Part First.An auncient waggonere stoppoth ane tailore going to a wedding, whereat he hath been appointed to be best manne, and to take a hand in the casting of the slippere.It is an auncient Waggonere,And hee stoppeth one of nine:—'Now wherefore dost thou grip me soeWith that horny fist of thine?The waggonere in mood for chat, and admits of no excuse.'The bridegroom's doors are opened wide,And thither I must walke;Soe, by youre leave, I must be gone,I have noe time for talke!'The tailore seized with the ague.Hee holds him with his horny fist—'There was a wain,' quothe hee,'Hold offe, thou raggamouffine tykke.'Eftsoones his fist dropped hee.He listeneth like a three years and a half child.Hee satte him downe upon a stone,With ruefulle looks of feare;And thus began this tippsye manne,The red-nosed waggonere.The appetite of the tailore whetted by the smell of cabbage.'The waine is fulle, the horses pulle,Merrilye did we trotteAlonge the bridge, alonge the road,A jolly crewe, I wotte;'—And here the tailore smotte his breaste,He smelte the cabbage potte!The waggonere in talking anent Boreas, maketh bad orthographye.'The night was darke, like Noe's arke,Oure waggone moved alonge;The hail pour'd faste, loude roared the blaste,Yet stille we moved alonge;And sung in chorus, "Cease, loud Borus,"A very charminge songe.Their mirth interrupted.'"Bravoe, bravissimoe," I cried,The sounde was quite elatinge;But, in a trice, upon the ice,We hearde the horses skaitinge.And the passengers exercise themselves in the pleasant art of swimminge, as doeth also their prog, to witte, great store of colde roasted beef; item, ane beef-stake pye: item, viii choppines of usquebaugh.'The ice was here, the ice was there,It was a dismale mattere,To see the cargoe, one by one,Flounderinge in the wattere!'With rout and roare, we reached the shore,And never a soul did sinke;But in the rivere, gone for evere,Swum our meate and drinke.The waggonere hailethe ane goose with ane novel salutatione.'At lengthe we spied a goode grey goose,Thorough the snow it came;And with the butte ende of my whippe,I hailed it in Goddhis name.'It staggered as it had been drunke,So dexterous was it hitte;Of brokene boughs we made a fire,Thomme Loncheone roasted itte.'—The tailore impatient to be gone, but is forcibly persuaded to remain.'Be done, thou tipsye waggonere,To the feaste I must awaye.'—The waggonere seized him bye the coatte,And forced him there to staye,Begginge, in gentlemanlie style,Butte halfe ane hour's delaye.Part Second.The waggonere's bowels yearn towards the sunne.'The crimson sunne was rising o'ereThe verge of the horizon;Upon my worde, as faire a sunneAs ever I clapped eyes onne.The passengers throwe the blame of the goose massacre on the innocent waggonere.'"'Twill bee ane comfortable thinge,"The mutinous crewe 'gan crye;"'Twill be ane comfortable thinge,Within the jaile to lye;Ah! execrable wretche," saide they,"Thatte caused the goose to die!"The sunne sufferes ane artificial eclipse, and horror follows, the same not being mentioned in the Belfaste Almanacke.'The day was drawing near itte's close,The sunne was well nighe settinge;When lo! it seemed as iffe his faceWas veiled with fringe-warke-nettinge.Various hypotheses on the subject, frome which the passengeres draw wronge conclusions.'Somme saide itte was ane apple tree,Laden with goodlye fruite,Somme swore itte was ane foreigne birde,Some said it was ane brute;Alas! it was ane bumbailiffeRiding in pursuite!Ane lovelye sound ariseth; ittes effects described.A hue and crye sterte uppe behind,Whilke smote our ears like thunder.Within the waggone there was drede,Astonishmente and wonder.The passengers throw somersets.'One after one, the rascalls rann,And from the carre did jump;One after one, one after one,They felle with heavy thump.'Six miles ane houre theye offe did scoure,Like shippes on ane stormye ocean,Theire garments flappinge in the winde,With ane shorte uneasy motion.The waggonere complimenteth the bumbailiffe with ane Mendoza.'Their bodies with their legs did flye,Theye fled with feare and glyffe;Why star'st thoue soe?—With one goode blow,I felled the bumbailiffe!'Part Third.The tailore meeteth Corporal Feare.'I feare thee, auncient waggonere,I feare thy hornye fiste,For itte is stained with goose's gore,And bailiffe's blood, I wist.'I fear to gette ane fisticuffeFrom thy leathern knuckles brown';With that the tailore strove to ryse—The waggonere thrusts him down.'Thou craven, if thou mov'st a limbe,I'll give thee cause for feare;'And thus went on that tipsye man,The red-billed waggonere.The bailiffe complaineth of considerable derangement of his animal economye.The bumbailiffe so beautifulDeclared itte was no joke,For, to his knowledge, both his legsAnd fifteen ribbes were broke.Policemen with their lanthornes pursue the waggonere.'The lighte was gone, the nighte came