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The surgeon, who had had his fill
That they were only dabbling, paddling,
Twiddling, and fiddle-faddling, And helping one another to do nothing; So called the foreman in, and begged to know, As a great favour, when they meant to go. “Why," quoth the honest man, scratching his nob, “Not afore master gets another job.”
The surgeon stormed and swore, but took the hint, Laid in a double stock of lint,
And to his patients at the “Plough ” dispenses,
And will not answer for the consequences,
And, if my slowness they reproach,
Run by the patent safety coach.”
A LAST FAREWELL.
Thomas, EARL OF STRAFFORD. (Written by himself a little before his death, and printeil on a broadsheet. London, 1641.]
FAREWELL, vain world! farewell, my fleeting joys,
Farewell, you fading honours, which do blind
Farewell the glory, from which all the rest
Lastly, my foes farewell; for such I have
Let them besmear me by the chattering notes,
THE MODERN CYMON.
“ THE LUNATIC, THE LOVER, AND THE POET."
BRYAN WALLER PROCTOR.
Mr. Bryan Waller Proctor, born about the year 1790, and educated at Harrow School, is better known for the least ambitious of his writings, those sterling English songs which he published under the pseudonym of " Barry Cornwall," than for the more matured efforts of his genius—such is the vitality of a song (who does not remember “The Sea, the Sea, the open Sea ?") when it has once fairly taken hold of the public mind. When Barry Cornwall commenced writing his English Songs, he could say with some degree of truth that “England was singularly barren of song writers.” This opinion he has lived to outgrow; for the growth of sterling English song has been no less rapid than, let us hope, it is permanent. To the few names that could be pointed at in Barry Cornwall's early days the names may now be added of Charles Mackay, Eliza Cook, Felicia Hemans, Charles Swain, and his own highly gifted and much-lamented daughter, Adelaide Proctor. Mr. Proctor is the author of a tragedy, “Mirandola,” which was brought out at Covent Garden Theatre in 1821. He has also published " A Sicilian Story," "Marcian Colonna," "The Flood of Thessaly," poems; and a series of “Dramatic Scenes," modelled on the old English drama. Mr. Proctor is a member of the bar, and was for many years a Com
missioner of Lunacy, which office he resigned in 1860. During the present year (1866) he has published a “Memoir of Charles Lamb.”]
You bid me tell you, why I rise
At midnight from my lonely bed;
And talk as though I saw the dead :
I've heard such idle jeers before :
And you shall deem me mad no more.
I was not born of noble race:
I know a peasant was my sire;
The milk that filled my blood with fire.
About the fields, for many years ;
Sprang upwards, in a rain of tears.
A sudden chance (if chance it were)
Flung me across a marriage train ;
Forced onwards, while she wept in vain.
My eyes were hot within my head :
(By a brother) towards a brute-and wed.
I sought the hills—I sought the woods;
My heart was bursting in my breast :
And, for a time, I felt at rest.
The cloudy film that on them lay;
And knew I did behold the Day.
Till then, I had but been a beast,
Had let mere savage will prevail ;
(You have some fable, like my tale,) Till Love flew forth and touched my heart;
Then, all at once, my Spirit strong
And forced its furious way along.
(For Love was all the motive then)'; ime And one, who was a friend, gave help,
And I went forth and mixed with men: I talked with him they called her lord ;
I talked with Her—who was a bride Through fraud and force and rapine ;-God!
She spoke :-I think I could have died ! · I heard her words; I saw her eyes,
Where patient mingled with the sad :
Its perfume did not drive me mad.
Imprisoned, struck, despised, deceived;
Cry out “Revenge!"--and I believed !
Were made to bend the Dæmon's will;
But, he was base and cruel still.
The truth of many a hellish crime;
Of half that I could tell in rhyme. i Suffice it; all things have an end.
There is an end, where mortal pain Must stop, and can endure no more:
This limit did we now attain;