JOE MILLER’S JESTS. (continued 7)

Seven wealthy towns contend for Homer dead, Through which the living Homer begged his bread.

The golden hair that Galla wears Is hers: who would have thought it! She swears ’tis hers,—and true she swears; For I know where she bought it.

From her own native France, as old Alison past, She reproached English Nell with neglect or with malice; That the slattern had left, in the hurry and haste, Her lady’s complexion and eye-brows at Calais.

Here lies honest Strephon with Mary his bride, Who merrily lived and cheerfully died; They laughed and they loved, and drank while they were able, But now they are forced to knock under the table. This marble, which formerly served them to drink on, Now covers their bodies,—and sad thing to think on!— That do what one can to moisten our clay, ’Twill one day be ashes, and moulder away.

Whilst in the dark on thy soft hand I hung, And heard the tempting syren in thy tongue; What flames, what darts, what anguish I endured! But, when the candle entered, I was cured.

Minerva, one day, pray let nobody doubt it, Rid an airing from Oxford six miles, or about it, Where she ’spied a young damsel so blooming and fair, That, ah, Venus! she cried, is your ladyship there? Pray is not yon Oxford?—and lately you sware, Neither you, nor aught like you, should ever come there: Do you thus keep your promise? and am I defied? The virgin drew near her, and, smiling replied, —My goddess! what have you your pupil forgot? —Your pardon, my dear,——Is it you, Molly Scot?

Dear cousin, think it no reproach, (Thy virtue shines the more,) To take black John into the coach He rode behind before.

Light-fingered Catch, to keep his hand in ure, Stole anything; of this you may be sure, That he thinks all his own which once he handles, For practice-sake did steal a pound of candles; Was taken in the fact: Oh, foolish wight! To steal such things as needs must come to light.

Your homely face, Flippanta, you disguise, With patches, numerous as Argus’ eyes; I own that patching’s requisite to you, For more we are pleased, if less your face we view; Yet I advise, if my advice you’d ask, Wear but one patch; but be that patch a mask.

Whene’er I look, I may descry A little face peep through that eye; Sure that’s the boy, who wisely chose His throne among such beams as those, Which, if his quiver chance to fall, May serve for darts to kill withal.

When thou art asked to sup abroad, Thou swear’st thou hast but newly dined; That eating late does over-load The stomach and the mind. Then thou wilt drink ’till every star Be swallowed by the rising sun; Such charms hath wine we pay not for, And mirth at others’ charge begun. Who shuns his club, yet flies to every treat, Does not a supper, but a reck’ning hate.

Oh! shield me from his rage, celestial powers, This tyrant that embitters all my hours. Ah, love, you’ve poorly played the monarch’s part, You conquered, but you can’t defend my heart. So blessed was I, throughout the happy reign, I thought this monster banished from thy train; But you would raise him to support your throne, And now he claims your empire as his own: Or tell me, tyrants, have you both agreed, There where one reigns, the other shall succeed?

Julia, young wanton, flung the gathered snow, Nor feared I burning from the watery blow: ’Tis cold, I cried; but, ah! too soon I found, Sent by that hand, it dealt a scorching wound. Resistless fair! we fly thy power in vain, Who turn’st to fiery darts the frozen rain. Burn, Julia, burn like me, and that desire With water which thou kindlest quench with fire.

The poet and the painter safely dare To form an image of the proudest fair: Your brighter charms, by lavish nature wrought, Transcend the painter’s skill, the poet’s thought.

Well hast thou drawn, fond youth, in properest place, The short-lived beauties of false Cælia’s face. When words’ obscurities thy sense o’er-shade, The place gives light to what thou wouldst have said. Bright as this lucid glass her eyes now seem, Like this, breathed on by fell disease, grown dim. Like glass is every strongest vow she makes, Brittle as that, as easily she breaks; Such is her honour. Short her fame, we find, Which cracked, must perish by the first high wind.

A chapel of a riding-house is made, Thus we once more see Christ in manger laid, Where still we find the jockey trade supplied, The laymen bridled, and the clergy ride.

Here Chloe lies, Whose once bright eyes Set all the world on fire: And not to be Ungrateful, she Did all the world admire.

Qualiter in mediis quam non speraverat urbem, Attonitus, Venetam navita cernit aquis; Sic improviso emergens et montibus imis, Attollis sese Devoniana Domus.

