Books: Playful Poems
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Henry Morley >> Playful Poems
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"But let me scrape the dirt away
That hangs upon your face;
And stop and eat, for well you may
Be in a hungry case."
Said John, "It is my wedding-day,
And all the world would stare,
If wife should dine at Edmonton,
And I should dine at Ware."
So turning to his horse, he said,
"I am in haste to dine;
'Twas for your pleasure you came here,
You shall go back for mine."
Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast!
For which he paid full dear;
For, while he spake, a braying ass
Did sing most loud and clear;
Whereat his horse did snort, as he
Had heard a lion roar,
And galloped off with all his might,
As he had done before.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went Gilpin's hat and wig:
He lost them sooner than at first;
For why?--they were too big.
Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw
Her husband posting down
Into the country far away,
She pulled out half-a-crown;
And thus unto the youth she said
That drove them to the Bell,
"This shall be yours, when you bring back
My husband safe and well."
The youth did ride, and soon did meet
John coming back amain:
Whom in a trice he tried to stop,
By catching at his rein;
But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
The frighted steed he frighted more
And made him faster run.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels,
The postboy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With postboy scampering in the rear,
They raised the hue and cry:
"Stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman!"
Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that passed that way
Did join in the pursuit.
And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in short space;
The toll-men thinking, as before,
That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;
Nor stopped till where he had got up
He did again get down.
Now let us sing, Long live the king!
And Gilpin, long live he!
And when he next doth ride abroad
May I be there to see!
TAM O'SHANTER: A TALE
BY ROBERT BURNS.
"Of brownyis and of bogilis full is this buke."
--GAWIN DOUGLAS.
When chapman billies leave the street, {147a}
And drouthy neibors neibors meet, {147b}
As market days are wearin' late,
And folk begin to tak the gate; {147h}
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
And gettin' fou and unco' happy, {147c}
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, {147d}
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses
For honest men and bonny lasses.)
O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, {147e}
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; {147f}
That frae November till October,
Ae market day thou wasna sober;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller {147g} {147i}
Thou sat as lang as thou hadst siller;
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. {148f}
She prophesied that, late or soon,
Thou wouldst be found deep drowned in Doon!
Or catched wi' warlocks i' the mirk, {148a}
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet {148b}
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthened, sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!
But to our tale:- Ae market night,
Tam had got planted unco right.
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, {148c}
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; {148d}
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither -
They had been fou for weeks thegither!
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter,
And aye the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious;
The Souter tauld his queerest stories,
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle -
Tam didna mind the storm a whistle.
Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drowned himsel among the nappy! {148e}
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!
But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed!
Or like the snowfall in the river,
A moment white--then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form,
Evanishing amid the storm.
Nae man can tether time or tide;
The hour approaches, Tam maun ride;
That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in
As never poor sinner was abroad in.
The wind blew as 'twad blown its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed;
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed:
That night, a child might understand
The deil had business on his hand.
Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on through dub and mire, {149a}
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;
Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares:
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.
By this time he was 'cross the foord,
Whare in the snow the chapman smoored, {149b}
And past the birks and meikle stane
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane:
And through the whins, and by the cairn
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo's mither hanged hersel'.
Before him Doon pours a' his floods;
The doubling storm roars through the woods;
The lightnings flash frae pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll;
When glimmering through the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze;
Through ilka bore the beams were glancing, {150h}
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst mak us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil:
Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil! -
The swats sae reamed in Tammie's noddle,
Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle. {150a}
But Maggie stood right sair astonished,
Till, by the heel and hand admonished,
She ventured forward on the light;
And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillon brent-new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle i' their heels:
At winnock-bunker, i' the east, {150b}
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast,
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, {150c}
To gie them music was his charge;
He screwed the pipes, and gart them skirl, {150d}
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. {150e}
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantrip slight {150f}
Each in its cauld hand held a light, -
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; {150g}
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted:
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father's throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o' life bereft,
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft:
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.
As Tammie glowered, amazed and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
The piper loud and louder blew,
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit,
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark, {151a}
And linket at it in her sark. {151h} {151b}
Now Tam! O Tam! had they been queans,
A' plump and strappin' in their teens,
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, {151c}
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen!
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair,
I wad hae gien them aff my hurdies,
For ae blink o' the bonny burdies!
But withered beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal, {151d} {151j}
Lowpin' and flingin' on a cummock, {151e}
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.
But Tam kenned what was what fu' brawlie,
"There was ae winsome wench and walie," {151i}
That night enlisted in the core,
(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perished mony a bonny boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bere,
And kept the country-side in fear.)
