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So stet pro ratione voluntas – be tractile, Stand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us Invade not, I say, my own dear little in truth, dactyl ;
Are you handsome or ugly, in age If you do, you'll occasion a breach or in youth? in our intercourse.
Man, woman, or child-a dog or To-morrow will see me in town for
a mouse? the winter-course,
Or are you, at once, each live thing But not at your door, at the usual
in the house? hour, sir,
Each live thing, did I ask ?-each dead My own pye-house (pious!) daughter's implement, too,
good prog to devour, sir. A workshop in your person,-saw, Ergo-peace !--on your duty, your chisel, and screw!
squeamishness throttle, Above all, are you one individual ? And we'll soothe Priscian's spleen
I know with a canny third bottle. You must be at least Alexandre and Co. A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all But I think you're a troop-an assemspondees,
blage-a mob, A fig for all dunces and dominie And that I, as the Sheriff, should take Grundys;
up the job; A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, And insteadofrehearsing your wonders
east, and west, sir, Speates and raxes' ere five for a Must read you the Riot Act, and famishing guest, sir;
bid you disperse. And as Fatsman ? and I have some ABBOTSFORD, 23rd April.
topics for haver, he 'll Be invited, I hope, to meet me and
Dame Peveril, Upon whom, to say nothing of Oury and Anne, you a
EPILOGUE Dog shall be deemed if you fasten your janua.
DRAMA FOUNDED ON SAINT
Enter Meg Dodds, encircled by a crowd ADDRESSED TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE,
of unruly boys, whom a town's-officer THE CELEBRATED VENTRILOQUIST.
is driving off. (1824.)
That's right, friend-drive the gaitOf yore, in old England, it was not
lings' back, thought good
And lend yon muckle ane a whack; To carry two visages under one hood; Your Embro’ bairns are grown a pack, What should folk say to you? who
Sae proud and saucy, have faces such plenty,
They scarce will let an auld wife That, from under one hood, last
walk night show'd us twenty !
Upon your causey. I Spits and ranges. 2 James Ballantyre.
I've seen the day they would been The deevil hottle them for Meg ! scaur’d,
They are sae greedy and sae gleg, Wi' the Tolbooth, or wi' the Guard, That if ye’re served but wi' an egg, Or maybe wud hae some regard
(And that's puir pickin',) For Jamie Laing
In comes a chiel and makes a leg, The Water-hole was right weel wared
And charges chicken !
• And wha may ye be,' gin ye speer, But whar's the gude Tolbooth gane
'That brings your auld-warld clavers
here?' now? Whar's the auld Claught", wi' red and Troth, if there's onybody near
That kens the roads, blue?
I'll haud ye Burgundy to beer,
He kens Meg Dodds.
And, since I see you 're in a hurry, Deil hae't I see but what is new, Your patience I'll nae langer worry, Except the Playhouse!
But be sae crouse
As speak a word for ane Will Murray', Yoursells are changed frae head to
That keeps this house. heel, There's some that gar the causeway Playsare auld-fashion'dthings, in truth, reel
And ye've seen wonders mair unWith clashing hufe and rattling wheel,
couth; And horses canterin',
Yet actors shouldna suffer drouth, Wha's fathers daunder'd hame as
Or want of dramock?, weel
Although they speak but wi' their Wi' lass and lantern.
Not with their stamock. Mysell being in the public line,
But ye tak care of a' folk's pantry; I look for howfs I kenn'd lang syne, And surely to hae stooden sentry Whar gentles used to drink gude wine, Ower this big house (that 's far frae And eat cheap dinners ;
rent-free), But deil a soul gangs there to dine,
For a lone sister,
Is claims as gude's to be a ventri--
How 'st ca'd- loquister. Fortune's' and Hunter's' gane, alace! And Bayle'st is lost in empty space;
Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care
The bairns mak fun o' Meg nae mair; And now if folk would splice a brace, Or crack a bottle,
For gin they do, she tells you fair,
And without failzie,
As şure as ever ye sit there,
She 'll tell the Bailie.
1 The Town Guard, or city police; the Clutchers.]
(5 Village near Edinburgh )
Of ev'ry ill on beauty that attendsEPILOGUE.
False ministers, false lovers, and false
Spite of three wedlocks so completely The sages-for authority, pray look
curst, Seneca's morals, or the copy-book They rose in ill from bad to worse, The sages to disparage woman's
and worst ; power,
In spite of errors- I dare not say more. Say, beauty is a fair, but fading For Duncan Targe lays hand on his flower;
claymoreI cannot tell—I've small philosophy-In spite of all, however humours Yet, if it fades, it does not surely die,
vary, But, like the violet, when decay'd | There is a talisman in that word Mary, in bloom,
That unto Scottish bosoms all and Survives through many a year in rich perfume.