Not sailors view with more astonished eyes, In open seas Venetian towers arise, Than from the mountains strangers, with delight, See unexpected Chatsworth charm the sight.

George came to the crown without striking a blow: Ah! quoth the Pretender, would I could do so.

To wonder now at Balaam’s ass, is weak: Is there a day that asses do not speak?

You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come; Knock as you please, there’s nobody at home.

Sylvia makes a sad complaint she has lost her lover; Why nothing strange I in that news discover. Nay, then thou’rt dull; for here the wonder lies, She had a lover once!—Don’t that surprise?

While his Redeemer on his canvas dies, Stabbed at his feet his brother weltering lies. The daring artist, cruelly serene. Views the pale cheek, and the distorted mien; He drains off life by drops, and deaf to cries, Examines every spirit as it flies; He studies torment, dives in mortal woe, To rouse up every pang repeats his blow; Each rising agony, each dreadful grace, Yet warm transplanting to his Saviour’s face. Oh, glorious theft! O nobly wicked draught! With its full charge of death each feature fraught! Such wondrous force the magic colours boast, From his own skill he starts, in horror lost.

When Lesbia first I saw, so heavenly fair, With eyes so bright, and with that awful air, I thought my heart, which durst so high aspire, As bold as his who snatched celestial fire; But soon as e’er the beauteous idiot spoke, Forth from her coral lips such folly broke, Like balm the trickling nonsense healed my wound, And what her eyes enthralled, her tongue unbound.

I sing the boy, who, gagged and bound, Has been by nature robbed of sound; Yet has she found a generous way, One loss by many gifts to pay. His voice, indeed, she close confined, But blest him with a speaking mind; And every muscle of his face Discourses with peculiar grace: The ladies tattling o’er their tea, Might learn to charm by copying thee. If silence thus can man become, All women beauties would be dumb. Then, happy boy, no more complain, Nor think thy loss of speech a pain: Nature has used thee like good liquor, And corked thee but to make thee quicker.

Here lies the mutton-eating king, Whose word no man relies on; Who never said a foolish thing, Nor ever did a wise one.

The crimes of men began to grow so great, That how to punish justly puzzled Fate; Heaven sighed at last, that to his sons so dear A punishment’s decreed, and so severe: Go, says eternal justice, hell-hounds, go, And execute my dread commands below; Fix your rapacious claws on every door, Despoil the rich, and poorer make the poor; Pity not age, add to his weight of years, And fill the wretched widow’s eyes with tears; Disturb their sleep, and poison every dish, Nor let them taste, without a doubt, a wish: The judge supreme, who each effect foresaw, Cried, Havock, and let loose the dogs of law.

Thy nags, the leanest things alive, So very hard thou lov’st to drive, I heard thy anxious coachman say It cost thee more in whips than hay.

When Loveless married Lady Jenny, Whose beauty was the ready penny; I chose her, said he, like old plate, Not for the fashion, but the weight.

Reader, beware immoderate love of pelf: Here lies the worst of thieves, who robbed himself.

Nature in pity has denied you shape, Else how should mortals Flavia’s chain escape? Your radiant aspect, and your rosy bloom, Without this form would bring a general doom: At once our ruin and relief we see, At sight are captives, and at sight are free.

How old may Phillis be, you ask, Whose beauty thus all hearts engages? To answer is no easy task; For she really has two ages. Stiff in brocade, and pinched in stays, Her patches, paint, and jewels on; All day let Envy view her face, And Phillis is but twenty-one. Paint, patches, jewels, laid aside, At night astronomers agree, The evening has the day belied. And Phillis is full forty-three.

Here Tim the tapster lies, who drew good beer, But now, drawn to his end, he draws no more; Yes, still he draws from every friend a tear, Water he draws, who drew good beer before.

Nature and Vandergutch in this agree, Unfinished she has left him, so has he.

Underneath this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother: Death, ere thou hast killed another, Fair, and learned, good as she, Time shall throw his dart at thee.

Old Orpheus played so well he moved old Nick, Whilst thou mov’st nothing but thy fiddle-stick.

Accept a miracle instead of wit; See two dull lines by Stanhope’s pencil writ.

Doris, a widow, past her prime, Her spouse long dead, her wailing doubles; Her real griefs increase by time, And what abates, improves her troubles. Those pangs her prudent hopes suppressed, Impatient now she cannot smother: How should the helpless woman rest? One’s gone—nor can she get another.

