THE OLD BACHELOR:AN EPISTLE TO A LADY.Whatsingular mortal is that,Who sits in yon cottage alone,Excepting an old tabby cat,Which gray with her master is grown?Say, would you his origin know,Or if the odd mortal came hereFrom regions above, or below?The truth I will tell you, my dear.Dame Nature, a fanciful jade,As ancient philosophers say,When all other creatures were made,Had left a small portion of clay.The matter, indeed, was so crudeShe meant to have thrown it aside,At length in a frolicsome mood,To make something of it she tried.Her goody-ship, worried about,Was forc’d her old vessels to scrape,For matter to finish the loutTo a biped, which had human shape.She moulded the comical stuff,’Till all in one mass was combined;His body, though quite odd enough,Wasperfect, compared with his mind.To a hard unsusceptible heart,She added a thick leaden skull,And threw in of pride such a part,As well might suffice a mogul:But did not implant in his breastA taste for those pleasures refined,Which give to enjoyment its zest,And soften the cares of the mind.Of wisdom she threw in a spice,But omitted to add common sense;Dutch prudence a very large slice,To teach him the saving of pence.She gave him good honesty’s phiz;No mummy was ever more grave,Although, my dear madam, the quiz,To his wit’s full extent is a knave.All this she perform’d in a jerk,And being well pleased with him, so far,She set herself gravely to work,And forced him to swallow a crow-bar.No wonder then, this queer machine,Which so rude, and so awkwardly made is,By nobody ever was seenTo bow to the fairest of ladies.[135]At length he was usher’d to light,A half-alive kind of commodity,A thing, which you’d say, at first sight,Was quite the quintessence of oddity.She planted him down in yon hut,Tovegetatethere with impunity,Till death shall prohibit thePutAny more from disgusting community.
AN EPISTLE TO A LADY.
Whatsingular mortal is that,Who sits in yon cottage alone,Excepting an old tabby cat,Which gray with her master is grown?Say, would you his origin know,Or if the odd mortal came hereFrom regions above, or below?The truth I will tell you, my dear.Dame Nature, a fanciful jade,As ancient philosophers say,When all other creatures were made,Had left a small portion of clay.The matter, indeed, was so crudeShe meant to have thrown it aside,At length in a frolicsome mood,To make something of it she tried.Her goody-ship, worried about,Was forc’d her old vessels to scrape,For matter to finish the loutTo a biped, which had human shape.She moulded the comical stuff,’Till all in one mass was combined;His body, though quite odd enough,Wasperfect, compared with his mind.To a hard unsusceptible heart,She added a thick leaden skull,And threw in of pride such a part,As well might suffice a mogul:But did not implant in his breastA taste for those pleasures refined,Which give to enjoyment its zest,And soften the cares of the mind.Of wisdom she threw in a spice,But omitted to add common sense;Dutch prudence a very large slice,To teach him the saving of pence.She gave him good honesty’s phiz;No mummy was ever more grave,Although, my dear madam, the quiz,To his wit’s full extent is a knave.All this she perform’d in a jerk,And being well pleased with him, so far,She set herself gravely to work,And forced him to swallow a crow-bar.No wonder then, this queer machine,Which so rude, and so awkwardly made is,By nobody ever was seenTo bow to the fairest of ladies.[135]At length he was usher’d to light,A half-alive kind of commodity,A thing, which you’d say, at first sight,Was quite the quintessence of oddity.She planted him down in yon hut,Tovegetatethere with impunity,Till death shall prohibit thePutAny more from disgusting community.
Whatsingular mortal is that,Who sits in yon cottage alone,Excepting an old tabby cat,Which gray with her master is grown?
Whatsingular mortal is that,
Who sits in yon cottage alone,
Excepting an old tabby cat,
Which gray with her master is grown?
Say, would you his origin know,Or if the odd mortal came hereFrom regions above, or below?The truth I will tell you, my dear.
Say, would you his origin know,
Or if the odd mortal came here
From regions above, or below?
The truth I will tell you, my dear.
Dame Nature, a fanciful jade,As ancient philosophers say,When all other creatures were made,Had left a small portion of clay.
Dame Nature, a fanciful jade,
As ancient philosophers say,
When all other creatures were made,
Had left a small portion of clay.
The matter, indeed, was so crudeShe meant to have thrown it aside,At length in a frolicsome mood,To make something of it she tried.
The matter, indeed, was so crude
She meant to have thrown it aside,
At length in a frolicsome mood,
To make something of it she tried.
Her goody-ship, worried about,Was forc’d her old vessels to scrape,For matter to finish the loutTo a biped, which had human shape.
Her goody-ship, worried about,
Was forc’d her old vessels to scrape,
For matter to finish the lout
To a biped, which had human shape.
She moulded the comical stuff,’Till all in one mass was combined;His body, though quite odd enough,Wasperfect, compared with his mind.
She moulded the comical stuff,
’Till all in one mass was combined;
His body, though quite odd enough,
Wasperfect, compared with his mind.
To a hard unsusceptible heart,She added a thick leaden skull,And threw in of pride such a part,As well might suffice a mogul:
To a hard unsusceptible heart,
She added a thick leaden skull,
And threw in of pride such a part,
As well might suffice a mogul:
But did not implant in his breastA taste for those pleasures refined,Which give to enjoyment its zest,And soften the cares of the mind.
But did not implant in his breast
A taste for those pleasures refined,
Which give to enjoyment its zest,
And soften the cares of the mind.
Of wisdom she threw in a spice,But omitted to add common sense;Dutch prudence a very large slice,To teach him the saving of pence.
Of wisdom she threw in a spice,
But omitted to add common sense;
Dutch prudence a very large slice,
To teach him the saving of pence.
She gave him good honesty’s phiz;No mummy was ever more grave,Although, my dear madam, the quiz,To his wit’s full extent is a knave.
She gave him good honesty’s phiz;
No mummy was ever more grave,
Although, my dear madam, the quiz,
To his wit’s full extent is a knave.
All this she perform’d in a jerk,And being well pleased with him, so far,She set herself gravely to work,And forced him to swallow a crow-bar.
All this she perform’d in a jerk,
And being well pleased with him, so far,
She set herself gravely to work,
And forced him to swallow a crow-bar.
No wonder then, this queer machine,Which so rude, and so awkwardly made is,By nobody ever was seenTo bow to the fairest of ladies.[135]
No wonder then, this queer machine,
Which so rude, and so awkwardly made is,
By nobody ever was seen
To bow to the fairest of ladies.[135]
At length he was usher’d to light,A half-alive kind of commodity,A thing, which you’d say, at first sight,Was quite the quintessence of oddity.
At length he was usher’d to light,
A half-alive kind of commodity,
A thing, which you’d say, at first sight,
Was quite the quintessence of oddity.
She planted him down in yon hut,Tovegetatethere with impunity,Till death shall prohibit thePutAny more from disgusting community.
She planted him down in yon hut,
Tovegetatethere with impunity,
Till death shall prohibit thePut
Any more from disgusting community.