Book 3 — ORIGINAL PIECES.

Always I hated civic[2] entertainments: Mutton disgusts me simulating[3] ven’son, Catch[4] me no fish hermetically fasten’d, Harris, or oysters. Still[5] I could feast on watery[6] potatoes. Fill my friend’s lap[7] soups derelict[8], abandon’d Sauces, rich gifts of charitable ocean Cheaply benignant[9].

I. His studies o’er, his next discourse Impromptu learnt by rote, The rector rose, and doff’d a coarse To don a finer coat. II. His silken hose with shining clocks Which clothed each portly calf, His shovel hat right orthodox, And golden-headed staff, III. All spoke the doctor. On he strode: Soon splash’d, he vow’d irate, The sinner who survey’d the road He’d excommunicate. IV. No! he’d indict his stubborn flock, And shear their golden fleece. Who, heeding much the parish stock, Little Victoria’s peace, V. Rebellious lieges! mended not The errors of their ways, (Upon their pastor’s shoes a spot Would shorten not their days!) VI. Thus he resolved; but cries invade His Reverence’s ear! Is it some damsel, who, afraid, Sees men disguised in beer? VII. Or one the milky mothers meet Emerging from the byre? Who sees a snake beneath her feet? Or waddling toad retire? VIII. Perplex’d, he hurries on the while, But soon is seen to stand Amazed: two ladies on a stile Were seated hand in hand: IX. Young were they both, and fair to view, Yet sorrow from their eyes Tears, so the doctor fancied, drew: He spoke, in grave surprise: X. “Issued those cries from ladies’ throats? And what’s the reason? say.” “How canst thou ask, when all denotes The cause? this glorious day!” XI. “Thank God,” he cried, “the day is fine, Yet why should that distress? The glass is rising; to repine Seems rude unthankfulness.” XII. “We are not understood, we see With optics not like thine, What canst thou know of poesy, A middle-aged divine? XIII. “Was ever yet a poet known To wear a white cravat? A soul did ever mortal own In a three-corner’d hat? XIV. “We could sit here and cry for hours, Or shriek with sad delight; The earth, sea, sky, sun, shade, and flowers, Are agonising quite. XV. “To weep’s enjoyment half divine: Unsavoury appears To thee, a bibber of port wine, The luxury of tears. XVI. “Farewell, farewell! we grieve for thee;” (They cast a pitying glance,) Doctor, thou hast no sympathy With Creatures of Romance.”

Mr. Adipocire, an eminent and reflecting Tallow Chandler. Mrs. Adipocire, an every-day sort of Woman.

MR. A. How harden’d is the man who has not felt His heart ’neath Nature’s influences melt! MRS. A. You promised all these terms of art to drop; Indeed, my dear, you savour of the shop. MR. A. ’Tis sweet to see the lazy clouds decamp, ’Tis sweet to see Night hang her silver lamp. MRS. A. Lamp! MR. A. And with telescope, or naked eye, To view the lesser tapers of the sky. MRS. A. Tapers, for shame! MR. A. ’Tis pleasing to discern Planet from star, and know the orbs which burn. MRS. A. Burn! there again. MR. A. Ah! wherefore do they blaze? Who lights the sunbeams, and the lunar rays? MRS. A. Oh! MR. A. When, as our immortal Shakespear sings, “Night’s candles are burnt out,” who daylight brings? MRS. A. Ah! MR. A. He whose steady eye to his concerns Forces the comets to make due returns. MRS. A. I’m quite worn out. MR. A. Who bounteous made the whales Common and Spermaceti? MRS. A. Odious tales! MR. A. ’Twas that First Cause which, for our nightly use, Filleth the cocoa-nuts with unctuous juice, Which bids the wether fatten to supply A light to tantalise, not satisfy: Which gives us fatty wax from bodies dead Of Lamberts damp within their “narrow bed,” Which stores the laden thighs of bees with wax, (Its lustre hence no dining-table lacks By footmen rubb’d, who burnish and blaspheme.) Wax which illumes when urns emit their steam: Wax which inspired the genius of Argand, When lamps, despised till then, at his command A radiance mild o’er dinner-tables shed, Soft’ning on cheeks the artificial red. Paling each pimply nose with chasten’d light: MRS. A. A—! you are quite incorrigible, quite; When shall I ever tutor you to feel The moral fitness of the “true genteel!” MR. A. Well, well, I’ll not offend, love, with my tongue. Oh! with what art those lustres bright are hung! MRS. A. You keep indeed a guard upon your lips. MR. A. Observe that bird, how prettily it dips; Its plumage and its graceful shape behold, And see how Nature works in Beauty’s mould. MRS. A. I see my temper you’re disposed to try, Yet I may be lamented when I die; Speak as you please, you’re safe from my complaints, But you’re enough to vex a saint of saints. MR. A. My dear, you’re waxing wroth. MRS. A. (going.) Provoking! MR. A. Stay, I hear our children’s voices at their play; I love to see them sporting on the rocks, MRS. A. Wetting their feet, and dirtying their frocks. My dear, come in. MR. A. My darling, I’ll stay out. MRS. A. Don’t expect me to nurse you in the gout. [Exit.

I. And are you sure the news is true? And is the pilot seen? I see the waters changed in hue, Old Neptune’s deck’d in green. II. ’Tis true; I see the glistening sail Far o’er the watery space, White as a floating bridal veil Thrown off a blushing face. III. All eyes are straining for the shore, I long to climb above, And shall I touch the land once more, And hear of those I love? IV. Before this wearying glass has spent Its sand, he’ll he aboard; I’ll ask not if we’ve pitch’d the tent, Or sheath’d the bloody sword; V. If Dost Mahomed captive pine, Or if the Tartar bend, I’ll trembling ask for one dear line From some familiar friend. VI. The pilot on the deck has sprung, He’s hail’d on every side, Shame on my false, rebellious tongue! Oh! why is speech denied?

I. The joys of the ocean let others discuss, A ship is to me a marine omnibus, Or an ark where man, beast, bird, and insect convene, And each living creature on board is unclean. II. Should slumber miraculous seal up your eyes, No chanticleer issues a summons to rise, You’ve the music of hounds, and should that fail to vex, It gives place to the sound of men swobbing the decks. III. In the stillness of night some fond fancies invade, Perchance you may dream that some fair, favour’d maid With delicate fingers is twining your hair, And you wake to find cockroaches, not fingers, there. IV. ’Tis a Babel of sounds; you’ve the lowing of cows, Sheep bleating, and squeaks of parturient sows, Geese cackling, ducks quacking, curs yelping, ne’er mute, And the wheeze of some plaintive, asthmatical flute. V. Around you what various odours arise! How blest is the man to whom nature denies The olfactory nerve, to whose nonchalant nose The stalest bilgewater is fragrant as rose! VI. To dine in the cuddy tames pleasures of sense, Proves life but a lottery; its prizes pretence, Its blanks dark realities, there ’twill be seen ’Twixt the cup and the lip what sad slips intervene. VII. You drink to a fair one: how blest her escape, Whose bosom’s not red with the juice of the grape; Each flagon may Tantalus serve for a stoup, And envious Neptune upsets your pea-soup. VIII. What pleasure to walk with a staggering gait, With dimness of sight, and confusion of pate; Like a drunkard to reel when the ship gives a lurch, And balance see-saw, like a duck forced to perch! IX. The city of palaces bursts on my sight! Its mosques and its temples I hail with delight; A palace in every building I see, For a pigsty ashore is a palace to me.