Is found the genuine open sesamum ! Witness our theme to-night, two ages In history, ballad, poetry, or novel, gone,
It charms alike the castle and the hovel, A third wanes fast, since Mary fill'd Even you—forgive me—who, demure the throne.
and shy, Brief was her bloom, with scarce one
Gorge not each bait, nor stir at every sunny day,
fly, 'Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fother Must rise to this, else in her ancient ingay :
reign But when, while Scottish hearts and The Rose of Scotland has survived blood you boast,
in vain. Shall sympathy with Mary's woes
be lost? O'er Mary's memory the learned
quarrel, By Mary's grave the poet plants his
ON THE MATERIALS NECESSARY laurel ;
FOR HIS LIFE OF NAPOLEON.' Time's echo, old tradition, makes her
(June, 1825.) The constant burden of his falt'ring theme;
When with Poetry dealing, In each old hall his grey-hair'd heralds Room enough in a shieling : tell
Neither cabin nor hovel
On Diogenes' tub,
In a dance of romance !
With some Brobdingnag chap, Of ev'ry ill that waits on rank and Ere I grapple, God bless me! with pow'r,
Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame,
To wake the wild deer never came, TO SIR CUTHBERT SHARP, SUNDERLAND, Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the game TO ASSURE HIM THAT HE WAS NOI On Cheviot's rueful day;
Keeldar was matchless in his speed, (1827)
Than Tarras, ne'er was stancher steed,
A peerless archer, Percy Rede: Forget thee? No! my worthy fere !
And right dear friends were they. Forget blithe mirth and gallant cheer? Death sooner stretch me on my bier ! The chase engross'd their joys and Forget thee? No.
woes, Forget the universal shout
Together at the dawn they rose, When canny Sunderland'spokeout, Together shared the noon's repose, A truth which knaves affect to doubt
By fountain or by stream ; Forget thee? No. And oft, when evening skies were red
The heather was their common bed, Forget you? No--though nowaday
Where each, as wildering fancy led, I've heard your knowing people say, Still hunted in his dream. Disown the debt you cannot pay, You'll find it far the thriftiest way Now is the thrilling moment near, But I?-O no. Of sylvan hope and sylvan fear,
Yon thicket holds the harbour'd deer, Forget your kindness found for all
The signs the hunters know ;room,
With eyes of flame, and quivering ears In what, though large, seem'd still a small room,
The brake sagacious Keeldar nears ;
The restless palfrey paws and rears; Forget my Surtees in a ball-roomForget you? No.
The archer strings his bow. Forget your sprightly dumpty-diddles, The game's afoot !-Halloo! Halloo ! And beauty tripping to the fiddles, Hunter, and horse, and hound purForget my lovely friends the Liddells
That e'er it left the string !
The stag bounds scatheless o'er the
And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true (Suggested by Cooper's painting.)
Has drench'd the grey-goose
wing Up rose the sun, o'er moor and mead; Up with the sun rose Percy Rede;
The noble hound-he dies, he dies, Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed, Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes, Career'd along the lea;
Stiff on the bloody heath he lies, The palfrey sprung with sprightly Without a groan or quiver. bound,
Now day may break and bugle sound, As if to match the gamesome hound; And whoop and hollow ring around, His horn the gallant huntsman wound; Ando'er his couch the stag may bound, They were a jovial three !
But Keeldar sleeps for ever.
Dilated nostrils, staring eyes,
has been spread, Like startled children when they hear And the last flask of wine in our Some mystic tale of ill.
goblet is red;
Up, up, my brave kinsmen! belt But he that bent the fatal bow,
swords and begone, Can well the sum of evil know,
There are dangers to dare, and there's And o'er his favourite, bending low,
spoil to be won. In speechless grief recline;
The eyes, that so lately mix'd glances Can think he hears the senseless clay, In unreproachful accents say,
For a space must be dim, as they gaze •The hand that took my life away,
from the towers, Dear master, was it thine ?
And strive to distinguish through
tempest and gloom * And if it be, the shaft be bless’d,
The prance of the steed and the toss Which sure some erring aim address'd,
of the plume. Since in your service prized, caress'd I in your service die;
The rain is descending; the wind And you may have a fleeter hound,
rises loud; To match the dun-deer's merry bound, And the moon her red beacon has But by your couch will ne'er be found
veil'd with a cloud ; So true a guard as I.'
'Tis the better, my mates! for the
warder's dull eye And to his last stout Percy rued Shall in confidence slumber, The fatal chance, for when he stood
dream we are nigh. 'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud, And fell amid the fray,
Our steeds are impatient! I hear my E’en with his dying voice he cried,
blithe Grey ! "Had Keeldar but been at my side, There is life in his hoof-clang, and Your treacherous ambush had been hope in his neigh ; spied
Like the flash of a meteor, the glance I had not died to-day !'
of his mane
Shall marshal your march through Remembrance of the erring bow
the darkness and rain. Long since had join'd the tides which flow,
The drawbridge has dropp'd, the bugle Conveying human bliss and woe
has blown; Down dark oblivion's river ; One pledge is to quaff yet - then But Art can Time's stern doom arrest,
mount and begone!And snatch his spoil from Lethe's To their honour and peace, that shall breast,
rest with the slain ; And, in her Cooper's colours drest, To their health and their glee, that The scene shall live for ever.
see Teviot again!