Leave off thy paint, perfumes, and youthful dress, And nature’s failing honestly confess; Double we see those faults which art would mend, Plain downright ugliness would less offend.

In church, the prayer-book and the fan displayed, And the solemn curtesies, show the wily maid; At plays, the leering looks, and wanton airs, And nods, and smiles, are fondly meant for snares. Alas! vain charmer, you no lovers get; There you seem hypocrite, and here coquet.

Were there on earth another voice like thine, Another hand so blessed with skill divine, The late afflicted world some hopes might have, And harmony retrieve thee from the grave.

Indulgent nature to each creature shows A secret instinct to discern its foes: The goose, a silly bird, avoids the fox; Lambs fly from wolves, and sailors steer from rocks; The thief the gallows, as his fate foresees, And bears the like antipathy to trees.

Hail, happy bride! for thou art truly bless’d, Three months of rapture crowned with endless rest. Merit like yours was heaven’s peculiar care, You loved,—yet tasted happiness sincere. To you the sweets of love were only shown; The sure succeeding bitter dregs unknown; You had not yet the fatal change deplored, The tender lover for the imperious lord; Nor felt the pains that jealous fondness brings, Nor wept the coldness from possession sprung: Above your sex distinguished in your fate, You trusted—yet experienced no deceit. Soft were your hours, and winged with pleasures flew, No vain repentance gave a sigh to you; And if superior bliss heaven can bestow, With fellow angels you enjoy it now.

Poor little, pretty, fluttering thing, Must we no longer live together? And dost thou prune thy trembling wing To take thy flight the Lord knows whither? Thy humorous vein, thy pleasing folly, Lie all neglected, all forgot; And pensive, wavering, melancholy, Thou dread’st and hopest thou know’st not what.

Let others Venus and the Graces place, Or Cupid, god of love, these toys to grace; Deign, charmer, but to cast those sparkling eyes On this fair mirror, lo! with glad surprise, A fairer form than Venus shall arise. Smile but my fair, and view ten thousand loves, Cheerful as light, and soft as cooing doves: Beauty and love with thee for ever stay, Soon as thou closest the lid both fly away.

A peaceful sway the great Augustus bore; O’er what great Julius gained by arms before; Julius was all with martial trophies crowned; Augustus for his peaceful arts renowned: Rome calls them great, and makes them deities; That, for his valour; this, his policies: You, mighty prince, than both are greater far, Who rule in peace that world you gained in war; You sure from heaven a finished hero fell, Who thus alone two Pagan Gods excel.

Ye active streams! where’er your waters flow, Let distant climes and farthest nations know, What ye from Thames and Danube have been taught, How Anne commanded and how Marlborough fought.

When daring Blood, his rent to have regained, Upon the English diadem distrained; He chose the cassock, surcingle, and gown, The fittest mark for one who robs the crown: But his Lay Pity underneath prevailed, And while he saved the keeper’s life, he failed. With the priest’s vestment, had he but put on The prelate’s cruelty, the crown had gone.

You I love, nor think I joke, More than ivy does the oak; More than fishes do the flood; More than savage beasts the wood; More than merchants do their gain; More than misers to complain; More than widows do their weeds; More than friars do their beads; More than Cynthia to be praised; More than courtiers to be raised; More than lawyers do the bar; More than ’prentice boys a fair; More than topers t’other bottle; More than women tittle-tattle; More than jailors do a fee; More than all things I love thee.

Blest be the princes who have fought For pompous names, or wide dominion; Since by their error we are taught, That happiness is but opinion.

Jove once resolved, the females to degrade, To propagate their sex without their aid; His brain conceived, and soon the pangs and throes He felt, nor could th’ unnatural birth disclose; At last, when tried, no remedy would do, The god took snuff, and out the goddess flew.

Come, gentle air, th’Æolian shepherd said, While Procris panted in the sacred shade; Come, gentle air, the fairer Delia cries, While at her feet her swain expiring lies. Lo! the glad gales do o’er her beauties stray, Breathe in her lips, and in her bosom play; In Delia’s hand this toy is faithful found, Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound; Both gifts destructive to the givers prove, Alike both lovers fall, by those they love: Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives, At random wounds, nor knows the wounds she gives: She views the story with attentive eyes, And pities Procris, while her lover dies.

One prompt physician like a sculler plies, And all his art and all his skill applies: But two physicians, like a pair of oars, Convey you soonest to the Stygian shores.