on,Ane hundrede lantherns' sheenGlimmerred upon the kinge's highwaye—Ane lovelye sighte, I ween.'"Is it he," quoth one, "is this the manne?I'll laye the rascalle stiffe;"—With cruel stroke the beak he brokeOf the harmless bumbailiffe.Steppeth twenty feete in imitatione of the Admirable Crichtovn.'The threatening of the saucye rogueNo more I coulde abide;Advancing forthe my goode right leggeThree paces and a stride,I sent my lefte foot dexterouslySeven inches thro' his side.Complaineth of foul play and falleth down in ane trance.'Up came the seconde from the vanne;We had scarcely fought a round,When someone smote me from behinde,And I fell down in a swound:One acteth the parte of Job's comfortere.'And when my head began to clear,I heard the yemering crew—Quoth one, "this man hath penance done,And penance more shall do."'Part Fourth.The waggonere maketh ane shrewd observation.'O Freedom is a glorious thing!—And, tailore, by the by,I'd rather in a halter swing,Than in a dungeon lie.The waggonere tickleth the spleen of the jailer, who daunces ane Fandango.'The jailere came to bring me foode,Forget it will I never,How he turned up the white o' his eyeWhen I stuck him in the liver.Rejoicethe in the fragrance of the aire.'His threade of life was snapt: once moreI reached the open streete;The people sung out "Gardyloo"As I ran down the streete.Methought the blessed air of heavenNever smelte so sweete.Dreadeth Shoan Dhu, the corporal of the guarde.'Once more upon the broad highwaye,I walked with feare and drede;And every fifteen steppes I tookeI turned about my heade,For feare the corporal of the guardeMight close behind me trede!'Behold, upon the western waveSetteth the broad bright sunne;So I must onward, as I haveFull fifteen miles to runne;—The waggonere taketh leave of the tailore, to whome ane small accidente happeneth. Whereupon followeth the morale very proper to be had in minde by all members of the Dilettanti Society when they come over the bridge at these houres. Wherefore let them take heed and not lay blame where it lyeth nott.'And should the bailiffes hither comeTo aske whilke way I've gone,Tell them I took the othere road,'Said hee, and trotted onne.The tailore rushed into the roome,O'erturning three or foure;Fractured his skulle against the walle,And worde spake never more!!Morale.Such is the fate of foolish men,The danger all may see,Of those, who list to waggonere,And keepe bad companye.
Part First.An auncient waggonere stoppoth ane tailore going to a wedding, whereat he hath been appointed to be best manne, and to take a hand in the casting of the slippere.It is an auncient Waggonere,And hee stoppeth one of nine:—'Now wherefore dost thou grip me soeWith that horny fist of thine?The waggonere in mood for chat, and admits of no excuse.'The bridegroom's doors are opened wide,And thither I must walke;Soe, by youre leave, I must be gone,I have noe time for talke!'The tailore seized with the ague.Hee holds him with his horny fist—'There was a wain,' quothe hee,'Hold offe, thou raggamouffine tykke.'Eftsoones his fist dropped hee.He listeneth like a three years and a half child.Hee satte him downe upon a stone,With ruefulle looks of feare;And thus began this tippsye manne,The red-nosed waggonere.The appetite of the tailore whetted by the smell of cabbage.'The waine is fulle, the horses pulle,Merrilye did we trotteAlonge the bridge, alonge the road,A jolly crewe, I wotte;'—And here the tailore smotte his breaste,He smelte the cabbage potte!The waggonere in talking anent Boreas, maketh bad orthographye.'The night was darke, like Noe's arke,Oure waggone moved alonge;The hail pour'd faste, loude roared the blaste,Yet stille we moved alonge;And sung in chorus, "Cease, loud Borus,"A very charminge songe.Their mirth interrupted.'"Bravoe, bravissimoe," I cried,The sounde was quite elatinge;But, in a trice, upon the ice,We hearde the horses skaitinge.And the passengers exercise themselves in the pleasant art of swimminge, as doeth also their prog, to witte, great store of colde roasted beef; item, ane beef-stake pye: item, viii choppines of usquebaugh.'The ice was here, the ice was there,It was a dismale mattere,To see the cargoe, one by one,Flounderinge in the wattere!'With rout and roare, we reached the shore,And never a soul did sinke;But in the rivere, gone for evere,Swum our meate and drinke.The waggonere hailethe ane goose with ane novel salutatione.'At lengthe we spied a goode grey goose,Thorough the snow it came;And with the butte ende of my whippe,I hailed it in Goddhis name.'It staggered as it had been drunke,So dexterous was it hitte;Of brokene boughs we made a fire,Thomme Loncheone roasted itte.'—The tailore impatient to be gone, but is forcibly persuaded to remain.'Be done, thou tipsye waggonere,To the feaste I must awaye.'