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, {151f}
That, while a lassie, she had worn,
In longitude though sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, {151g}
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches!
But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was, and strang,)
And how Tam stood like ane bewitched,
And thought his very een enriched;
Even Satan glowered, and fidged fu' fain,
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: {152a}
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a'thegither, {152b}
And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"
And in an instant a' was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, {152c}
When plundering herds assail their byke; {152d}
As open pussie's mortal foes,
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi' mony an eldritch screech and hollow. {152e}
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'lt get thy fairin'!
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the keystane of the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they darena cross;
But ere the keystane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; {152f}
But little wist she Maggie's mettle -
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed:
Whane'er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think! ye may buy the joys owre dear -
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.
THE DEMON SHIP
BY THOMAS HOOD.
'Twas off the Wash the sun went down--the sea looked black and grim,
For stormy clouds with murky fleece were mustering at the brim;
Titanic shades! enormous gloom!--as if the solid night
Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light!
It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye,
With such a dark conspiracy between the sea and sky!
Down went my helm--close reefed--the tack held freely in my hand -
With ballast snug--I put about, and scudded for the land;
Loud hissed the sea beneath her lee--my little boat flew fast,
But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast.
Lord! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail!
What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of hail!
What darksome caverns yawned before! what jagged steeps behind!
Like battle-steeds, with foamy manes, wild tossing in the wind,
Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase,
But where it sank another rose and galloped in its place;
As black as night--they turned to white, and cast against the cloud
A snowy sheet, as if each surge upturned a sailor's shroud:-
Still flew my boat; alas! alas! her course was nearly run!
Behold yon fatal billow rise--ten billows heaped in one!
With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling fast,
As if the scooping sea contained one only wave at last;
Still on it came, with horrid roar, a swift pursuing grave;
It seemed as though some cloud had turned its hugeness to a wave!
Its briny sleet began to beat beforehand in my face -
I felt the rearward keel begin to climb its swelling base!
I saw its alpine hoary head impending over mine!
Another pulse--and down it rushed--an avalanche of brine!
Brief pause had I on God to cry, or think of wife and home;
The waters closed--and when I shrieked, I shrieked below the foam!
Beyond that rush I have no hint of any after-deed -
For I was tossing on the waste, as senseless as a weed.
. . . . .
"Where am I? in the breathing world, or in the world of death?"
With sharp and sudden pang I drew another birth of breath;
My eyes drank in a doubtful light, my ears a doubtful sound -
And was that ship a REAL ship whose tackle seemed around?
A moon, as if the earthly moon, was shining up aloft;
But were those beams the very beams that I have seen so oft?
A face that mocked the human face, before me watched alone;
But were those eyes the eyes of man that looked against my own?
Oh! never may the moon again disclose me such a sight
As met my gaze, when first I looked, on that accursed night!
I've seen a thousand horrid shapes begot of fierce extremes
Of fever; and most frightful things have haunted in my dreams -
Hyenas--cats--blood-loving bats--and apes with hateful stare -
Pernicious snakes, and shaggy bulls--the lion, and she-bear -
Strong enemies, with Judas looks, of treachery and spite -
Detested features, hardly dimmed and banished by the light!
Pale-sheeted ghosts, with gory locks, upstarting from their tombs -
All phantasies and images that flit in midnight glooms -
Hags, goblins, demons, lemures, have made me all aghast, -
But nothing like that GRIMLY ONE who stood beside the mast!
His cheek was black--his brow was black--his eyes and hair as dark;
His hand was black, and where it touched, it left a sable mark;
His throat was black, his vest the same, and when I looked beneath,
His breast was black--all, all was black, except his grinning teeth,
His sooty crew were like in hue, as black as Afric slaves!
Oh, horror! e'en the ship was black that ploughed the inky waves!
"Alas!" I cried, "for love of truth and blessed mercy's sake,
Where am I? in what dreadful ship? upon what dreadful lake?
What shape is that, so very grim, and black as any coal?
It is Mahound, the Evil One, and he has gained my soul!
Oh, mother dear! my tender nurse: dear meadows that beguiled
My happy days, when I was yet a little sinless child -
My mother dear--my native fields I never more shall see:
I'm sailing in the Devil's Ship, upon the Devil's Sea!"
Loud laughed that SABLE MARINER, and loudly in return
His sooty crew sent forth a laugh that rang from stem to stern -
A dozen pair of grimly cheeks were crumpled on the nonce -
As many sets of grinning teeth came shining out at once:
A dozen gloomy shapes at once enjoyed the merry fit,
With shriek and yell, and oaths as well, like Demons of the Pit.