Argyll, his praise when Southerne wrote, First struck out this, and then that thought; Said this was flattery, that a fault. How shall your bard contrive? My lord, consider what you do, He’ll lose his pains and verses too; For if these praises fit not you, They’ll fit no man alive.

Here lies father Sparges, Who died to save charges.

God takes the good, too good on earth to stay, And leaves the bad, too bad to take away.

My very good lord, ’tis a very hard task For a man to wait here who has nothing to ask.

My very good dean, there are few who come here But have something to ask, or something to fear.

This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say,—Here lies an honest man! A poet blessed beyond a poet’s fate, Whom heaven kept sacred from the proud and great! Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease, Content with science in the vale of peace; Calmly he looked on either life, and here Saw nothing to regret, nor there to fear; From nature’s temperate feast rose satisfied, Thanked heaven that he had lived, and that he died.

Quite worn to the stumps, in a piteous condition, I present to your grace this my humble petition; Full twenty-eight stone, as all the world says, (To me it seems more) my plump master weighs. A load for a team this, yet I alone To Claremont must draw him, for help I have none; O’er Esher’s hot sands, in a dry summer’s day, How I sweat and I chafe, and I pant all the way But when I return, and the draft is increased By what he has crammed—a stone at the least— No single horse can be, in conscience thought able To draw both the justice, and eke half your table. This, my case, gracious duke, to your tender compassion I submit, and O! take it in consideration. To draw with a pair, put the squire in a way, Your petitioner then, bound in duty, shall neigh.

Stay, traveller—for all you want is near: Wisdom and power I seek—they both lie here. Nay, but I look for more, and raise my aim, To wit, taste, learning, elegance, and fame. Here ends your journey, then; for there the store Of Richelieu lies—Alas! repent no more: Shame on my pride! what hope is left for me, When here death treads on all that man can be?

Wife and servant are the same, But only differ in the name; For when that fatal knot is tied Which nothing, nothing can divide; When she the word “obey” has said, And man by law supreme is made, Then all that’s kind is laid aside, And nothing left but state and pride; Fierce as an eastern prince he grows, And all his innate rigour shows: Then but to look, or laugh, or speak, Will the nuptial contract break. Like mutes, she signs alone must make, And never any freedom take; But still be governed by a nod, And fear her husband as her god; Him still must serve, him still obey, And nothing act, and nothing say, But what her haughty lord thinks fit, Who with the power, has all the wit. Then shun, Oh! shun that wretched state, And all the fawning flatterers hate; Value yourselves, and men despise, You must be proud, if you’ll be wise.

Colin was married in all haste, And now to rack doth run; So knitting of himself too fast He hath himself undone.

Were I, who am not of the Romish tribe, The number of their sacraments to fix, I speak sincerely, without fee, or bribe, Instead of seven, there should be but six. All men of sense tautology disclaim, Marriage and penance always were the same.

Frank carves very ill, yet will palm all the meats; He eats more than six, and drinks more than he eats. Four pipes after dinner he constantly smokes; And seasons his whiffs with impertinent jokes. Yet sighing, he says, we must certainly break, And my cruel unkindness compels him to speak: For of late I invite him—but four times a week.

Yes, every poet is a fool: By demonstration Ned can show it: Happy, could Ned’s inverted rule Prove every fool to be a poet.

Thou bright inspirer of untainted Love, Gay as the lark, and peaceful as the Dove, Thou whose calm breast no struggling passions Heat, May still thy life be, as thy temper, Sweet, By flatterers wearied, when thou seek’st the Shade, May peace attend thee through the silent Glade, May all those powers that heavenly virtue Bless, Improve thy mind, nor make thy beauty Less, But if impatience for sublimer Joy, Prompt thee to call on death, may death be Coy.

Here lies the body of John Saul, Spital-fields weaver, and that’s all.

I was last night a god. How! Can’t you divine? I was raised up to heaven by bumpers of wine.

How can I forbear from dancing? See the stars above me prancing, Moon and planets to my thinking, Just have had a bout of drinking And are setting at defiance All the laws of musty science. Yonder poplar, tall and taper, Round and round me cuts a caper; Oaks and elms, and firs and birches, Hedges, houses, steeples, churches, All to-night are drunk together, And dance as lightly as a feather. I will dance, none dare refuse me, The world’s example must excuse me.

Best of all things sure is water. So says Pindar; you say, nay— But detest it worse than slaughter, For your rouge t’would wash away.