—The waggonere seized him bye the coatte,And forced him there to staye,Begginge, in gentlemanlie style,Butte halfe ane hour's delaye.Part Second.The waggonere's bowels yearn towards the sunne.'The crimson sunne was rising o'ereThe verge of the horizon;Upon my worde, as faire a sunneAs ever I clapped eyes onne.The passengers throwe the blame of the goose massacre on the innocent waggonere.'"'Twill bee ane comfortable thinge,"The mutinous crewe 'gan crye;"'Twill be ane comfortable thinge,Within the jaile to lye;Ah! execrable wretche," saide they,"Thatte caused the goose to die!"The sunne sufferes ane artificial eclipse, and horror follows, the same not being mentioned in the Belfaste Almanacke.'The day was drawing near itte's close,The sunne was well nighe settinge;When lo! it seemed as iffe his faceWas veiled with fringe-warke-nettinge.Various hypotheses on the subject, frome which the passengeres draw wronge conclusions.'Somme saide itte was ane apple tree,Laden with goodlye fruite,Somme swore itte was ane foreigne birde,Some said it was ane brute;Alas! it was ane bumbailiffeRiding in pursuite!Ane lovelye sound ariseth; ittes effects described.A hue and crye sterte uppe behind,Whilke smote our ears like thunder.Within the waggone there was drede,Astonishmente and wonder.The passengers throw somersets.'One after one, the rascalls rann,And from the carre did jump;One after one, one after one,They felle with heavy thump.'Six miles ane houre theye offe did scoure,Like shippes on ane stormye ocean,Theire garments flappinge in the winde,With ane shorte uneasy motion.The waggonere complimenteth the bumbailiffe with ane Mendoza.'Their bodies with their legs did flye,Theye fled with feare and glyffe;Why star'st thoue soe?—With one goode blow,I felled the bumbailiffe!'Part Third.The tailore meeteth Corporal Feare.'I feare thee, auncient waggonere,I feare thy hornye fiste,For itte is stained with goose's gore,And bailiffe's blood, I wist.'I fear to gette ane fisticuffeFrom thy leathern knuckles brown';With that the tailore strove to ryse—The waggonere thrusts him down.'Thou craven, if thou mov'st a limbe,I'll give thee cause for feare;'And thus went on that tipsye man,The red-billed waggonere.The bailiffe complaineth of considerable derangement of his animal economye.The bumbailiffe so beautifulDeclared itte was no joke,For, to his knowledge, both his legsAnd fifteen ribbes were broke.Policemen with their lanthornes pursue the waggonere.'The lighte was gone, the nighte came on,Ane hundrede lantherns' sheenGlimmerred upon the kinge's highwaye—Ane lovelye sighte, I ween.'"Is it he," quoth one, "is this the manne?I'll laye the rascalle stiffe;"—With cruel stroke the beak he brokeOf the harmless bumbailiffe.Steppeth twenty feete in imitatione of the Admirable Crichtovn.'The threatening of the saucye rogueNo more I coulde abide;Advancing forthe my goode right leggeThree paces and a stride,I sent my lefte foot dexterouslySeven inches thro' his side.Complaineth of foul play and falleth down in ane trance.'Up came the seconde from the vanne;We had scarcely fought a round,When someone smote me from behinde,And I fell down in a swound:One acteth the parte of Job's comfortere.'And when my head began to clear,I heard the yemering crew—Quoth one, "this man hath penance done,And penance more shall do."'Part Fourth.The waggonere maketh ane shrewd observation.'O Freedom is a glorious thing!—And, tailore, by the by,I'd rather in a halter swing,Than in a dungeon lie.The waggonere tickleth the spleen of the jailer, who daunces ane Fandango.'The jailere came to bring me foode,Forget it will I never,How he turned up the white o' his eyeWhen I stuck him in the liver.Rejoicethe in the fragrance of the aire.'His threade of life was snapt: once moreI reached the open streete;The people sung out "Gardyloo"As I ran down the streete.Methought the blessed air of heavenNever smelte so sweete.Dreadeth Shoan Dhu, the corporal of the guarde.'Once more upon the broad highwaye,I walked with feare and drede;And every fifteen steppes I tookeI turned about my heade,For feare the corporal of the guardeMight close behind me trede!'Behold, upon the western waveSetteth the broad bright sunne;So I must onward, as I haveFull fifteen miles to runne;—The waggonere taketh leave of the tailore, to whome ane small accidente happeneth. Whereupon followeth the morale very proper to be had in minde by all members of the Dilettanti Society when they come over the bridge at these houres. Wherefore let them take heed and not lay blame where it lyeth nott.'And should the bailiffes hither comeTo aske whilke way I've gone,Tell them I took the othere road,'Said hee, and trotted onne.The tailore rushed into the roome,O'erturning three or foure;Fractured his skulle against the walle,And worde spake never more!!Morale.Such is the fate of foolish men,The danger all may see,Of those, who list to waggonere,And keepe bad companye.