They crowed their fill, and then the Chief made answer for the
whole:-
"Our skins," said he, "are black, ye see, because we carry coal;
You'll find your mother sure enough, and see your native fields -
For this here ship has picked you up--the Mary Ann of Shields!"
A TALE OF A TRUMPET
BY THOMAS HOOD.
"Old woman, old woman, will you go a-shearing?
Speak a little louder, for I'm very hard of hearing."
--Old Ballad.
Of all old women hard of hearing,
The deafest sure was Dame Eleanor Spearing!
On her head, it is true,
Two flaps there grew,
That served for a pair of gold rings to go through,
But for any purpose of ears in a parley,
They heard no more than ears of barley.
No hint was needed from D. E. F.,
You saw in her face that the woman was deaf:
From her twisted mouth to her eyes so peery,
Each queer feature asked a query;
A look that said in a silent way,
"Who? and What? and How? and Eh?
I'd give my ears to know what you say!"
And well she might! for each auricular
Was deaf as a post--and that post in particular
That stands at the corner of Dyott Street now,
And never hears a word of a row!
Ears that might serve her now and then
As extempore racks for an idle pen;
Or to hang with hoops from jewellers' shops;
With coral; ruby, or garnet drops;
Or, provided the owner so inclined,
Ears to stick a blister behind;
But as for hearing wisdom, or wit,
Falsehood, or folly, or tell-tale-tit,
Or politics, whether of Fox or Pitt,
Sermon, lecture, or musical bit,
Harp, piano, fiddle, or kit,
They might as well, for any such wish,
Have been buttered, done brown, and laid in a dish!
She was deaf as a post,--as said before -
And as deaf as twenty similes more,
Including the adder, that deafest of snakes,
Which never hears the coil it makes.
She was deaf as a house--which modern tricks
Of language would call as deaf as bricks -
For her all human kind were dumb,
Her drum, indeed, was so muffled a drum,
That none could get a sound to come,
Unless the Devil, who had Two Sticks!
She was as deaf as a stone--say one of the stones
Demosthenes sucked to improve his tones;
And surely deafness no further could reach
Than to be in his mouth without hearing his speech!
She was deaf as a nut--for nuts, no doubt,
Are deaf to the grub that's hollowing out -
As deaf, alas! as the dead and forgotten -
(Gray has noticed the waste of breath,
In addressing the "dull, cold ear of death"),
Or the felon's ear that is stuffed with cotton -
Or Charles the First in statue quo;
Or the still-born figures of Madame Tussaud,
With their eyes of glass, and their hair of flax,
That only stare whatever you "ax,"
For their ears, you know, are nothing but wax.
She was deaf as the ducks that swam in the pond,
And wouldn't listen to Mrs. Bond, -
As deaf as any Frenchman appears,
When he puts his shoulders into his ears:
And--whatever the citizen tells his son -
As deaf as Gog and Magog at one!
Or, still to be a simile-seeker,
As deaf as dogs'-ears to Enfield's Speaker!
She was deaf as any tradesman's dummy,
Or as Pharaoh's mother's mother's mummy;
Whose organs, for fear of modern sceptics,
Were plugged with gums and antiseptics.
She was deaf as a nail--that you cannot hammer
A meaning into for all your clamour -
There never WAS such a deaf old Gammer!
So formed to worry
Both Lindley and Murray,
By having no ear for Music or Grammar!
Deaf to sounds, as a ship out of soundings,
Deaf to verbs, and all their compoundings,
Adjective, noun, and adverb, and particle,
Deaf to even the definite article -
No verbal message was worth a pin,
Though you hired an earwig to carry it in!
In short, she was twice as deaf as Deaf Burke,
Or all the Deafness in Yearsley's work,
Who in spite of his skill in hardness of hearing,
Boring, blasting, and pioneering,
To give the dunny organ a clearing,
Could never have cured Dame Eleanor Spearing.
Of course the loss was a great privation,
For one of her sex--whatever her station -
And none the less that the dame had a turn
For making all families one concern,
And learning whatever there was to learn
In the prattling, tattling village of Tringham -
As, who wore silk? and who wore gingham?
And what the Atkins's shop might bring 'em?
How the Smiths contrived to live? and whether
The fourteen Murphys all pigged together?
The wages per week of the Weavers and Skinners,
And what they boiled for their Sunday dinners?
What plates the Bugsbys had on the shelf,
Crockery, china, wooden, or delf?
And if the parlour of Mrs. O'Grady
Had a wicked French print, or Death and the Lady?
Did Snip and his wife continue to jangle?
Had Mrs. Wilkinson sold her mangle?
What liquor was drunk by Jones and Brown?
And the weekly score they ran up at the Crown?
