The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
FROM THE SPANISH OF YRIARTE.
G. H. DEVEREUX.
Beyond the sunny Philippines An island lies, whose name I do not know; But that's of little consequence, if so You understand that there they had no hens; Till, by a happy chance, a traveler, After a while, carried some poultry there.
Fast they increased as any one could wish; Until fresh eggs became the common dish.
But all the natives ate them boiled--they say-- Because the stranger taught no other way.
At last the experiment by one was tried-- Sagacious man!--of having his eggs fried.
And, O! what boundless honors, for his pains, His fruitful and inventive fancy gains!
Another, now, to have them baked devised-- Most happy thought I--and still another, spiced.
Who ever thought eggs were so delicate!
Next, some one gave his friends an omelette.
"Ah!" all exclaimed, "what an ingenious feat!"
But scarce a year went by, an artiste shouts, "I have it now--ye're all a pack of louts!-- With nice tomatoes all my eggs are stewed."
And the whole island thought the mode so good, That they would so have cooked them to this day, But that a stranger, wandering out that way, Another dish the gaping natives taught, And showed them eggs cooked a la Huguenot.
Successive cooks thus proved their skill diverse, But how shall I be able to rehea.r.s.e All of the new, delicious condiments That luxury, from time to time, invents?
Soft, hard, and dropped; and now with sugar sweet, And now boiled up with milk, the eggs they eat: In sherbet, in preserves; at last they tickle Their palates fanciful with eggs in pickle, All had their day--the last was still the best But a grave senior thus, one day, addressed The epicures: "Boast, ninnies, if you will, These countless prodigies of gastric skill-- But blessings on the man WHO BROUGHT THE HENS!"
Beyond the sunny Philippines Our crowd of modern authors need not go New-fangled modes of cooking eggs to show.
THE a.s.s AND HIS MASTER.
FROM THE SPANISH OF YRIARTE.
G. H. DEVEREUX.
"On good and bad an equal value sets The stupid mob. From me the worst it gets, And never fails to praise," With vile pretense, The scurrilous author thus his trash excused.
A poet shrewd, hearing the lame defense, Indignant, thus exposed the argument abused.
A Donkey's master said unto his beast, While doling out to him his lock of straw, "Here, take it--since such diet suits your taste, And much good may it do your vulgar maw!"
Often the slighting speech the man repeated.
The a.s.s--his quiet mood by insult heated--
Replies: "Just what you choose to give, I take, Master unjust! but not because I choose it.
Think you I nothing like but straw? Then make The experiment. Bring corn, and see if I refuse it."
Ye caterers for the public, hence take heed How your defaults by false excuse you cover!
Fed upon straw--straw it may eat, indeed; Try it with generous fare--'t will scorn the other.
THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED; OR, HYPOCRISY DETECTED.
WILLIAM COWPER.
Thus says the prophet of the Turk, Good Mussulman, abstain from pork; There is a part in every swine No friend or follower of mine May taste, whate'er his inclination, On pain of excommunication.
Such Mohammed's mysterious charge, And thus he left the point at large.
Had he the sinful part expressed, They might with safety eat the rest; But for one piece they thought it hard From the whole hog to be debarred; And set their wit at work to find What joint the prophet had in mind.
Much controversy straight arose, These chose the back, the belly those; By some 'tis confidently said He meant not to forbid the head; While others at that doctrine rail, And piously prefer the tail.
Thus, conscience freed from every clog, Mohammedans eat up the hog.
You laugh--'tis well--The tale applied May make you laugh on t' other side.
Renounce the world--the preacher cries.
We do--a mult.i.tude replies.
While one as innocent regards A snug and friendly game at cards; And one, whatever you may say, Can see no evil in a play; Some love a concert, or a race; And others shooting, and the chase.
Reviled and loved, renounced and followed, Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallowed; Each thinks his neighbor makes too free, Yet likes a slice as well as he; With, sophistry their sauce they sweeten, Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.
REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS.
WILLIAM COWPER.
Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, To which the said spectacles ought to belong.
So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning; While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.
In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, And your lords.h.i.+p, he said, will undoubtedly find, That the Nose has had spectacles always to wear, Which amounts to possession time out of mind.
Then holding the spectacles up to the court-- Your lords.h.i.+p observes they are made with a straddle As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short, Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle.
Again, would your lords.h.i.+p a moment suppose ('Tis a case that has happened, and may be again) That the visage or countenance had not a nose, Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then?
On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.
Then s.h.i.+fting his side (as a lawyer knows how), He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes; But what were his arguments few people know, For the court did not think they were equally wise.
So his lords.h.i.+p decreed with a grave solemn tone, Decisive and clear, without one IF or BUT-- That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By daylight or candlelight--Eyes should be shut!
HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER.
[Footnote: Kennedy gives the following account of the origin of "Holy Willie's Prayer;"--Gavin Hamilton, Esq., Clerk of Ayr, the Poet's friend and benefactor was accosted one Sunday morning by a mendicant, who begged alms of him. Not recollecting that it was the Sabbath, Hamilton set the man to work in his garden, which lay on lay on the public road, and the poor fellow was discovered by the people on their way to the kirk, and they immediately stoned him from the ground. For this offense, Mr. Hamilton was not permitted to have a child christened, which his wife bore him soon afterward, until he applied to the synod. His most officious opponent was William Fisher, one of the elders of the church: and to revenge the insult to his friend, Burns made him the subject of this humorous ballad.]
ROBERT BURNS.
O Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell, Wha, as it pleases best thysel', Sends ane to heaven, and ten to h.e.l.l, A' for thy glory, And no for ony giud or ill They've done afore thee!
I bless and praise thy matchless might, When thousands thou hast left in night, That I am here, afore thy sight.
For gifts an' grace, A burnin' an' a s.h.i.+nin' light To a' this place.
What was I, or my generation, That I should get sic exaltation!
I, wha deserve sic just d.a.m.nation, For broken laws, Five thousand years 'fore my creation Thro' Adam's cause.
When frae my mither's womb I fell, Thou might hae plung'd me into h.e.l.l, To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, In burnin' lake, Whare d.a.m.ned devils roar and yell, Chain'd to a stake.
Yet I am here a chosen sample; To show thy grace is great and ample; I'm here a pillar in thy temple, Strong as a rock, A guide, a buckler, an example To a' thy flock.
[O L--d, then kens what zeal I bear, When drinkers drink, and swearers swear, And singing there, and dancing here, Wi' great and sma'; For I am keepit by thy fear, Free frae them a'.]
But yet, O L--d! confess I must, At times I 'm fash'd wi' fleshly l.u.s.t; And sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust, Vile self gets in; But thou remembers we are dust, Defll'd in sin.