An auncient waggonere stoppoth ane tailore going to a wedding, whereat he hath been appointed to be best manne, and to take a hand in the casting of the slippere.
It is an auncient Waggonere,And hee stoppeth one of nine:—'Now wherefore dost thou grip me soeWith that horny fist of thine?
It is an auncient Waggonere,
And hee stoppeth one of nine:—
'Now wherefore dost thou grip me soe
With that horny fist of thine?
The waggonere in mood for chat, and admits of no excuse.
'The bridegroom's doors are opened wide,And thither I must walke;Soe, by youre leave, I must be gone,I have noe time for talke!'
'The bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And thither I must walke;
Soe, by youre leave, I must be gone,
I have noe time for talke!'
The tailore seized with the ague.
Hee holds him with his horny fist—'There was a wain,' quothe hee,'Hold offe, thou raggamouffine tykke.'Eftsoones his fist dropped hee.
Hee holds him with his horny fist—
'There was a wain,' quothe hee,
'Hold offe, thou raggamouffine tykke.'
Eftsoones his fist dropped hee.
He listeneth like a three years and a half child.
Hee satte him downe upon a stone,With ruefulle looks of feare;And thus began this tippsye manne,The red-nosed waggonere.
Hee satte him downe upon a stone,
With ruefulle looks of feare;
And thus began this tippsye manne,
The red-nosed waggonere.
The appetite of the tailore whetted by the smell of cabbage.
'The waine is fulle, the horses pulle,Merrilye did we trotteAlonge the bridge, alonge the road,A jolly crewe, I wotte;'—And here the tailore smotte his breaste,He smelte the cabbage potte!
'The waine is fulle, the horses pulle,
Merrilye did we trotte
Alonge the bridge, alonge the road,
A jolly crewe, I wotte;'—
And here the tailore smotte his breaste,
He smelte the cabbage potte!
The waggonere in talking anent Boreas, maketh bad orthographye.
'The night was darke, like Noe's arke,Oure waggone moved alonge;The hail pour'd faste, loude roared the blaste,Yet stille we moved alonge;And sung in chorus, "Cease, loud Borus,"A very charminge songe.
'The night was darke, like Noe's arke,
Oure waggone moved alonge;
The hail pour'd faste, loude roared the blaste,
Yet stille we moved alonge;
And sung in chorus, "Cease, loud Borus,"
A very charminge songe.
Their mirth interrupted.
'"Bravoe, bravissimoe," I cried,The sounde was quite elatinge;But, in a trice, upon the ice,We hearde the horses skaitinge.
'"Bravoe, bravissimoe," I cried,
The sounde was quite elatinge;
But, in a trice, upon the ice,
We hearde the horses skaitinge.
And the passengers exercise themselves in the pleasant art of swimminge, as doeth also their prog, to witte, great store of colde roasted beef; item, ane beef-stake pye: item, viii choppines of usquebaugh.
'The ice was here, the ice was there,It was a dismale mattere,To see the cargoe, one by one,Flounderinge in the wattere!
'The ice was here, the ice was there,
It was a dismale mattere,
To see the cargoe, one by one,
Flounderinge in the wattere!
'With rout and roare, we reached the shore,And never a soul did sinke;But in the rivere, gone for evere,Swum our meate and drinke.
'With rout and roare, we reached the shore,
And never a soul did sinke;
But in the rivere, gone for evere,
Swum our meate and drinke.
The waggonere hailethe ane goose with ane novel salutatione.
'At lengthe we spied a goode grey goose,Thorough the snow it came;And with the butte ende of my whippe,I hailed it in Goddhis name.
'At lengthe we spied a goode grey goose,
Thorough the snow it came;
And with the butte ende of my whippe,
I hailed it in Goddhis name.
'It staggered as it had been drunke,So dexterous was it hitte;Of brokene boughs we made a fire,Thomme Loncheone roasted itte.'—
'It staggered as it had been drunke,
So dexterous was it hitte;
Of brokene boughs we made a fire,
Thomme Loncheone roasted itte.'—
The tailore impatient to be gone, but is forcibly persuaded to remain.