If the cobbler could read, and believed in the Pope?
And how the Grubbs were off for soap?
If the Snobbs had furnished their room upstairs,
And how they managed for tables and chairs,
Beds, and other household affairs,
Iron, wooden, and Staffordshire wares?
And if they could muster a whole pair of bellows?
In fact she had much of the spirit that lies
Perdu in a notable set of Paul Prys,
By courtesy called Statistical Fellows -
A prying, spying, inquisitive clan,
Who have gone upon much of the self-same plan,
Jotting the labouring class's riches;
And after poking in pot and pan,
And routing garments in want of stitches,
Have ascertained that a working man
Wears a pair and a quarter of average breeches!
But this, alas! from her loss of hearing,
Was all a sealed book to Dame Eleanor Spearing;
And often her tears would rise to their founts -
Supposing a little scandal at play
'Twixt Mrs. O'Fie and Mrs. Au Fait -
That she couldn't audit the gossips' accounts.
'Tis true, to her cottage still they came,
And ate her muffins just the same,
And drank the tea of the widowed dame,
And never swallowed a thimble the less
Of something the reader is left to guess,
For all the deafness of Mrs. S.
Who SAW them talk, and chuckle, and cough,
But to SEE and not share in the social flow,
She might as well have lived, you know,
In one of the houses in Owen's Row,
Near the New River Head, with its water cut off!
And yet the almond oil she had tried,
And fifty infallible things beside,
Hot, and cold, and thick, and thin,
Dabbed, and dribbled, and squirted in:
But all remedies failed; and though some it was clear,
Like the brandy and salt
We now exalt,
Had made a noise in the public ear,
She was just as deaf as ever, poor dear!
At last--one very fine day in June -
Suppose her sitting,
Busily knitting,
And humming she didn't quite know what tune;
For nothing she heard but a sort of whizz,
Which, unless the sound of circulation,
Or of thoughts in the process of fabrication,
By a spinning-jennyish operation,
It's hard to say what buzzing it is.
However, except that ghost of a sound,
She sat in a silence most profound -
The cat was purring about the mat,
But her mistress heard no more of that
Than if it had been a boatswain's cat;
And as for the clock the moments nicking,
The dame only gave it credit for ticking.
The bark of her dog she did not catch;
Nor yet the click of the lifted latch;
Nor yet the creak of the opening door;
Nor yet the fall of a foot on the floor -
But she saw the shadow that crept on her gown
And turned its skirt of a darker brown.
And lo! a man! a Pedlar! ay, marry,
With the little back-shop that such tradesmen carry,
Stocked with brooches, ribbons, and rings,
Spectacles, razors, and other odd things
For lad and lass, as Autolycus sings;
A chapman for goodness and cheapness of ware,
Held a fair dealer enough at a fair,
But deemed a piratical sort of invader
By him we dub the "regular trader,"
Who--luring the passengers in as they pass
By lamps, gay panels, and mouldings of brass,
And windows with only one huge pane of glass,
And his name in gilt characters, German or Roman -
If he isn't a Pedlar, at least he's a Showman!
However, in the stranger came,
And, the moment he met the eyes of the Dame,
Threw her as knowing a nod as though
He had known her fifty long years ago:
And presto! before she could utter "Jack" -
Much less "Robinson"--opened his pack -
And then from amongst his portable gear,
With even more than a Pedlar's tact, -
(Slick himself might have envied the act) -
Before she had time to be deaf, in fact -
Popped a Trumpet into her ear.
"There, Ma'am! try it!
You needn't buy it -
The last New Patent, and nothing comes nigh it
For affording the deaf, at a little expense,
The sense of hearing, and hearing of sense!
A Real Blessing--and no mistake,
Invented for poor Humanity's sake:
For what can be a greater privation
Than playing Dumby to all creation,
And only looking at conversation -
Great philosophers talking like Platos,
And Members of Parliament moral as Catos,
And your ears as dull as waxy potatoes!
Not to name the mischievous quizzers,
Sharp as knives, but double as scissors,
Who get you to answer quite by guess
Yes for No, and No for Yes."
("That's very true," says Dame Eleanor S.)
"Try it again! No harm in trying -
I'm sure you'll find it worth your buying.
A little practice--that is all -
And you'll hear a whisper, however small,
Through an Act of Parliament party-wall, -
Every syllable clear as day,
And even what people are going to say -
I wouldn't tell a lie, I wouldn't,
But my Trumpets have heard what Solomon's couldn't;
And as for Scott he promises fine,
But can he warrant his horns like mine,
Never to hear what a lady shouldn't -
Only a guinea--and can't take less."
("That's very dear," said Dame Eleanor S.)
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