tbTHE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE.
L'Envoye.A moral more in point I scarce could hopeThan this, from Mr. Alexander Pope.If ever chance should bring some Cornet gay,And pious Maid,—as, possibly, it may,—From Knightsbridge Barracks, and the shades sereneOf Clapham Rise, as far as Kensal Green;O'er some pale marble when they join their headsTo kiss the falling tears each other sheds;Oh! may they pause!—and think, in silent awe,He, that he reads the words, "Ci gît St. Foix!"—She, that the tombstone which her eye surveysBears this sad line,—"Hic jacet Sœur Therèse!"—Then shall they sigh, and weep, and murmuring say,"Oh! may we never play such tricks as they!"—And if at such a time some Bard there be,Some sober Bard, addicted much to teaAnd sentimental song—like Ingoldsby—If such there be—who sings and sips so well,Let him this sad, this tender story tell!Warn'd by the tale, the gentle pair shall boast,"I've 'scaped the Broken Heart!"—"and I the Ghost!!"
L'Envoye.A moral more in point I scarce could hopeThan this, from Mr. Alexander Pope.If ever chance should bring some Cornet gay,And pious Maid,—as, possibly, it may,—From Knightsbridge Barracks, and the shades sereneOf Clapham Rise, as far as Kensal Green;O'er some pale marble when they join their headsTo kiss the falling tears each other sheds;Oh! may they pause!—and think, in silent awe,He, that he reads the words, "Ci gît St. Foix!"—She, that the tombstone which her eye surveysBears this sad line,—"Hic jacet Sœur Therèse!"—Then shall they sigh, and weep, and murmuring say,"Oh! may we never play such tricks as they!"—And if at such a time some Bard there be,Some sober Bard, addicted much to teaAnd sentimental song—like Ingoldsby—If such there be—who sings and sips so well,Let him this sad, this tender story tell!Warn'd by the tale, the gentle pair shall boast,"I've 'scaped the Broken Heart!"—"and I the Ghost!!"
L'Envoye.
A moral more in point I scarce could hopeThan this, from Mr. Alexander Pope.
If ever chance should bring some Cornet gay,And pious Maid,—as, possibly, it may,—From Knightsbridge Barracks, and the shades sereneOf Clapham Rise, as far as Kensal Green;O'er some pale marble when they join their headsTo kiss the falling tears each other sheds;Oh! may they pause!—and think, in silent awe,He, that he reads the words, "Ci gît St. Foix!"—She, that the tombstone which her eye surveysBears this sad line,—"Hic jacet Sœur Therèse!"—Then shall they sigh, and weep, and murmuring say,"Oh! may we never play such tricks as they!"—And if at such a time some Bard there be,Some sober Bard, addicted much to teaAnd sentimental song—like Ingoldsby—If such there be—who sings and sips so well,Let him this sad, this tender story tell!Warn'd by the tale, the gentle pair shall boast,"I've 'scaped the Broken Heart!"—"and I the Ghost!!"
FOOTNOTES:[19]Mrs. Ingoldsby, who is deeply read in Robertson, informs me that this is a mistake; that the lady to whom this memorablebilletwas delivered by the hands of Pennalosa, was the unfortunate monarch's mamma, and not his sister. I would gladly rectify the error, but, then,—what am I to do for a rhyme?—On the whole, I fear I must content myself, like Talleyrand, with admitting that "it is worse than a fault—it's a blunder!" for which enormity,—as honest old Pepys says when he records having kissed his cookmaid,—"I humbly beg pardon of Heaven, and Mrs. Ingoldsby!"[20]Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes.Who viewed men's manners, Londons, Yorks, and Derbys.[21]"Tompion's, I presume?"—Farquhar.[22]May good digestion wait on appetite,And health on both.—Macbeth.
[19]Mrs. Ingoldsby, who is deeply read in Robertson, informs me that this is a mistake; that the lady to whom this memorablebilletwas delivered by the hands of Pennalosa, was the unfortunate monarch's mamma, and not his sister. I would gladly rectify the error, but, then,—what am I to do for a rhyme?—On the whole, I fear I must content myself, like Talleyrand, with admitting that "it is worse than a fault—it's a blunder!" for which enormity,—as honest old Pepys says when he records having kissed his cookmaid,—"I humbly beg pardon of Heaven, and Mrs. Ingoldsby!"
[19]Mrs. Ingoldsby, who is deeply read in Robertson, informs me that this is a mistake; that the lady to whom this memorablebilletwas delivered by the hands of Pennalosa, was the unfortunate monarch's mamma, and not his sister. I would gladly rectify the error, but, then,—what am I to do for a rhyme?—On the whole, I fear I must content myself, like Talleyrand, with admitting that "it is worse than a fault—it's a blunder!" for which enormity,—as honest old Pepys says when he records having kissed his cookmaid,—"I humbly beg pardon of Heaven, and Mrs. Ingoldsby!"
[20]Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes.Who viewed men's manners, Londons, Yorks, and Derbys.
[20]
Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes.Who viewed men's manners, Londons, Yorks, and Derbys.
Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes.Who viewed men's manners, Londons, Yorks, and Derbys.
Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes.Who viewed men's manners, Londons, Yorks, and Derbys.
[21]"Tompion's, I presume?"—Farquhar.
[21]"Tompion's, I presume?"—Farquhar.
[22]May good digestion wait on appetite,And health on both.—Macbeth.
[22]
May good digestion wait on appetite,And health on both.—Macbeth.
May good digestion wait on appetite,And health on both.—Macbeth.
May good digestion wait on appetite,And health on both.—Macbeth.
The next in order of these "lays of many lands" refers to a period far earlier in point of date, and has for its scene the banks of what our Teutonic friends are wont to call their "own imperial River!" The incidents which it records afford sufficient proof (and these are days of demonstration), that a propensity to flirtation is not confined to age or country, and that its consequences were not less disastrous to the mail-cladRitterof the dark ages than to the silken courtier of the seventeenth century. The whole narrative bears about it the stamp of truth, and from the papers among which it was discovered I am inclined to think it must have been picked up by Sir Peregrine in the course of one of his valetudinary visits to "The German Spa."