'Be done, thou tipsye waggonere,To the feaste I must awaye.'—The waggonere seized him bye the coatte,And forced him there to staye,Begginge, in gentlemanlie style,Butte halfe ane hour's delaye.
'Be done, thou tipsye waggonere,
To the feaste I must awaye.'—
The waggonere seized him bye the coatte,
And forced him there to staye,
Begginge, in gentlemanlie style,
Butte halfe ane hour's delaye.
The waggonere's bowels yearn towards the sunne.
'The crimson sunne was rising o'ereThe verge of the horizon;Upon my worde, as faire a sunneAs ever I clapped eyes onne.
'The crimson sunne was rising o'ere
The verge of the horizon;
Upon my worde, as faire a sunne
As ever I clapped eyes onne.
The passengers throwe the blame of the goose massacre on the innocent waggonere.
'"'Twill bee ane comfortable thinge,"The mutinous crewe 'gan crye;"'Twill be ane comfortable thinge,Within the jaile to lye;Ah! execrable wretche," saide they,"Thatte caused the goose to die!"
'"'Twill bee ane comfortable thinge,"
The mutinous crewe 'gan crye;
"'Twill be ane comfortable thinge,
Within the jaile to lye;
Ah! execrable wretche," saide they,
"Thatte caused the goose to die!"
The sunne sufferes ane artificial eclipse, and horror follows, the same not being mentioned in the Belfaste Almanacke.
'The day was drawing near itte's close,The sunne was well nighe settinge;When lo! it seemed as iffe his faceWas veiled with fringe-warke-nettinge.
'The day was drawing near itte's close,
The sunne was well nighe settinge;
When lo! it seemed as iffe his face
Was veiled with fringe-warke-nettinge.
Various hypotheses on the subject, frome which the passengeres draw wronge conclusions.
'Somme saide itte was ane apple tree,Laden with goodlye fruite,Somme swore itte was ane foreigne birde,Some said it was ane brute;Alas! it was ane bumbailiffeRiding in pursuite!
'Somme saide itte was ane apple tree,
Laden with goodlye fruite,
Somme swore itte was ane foreigne birde,
Some said it was ane brute;
Alas! it was ane bumbailiffe
Riding in pursuite!
Ane lovelye sound ariseth; ittes effects described.
A hue and crye sterte uppe behind,Whilke smote our ears like thunder.Within the waggone there was drede,Astonishmente and wonder.
A hue and crye sterte uppe behind,
Whilke smote our ears like thunder.
Within the waggone there was drede,
Astonishmente and wonder.
The passengers throw somersets.
'One after one, the rascalls rann,And from the carre did jump;One after one, one after one,They felle with heavy thump.
'One after one, the rascalls rann,
And from the carre did jump;
One after one, one after one,
They felle with heavy thump.
'Six miles ane houre theye offe did scoure,Like shippes on ane stormye ocean,Theire garments flappinge in the winde,With ane shorte uneasy motion.
'Six miles ane houre theye offe did scoure,
Like shippes on ane stormye ocean,
Theire garments flappinge in the winde,
With ane shorte uneasy motion.
The waggonere complimenteth the bumbailiffe with ane Mendoza.
'Their bodies with their legs did flye,Theye fled with feare and glyffe;Why star'st thoue soe?—With one goode blow,I felled the bumbailiffe!'
'Their bodies with their legs did flye,
Theye fled with feare and glyffe;
Why star'st thoue soe?—With one goode blow,
I felled the bumbailiffe!'
The tailore meeteth Corporal Feare.
'I feare thee, auncient waggonere,I feare thy hornye fiste,For itte is stained with goose's gore,And bailiffe's blood, I wist.
'I feare thee, auncient waggonere,
I feare thy hornye fiste,
For itte is stained with goose's gore,
And bailiffe's blood, I wist.
'I fear to gette ane fisticuffeFrom thy leathern knuckles brown';With that the tailore strove to ryse—The waggonere thrusts him down.
'I fear to gette ane fisticuffe
From thy leathern knuckles brown';
With that the tailore strove to ryse—
The waggonere thrusts him down.
'Thou craven, if thou mov'st a limbe,I'll give thee cause for feare;'And thus went on that tipsye man,The red-billed waggonere.
'Thou craven, if thou mov'st a limbe,
I'll give thee cause for feare;'
And thus went on that tipsye man,
The red-billed waggonere.
The bailiffe complaineth of considerable derangement of his animal economye.
The bumbailiffe so beautifulDeclared itte was no joke,For, to his knowledge, both his legsAnd fifteen ribbes were broke.
The bumbailiffe so beautiful
Declared itte was no joke,
For, to his knowledge, both his legs
And fifteen ribbes were broke.
