's day iv. 37 Wake W Wheat-sheaf TRIVIA; OR, 10 THROUGH winter streets to steer your course aright, ii. 4 v. 99 i. 60 v. 85 vi. 57 vi. 126 THE ART OF WALKING THE STREETS OF LONDON. IN THREE BOOKS. Quo te Mori pedes? an, quo via ducit, in urbem? ADVERTISEMENT. THE world, I believe, will take so little notice of me, that I need not take much of it. The critics may see by this poem, that I walk on foot, which probably may save me from their envy. should be sorry to raise that passion in men whom I am so much obliged to, since they allow me an honour hitherto only shown to better writers, that of denying me to be the author of my own works. Gentlemen, if there be any thing in this poem good enough to displease you, and if it be any advantage to you to ascribe it to some person of greater merit; I shall acquaint you, for your comfort, that, among many other obligations, I owe several hints of it to Dr. Swift And, if you will so far continue your favour as to write against it, I beg you to oblige me in accepting the following motto: -Non tu, in triviis, indocte, solebas [Virg. 20 30 And damsels first renew their oyster-cries: Nor should it prove thy less important care, True Witney' broad-cloth, with its shag unshore, 2 A town in Oxfordshire. |