Much hast thou done with talents rare, But more is left behind; I see the body of the fair, But where’s her fairer mind?

Nancy this doctrine early learned, Small savings make great profit; So she the smallest small-coal burned, And very little of it. Her stove and chimney-piece Ned sees, And each provokes his ire! He calleth this—her marble freeze, And that—her small cold fire. Indeed, the very child [query, chill’d] who’d been One winter’s evening by her grate Would learn the difference between A great fire and a fire-grate.

The house was on fire; Zeno, circled in flame, In vain called for aid,—sure no case e’er was sadder; He escaped. Tell me how? Why, Antimachus came And lent him the use of his nose for a ladder.

A poor man went to hang himself, But treasure chanced to find; He pocketed the miser’s pelf, And left the rope behind. His money gone, the miser tied Himself up in despair; Thus each the other’s wants supplied, And that was only fair.

Have you read Shakespeare’s works, my friend? Ned says. His works! no never—but I have his plays.

Yes, I shall live! the voice of fame Will not be lost to me and mine, Since, lady, I may write my name Upon this spotless leaf of thine. The eager hands of future ages Will catch the volume left by thee; And those who dwell within its pages Will gain an immortality.

And is it thus you hope for fame? Fame like this! alas! what is it? To give some idle thought a name, That some good-natured friend may quiz it. This constant craving—itch of soul— For praise and fame makes those who catch it Like parrots—who still stretch a pole, That passers-by may kindly scratch it.

Here, at length I repose— And my spirit at aise is— With the tips of my toes, And the point of my nose, Turned up to the roots of the daisies.

Where spades grow bright, and idle swords grow dull; Where gaols are empty, and where barns are full; Where church-paths are with frequent feet outworn, Law court-yards weedy, silent, and forlorn; Where doctors foot it, and where farmers ride; Where age abounds, and youth is multiplied; Where these signs are, they clearly indicate A happy people, a well-governed state.

Hunger and time will quench the flame That burns on Cupid’s altar; But if both fail its strength to tame, The certain cure’s the halter.

No single land my country call, No single house my home; But home and country, name them all That shield me when I come.

You attack me when absent with slanderous tongue, But thus fail to injure my name; Your flattery, when present, I feel is the wrong, For your praise is my grief and my shame. John’s wife complains, that John discourses And thinks of nothing else but horses. Whilst John, a caustic wag, Says, it is wonderful to see How thoroughly their tastes agree, For, that his wife, as well as he, Most dearly loves a (k)nag.

Venus and Bacchus both combine To weaken man with love and wine; But worse than them we find, no doubt, Their still more weakening son, the gout.

Should you e’er stand with open mouth, And turn your face exactly south, The shadow your huge nose must throw On your wide teeth, the hour will show.

Said Sam, Although my body weigh Full sixteen stone, I swear, Whatever people think or say, My heart is light as air. It is a likely thing enough, That such result should follow: The body he takes care to stuff, Whereas the heart—is hollow.

So stern in death was Timon’s ghost, Pluto ran off for fear he’d fight him; And even Cerberus left his post, In mortal terror lest he’d bite him.

So wondrous Myron’s art is shown, That, by the gods, we vow, The statue harness wants alone, To quit its base, and plough.

Did Milton’s prose, O Charles! thy death defend? A furious foe, unconscious, proves a friend; On Milton’s verse does Bentley comment? know, A weak officious friend becomes a foe. While he would seem his author’s fame to further, The murderous critic has avenged thy murder.

Oh! for ever could I dwell upon the name. Fair nymph, on whom kind nature has dispensed The mother’s beauty, and the father’s sense The piercing dart this moment do I feel, For sure the wound is mortal that’s from Steele.

Nor linen, maid, or money try, Unless there’s daylight in the sky. Mishap rides up in spur and boot, And always slinks away on foot. Be the diamond e’er so fine, It may not without tinsel shine. In culprit’s house, thou shalt not hope To win thy suit, by talk of rope. Much cumbers us a flowing dress; Much cumbers wealth our happiness. Who far away for wife shall roam, Or starts a cheat, or brings one home. He that’s a good roof o’er his head, Is a sad fool to leave his bed. He that is prompt to pay a bill, Shall find his coffers promptly fill. Break not your egg, and you are wise, Before your salt beside it lies. If you would gently sink to rest, Mount guard on tongue, and eye, and breast.