Policemen with their lanthornes pursue the waggonere.
'The lighte was gone, the nighte came on,Ane hundrede lantherns' sheenGlimmerred upon the kinge's highwaye—Ane lovelye sighte, I ween.
'The lighte was gone, the nighte came on,
Ane hundrede lantherns' sheen
Glimmerred upon the kinge's highwaye—
Ane lovelye sighte, I ween.
'"Is it he," quoth one, "is this the manne?I'll laye the rascalle stiffe;"—With cruel stroke the beak he brokeOf the harmless bumbailiffe.
'"Is it he," quoth one, "is this the manne?
I'll laye the rascalle stiffe;"—
With cruel stroke the beak he broke
Of the harmless bumbailiffe.
Steppeth twenty feete in imitatione of the Admirable Crichtovn.
'The threatening of the saucye rogueNo more I coulde abide;Advancing forthe my goode right leggeThree paces and a stride,I sent my lefte foot dexterouslySeven inches thro' his side.
'The threatening of the saucye rogue
No more I coulde abide;
Advancing forthe my goode right legge
Three paces and a stride,
I sent my lefte foot dexterously
Seven inches thro' his side.
Complaineth of foul play and falleth down in ane trance.
'Up came the seconde from the vanne;We had scarcely fought a round,When someone smote me from behinde,And I fell down in a swound:
'Up came the seconde from the vanne;
We had scarcely fought a round,
When someone smote me from behinde,
And I fell down in a swound:
One acteth the parte of Job's comfortere.
'And when my head began to clear,I heard the yemering crew—Quoth one, "this man hath penance done,And penance more shall do."'
'And when my head began to clear,
I heard the yemering crew—
Quoth one, "this man hath penance done,
And penance more shall do."'
The waggonere maketh ane shrewd observation.
'O Freedom is a glorious thing!—And, tailore, by the by,I'd rather in a halter swing,Than in a dungeon lie.
'O Freedom is a glorious thing!—
And, tailore, by the by,
I'd rather in a halter swing,
Than in a dungeon lie.
The waggonere tickleth the spleen of the jailer, who daunces ane Fandango.
'The jailere came to bring me foode,Forget it will I never,How he turned up the white o' his eyeWhen I stuck him in the liver.
'The jailere came to bring me foode,
Forget it will I never,
How he turned up the white o' his eye
When I stuck him in the liver.
Rejoicethe in the fragrance of the aire.
'His threade of life was snapt: once moreI reached the open streete;The people sung out "Gardyloo"As I ran down the streete.Methought the blessed air of heavenNever smelte so sweete.
'His threade of life was snapt: once more
I reached the open streete;
The people sung out "Gardyloo"
As I ran down the streete.
Methought the blessed air of heaven
Never smelte so sweete.
Dreadeth Shoan Dhu, the corporal of the guarde.
'Once more upon the broad highwaye,I walked with feare and drede;And every fifteen steppes I tookeI turned about my heade,For feare the corporal of the guardeMight close behind me trede!
'Once more upon the broad highwaye,
I walked with feare and drede;
And every fifteen steppes I tooke
I turned about my heade,
For feare the corporal of the guarde
Might close behind me trede!
'Behold, upon the western waveSetteth the broad bright sunne;So I must onward, as I haveFull fifteen miles to runne;—
'Behold, upon the western wave
Setteth the broad bright sunne;
So I must onward, as I have
Full fifteen miles to runne;—
The waggonere taketh leave of the tailore, to whome ane small accidente happeneth. Whereupon followeth the morale very proper to be had in minde by all members of the Dilettanti Society when they come over the bridge at these houres. Wherefore let them take heed and not lay blame where it lyeth nott.
'And should the bailiffes hither comeTo aske whilke way I've gone,Tell them I took the othere road,'Said hee, and trotted onne.
'And should the bailiffes hither come
To aske whilke way I've gone,
Tell them I took the othere road,'
Said hee, and trotted onne.
The tailore rushed into the roome,O'erturning three or foure;Fractured his skulle against the walle,And worde spake never more!!
The tailore rushed into the roome,
O'erturning three or foure;
Fractured his skulle against the walle,
And worde spake never more!!
Such is the fate of foolish men,The danger all may see,Of those, who list to waggonere,And keepe bad companye.
Such is the fate of foolish men,
The danger all may see,
Of those, who list to waggonere,
And keepe bad companye.
When he who adores thee has left but the dregsOf such famous old stingo behind,Oh! say will he bluster and weep? No, 'ifegs!He'll seek for some more of the kind.He'll laugh and though doctors perhaps may condemn—Thy tide shall efface the decree,For many can witness, though subject to phlegm,He has always been faithful to thee!With thee were the dreams of his earliest love,Every rap in his pocket was thine,And his very last prayer, every morning, by Jove!Was to finish the evening in wine.How blest are the tipplers whose heads can outliveThe effects of four bottles of thee,But the next dearest blessing that heaven can give,Is to stagger home muzzy from three!
When he who adores thee has left but the dregsOf such famous old stingo behind,Oh! say will he bluster and weep? No, 'ifegs!He'll seek for some more of the kind.He'll laugh and though doctors perhaps may condemn—Thy tide shall efface the decree,For many can witness, though subject to phlegm,He has always been faithful to thee!With thee were the dreams of his earliest love,Every rap in his pocket was thine,And his very last prayer, every morning, by Jove!Was to finish the evening in wine.How blest are the tipplers whose heads can outliveThe effects of four bottles of thee,But the next dearest blessing that heaven can give,Is to stagger home muzzy from three!
When he who adores thee has left but the dregsOf such famous old stingo behind,Oh! say will he bluster and weep? No, 'ifegs!He'll seek for some more of the kind.He'll laugh and though doctors perhaps may condemn—Thy tide shall efface the decree,For many can witness, though subject to phlegm,He has always been faithful to thee!
When he who adores thee has left but the dregs
Of such famous old stingo behind,
Oh! say will he bluster and weep? No, 'ifegs!
He'll seek for some more of the kind.
He'll laugh and though doctors perhaps may condemn—
Thy tide shall efface the decree,
For many can witness, though subject to phlegm,
He has always been faithful to thee!
With thee were the dreams of his earliest love,Every rap in his pocket was thine,And his very last prayer, every morning, by Jove!Was to finish the evening in wine.How blest are the tipplers whose heads can outliveThe effects of four bottles of thee,But the next dearest blessing that heaven can give,Is to stagger home muzzy from three!
With thee were the dreams of his earliest love,
Every rap in his pocket was thine,
And his very last prayer, every morning, by Jove!
Was to finish the evening in wine.
How blest are the tipplers whose heads can outlive
The effects of four bottles of thee,
But the next dearest blessing that heaven can give,
Is to stagger home muzzy from three!
The last lamp of the alleyIs burning alone!All its brilliant companionsAre shivered and gone.No lamp of her kindred,No burner is nigh,To rival her glimmer,Or light to supply.I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!To vanish in smoke;As the bright ones are shattered,Thou too shalt be broke:Thus kindly I scatterThy globe o'er the street;Where the watch in his ramblesThy fragments shall meet.Then home will I stagger,As well as I may;By the light of my nose sureI'll find out the way.When thy blaze is extinguished,Thy brilliancy gone,Oh! my beak shall illumineThe alley alone.
The last lamp of the alleyIs burning alone!All its brilliant companionsAre shivered and gone.No lamp of her kindred,No burner is nigh,To rival her glimmer,Or light to supply.I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!To vanish in smoke;As the bright ones are shattered,Thou too shalt be broke:Thus kindly I scatterThy globe o'er the street;Where the watch in his ramblesThy fragments shall meet.Then home will I stagger,As well as I may;By the light of my nose sureI'll find out the way.When thy blaze is extinguished,Thy brilliancy gone,Oh! my beak shall illumineThe alley alone.
The last lamp of the alleyIs burning alone!All its brilliant companionsAre shivered and gone.No lamp of her kindred,No burner is nigh,To rival her glimmer,Or light to supply.
The last lamp of the alley
Is burning alone!
All its brilliant companions
Are shivered and gone.
No lamp of her kindred,
No burner is nigh,
To rival her glimmer,
Or light to supply.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!To vanish in smoke;As the bright ones are shattered,Thou too shalt be broke:Thus kindly I scatterThy globe o'er the street;Where the watch in his ramblesThy fragments shall meet.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To vanish in smoke;
As the bright ones are shattered,
Thou too shalt be broke:
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy globe o'er the street;
Where the watch in his rambles
Thy fragments shall meet.
Then home will I stagger,As well as I may;By the light of my nose sureI'll find out the way.When thy blaze is extinguished,Thy brilliancy gone,Oh! my beak shall illumineThe alley alone.
Then home will I stagger,
As well as I may;
By the light of my nose sure
I'll find out the way.
When thy blaze is extinguished,
Thy brilliancy gone,
Oh! my beak shall illumine
The alley alone.
A FRAGMENT OF A TURKISH TALE.
The Pacha sat in his divan,With silver-sheathed ataghan;And called to him a Galiongee,Come lately from the Euxine SeaTo Stamboul; chains were on his feet,And fetters on his hands were seen,Because he was a Nazarene:When, duly making reverence meet,With haughty glance on that divan,And curling lip, he thus began:'By broad Phingari's silver light,When sailing at the noon of night,Bismillah! whom did we descryBut dark corsairs, who, bent on spoil,Athwart the deep sea ever toil!We knew their blood-red flags on high:The Capitan he called, belike,With gesture proud, to bid us strike,And told his Sonbachis to spareOf not one scalp a single hair,Though garbs of green showed Emirs there!It boots not, Pacha, to relateWhat souls were sent to Eblis throne,How Azrael's arrows scattered fate,How wild, wet, wearied, and alone,When all my crew were drench'd in blood,Or floated lifeless on the flood,I fought unawed, nor e'er thought ITo shout "Amaun!" the craven's cry—I took my handkerchief to wipeMy burning brow, and then I took,With placid hand, my long chibouque,That is to say, my Turkish pipe,And having clapp'd it in my cheekDisdaining e'er a word to speak,I shouted to the pirate, "Now,You've fairly beat me, I allow,"' &c.
The Pacha sat in his divan,With silver-sheathed ataghan;And called to him a Galiongee,Come lately from the Euxine SeaTo Stamboul; chains were on his feet,And fetters on his hands were seen,Because he was a Nazarene:When, duly making reverence meet,With haughty glance on that divan,And curling lip, he thus began:'By broad Phingari's silver light,When sailing at the noon of night,Bismillah! whom did we descryBut dark corsairs, who, bent on spoil,Athwart the deep sea ever toil!We knew their blood-red flags on high:The Capitan he called, belike,With gesture proud, to bid us strike,And told his Sonbachis to spareOf not one scalp a single hair,Though garbs of green showed Emirs there!It boots not, Pacha, to relateWhat souls were sent to Eblis throne,How Azrael's arrows scattered fate,How wild, wet, wearied, and alone,When all my crew were drench'd in blood,Or floated lifeless on the flood,I fought unawed, nor e'er thought ITo shout "Amaun!" the craven's cry—I took my handkerchief to wipeMy burning brow, and then I took,With placid hand, my long chibouque,That is to say, my Turkish pipe,And having clapp'd it in my cheekDisdaining e'er a word to speak,I shouted to the pirate, "Now,You've fairly beat me, I allow,"' &c.
The Pacha sat in his divan,With silver-sheathed ataghan;And called to him a Galiongee,Come lately from the Euxine SeaTo Stamboul; chains were on his feet,And fetters on his hands were seen,Because he was a Nazarene:When, duly making reverence meet,With haughty glance on that divan,And curling lip, he thus began:
The Pacha sat in his divan,
With silver-sheathed ataghan;
And called to him a Galiongee,
Come lately from the Euxine Sea
To Stamboul; chains were on his feet,
And fetters on his hands were seen,
Because he was a Nazarene:
When, duly making reverence meet,
With haughty glance on that divan,
And curling lip, he thus began:
'By broad Phingari's silver light,When sailing at the noon of night,Bismillah! whom did we descryBut dark corsairs, who, bent on spoil,Athwart the deep sea ever toil!We knew their blood-red flags on high:The Capitan he called, belike,With gesture proud, to bid us strike,And told his Sonbachis to spareOf not one scalp a single hair,Though garbs of green showed Emirs there!It boots not, Pacha, to relateWhat souls were sent to Eblis throne,How Azrael's arrows scattered fate,How wild, wet, wearied, and alone,When all my crew were drench'd in blood,Or floated lifeless on the flood,I fought unawed, nor e'er thought ITo shout "Amaun!" the craven's cry—I took my handkerchief to wipeMy burning brow, and then I took,With placid hand, my long chibouque,That is to say, my Turkish pipe,And having clapp'd it in my cheekDisdaining e'er a word to speak,I shouted to the pirate, "Now,You've fairly beat me, I allow,"' &c.
'By broad Phingari's silver light,
When sailing at the noon of night,
Bismillah! whom did we descry
But dark corsairs, who, bent on spoil,
Athwart the deep sea ever toil!
We knew their blood-red flags on high:
The Capitan he called, belike,
With gesture proud, to bid us strike,
And told his Sonbachis to spare
Of not one scalp a single hair,
Though garbs of green showed Emirs there!
It boots not, Pacha, to relate
What souls were sent to Eblis throne,
How Azrael's arrows scattered fate,
How wild, wet, wearied, and alone,
When all my crew were drench'd in blood,
Or floated lifeless on the flood,
I fought unawed, nor e'er thought I
To shout "Amaun!" the craven's cry—
I took my handkerchief to wipe
My burning brow, and then I took,
With placid hand, my long chibouque,
That is to say, my Turkish pipe,
And having clapp'd it in my cheek
Disdaining e'er a word to speak,
I shouted to the pirate, "Now,
You've fairly beat me, I allow,"' &c.