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HUMOROUS POEMS.

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTER- "O these are hard questions for my shallow witt.

BURY.

FROM "PERCY'S RELIQUES."

AN ancient story I'll tell you anon

Of a notable prince that was called King John; And he ruled England with main and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintained little right.

And I'll tell you a story, a story so merry,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury;
How for his house-keeping and high renown,
They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men the king did heare say, The abbot kept in his house every day ; And fifty golde chaynes without any doubt, In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

"How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee;
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown."

"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were

knowne

I never spend nothing, but what is my owne; And I trust your grace will doe me no deere, For spending of my owne true-gotten geere."

"Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, And now for the same thou needest must dye; For except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:
But if you will give me but three weeks' space,
Ile do my endeavor to answer your grace."

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"Now three weeks' space to thee will I give, And that is the longest time thou hast to live; For if thou dost not answer my questions three, Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee."

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;
But never a doctor there was so wise,
That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, And he met his shepheard a-going to fold: "How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome

home;

What newes do you bring us from good King John?"

"Sad news, sad news, shepheard, I must give,
That I have but three days more to live;
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my bodie.

"The first is to tell him, there in that stead,
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
Among all his liege-men so noble of birth,
To within one penny of what he is worth.

"The seconde, to tell him without any doubt, How soone he may ride this whole world about; And at the third question I must not shrinke,

"And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this But tell him there truly what he does thinke."

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And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood,

And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise ;

For if you do but taste his blood, 'T will make your courage rise.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

ROBERT BURNS.

OF A CERTAINE MAN.

THERE was (not certaine when) a certaine preacher,

That never learned, and yet became a teacher,
Who having read in Latine thus a text
Of erat quidam homo, much perplext,
He seemed the same with studie great to scan,
In English thus, There was a certaine man.
But now (quoth he) good people, note you this,
He saith there was, he doth not say there is;
For in these daies of ours it is most plaine
Of promise, oath, word, deed, no man's certaine ;
Yet by my text you see it comes to passe
That surely once a certaine man there was:
But yet, I think, in all your Bible no man
Can finde this text, There was a certaine wo-

man.

SIR JOHN HARRINGTON.

EPIGRAMS BY SIR JOHN HARRINGTON. OF TREASON.

TREASON doth never prosper; what's the reason? For if it prosper, none dare call it treason.

OF FORTUNE.

FORTUNE, men say, doth give too much to many, But yet she never gave enough to any.

OF WRITERS THAT CARP AT OTHER MEN'S
BOOKS.

THE readers and the hearers like my books,
But yet some writers cannot them digest;
But what care I? For when I make a feast,
I would my guests should praise it, not the cooks.

A SCHOLAR AND HIS DOG.

I WAS a scholar: seven useful springs Did I deflower in quotations

Of crossed opinions 'bout the soul of man;
The more I learnt, the more I learnt to doubt.
Delight, my spaniel, slept, whilst I baused leaves,
Tossed o'er the dunces, pored on the old print
Of titled words; and still my spaniel slept,
Whilst I wasted lamp-oil, baited my flesh,
Shrunk up my veins and still my spaniel slept.
And still I held converse with Zabarell,
Aquinas, Scotus, and the musty saw

Of Antick Donate: still my spaniel slept.
Still on went I; first, an sit anima;

Then, an it were mortal. O hold, hold; at that

They're at brain buffets, fell by the ears amain
Pell-mell together: still my spaniel slept.
Then, whether 't were corporeal, local, fixt,
Ex traduce, but whether 't had free will
Or no, hot philosophers

Stood banding factions, all so strongly propt;
I staggered, knew not which was firmer part,
But thought, quoted, read, observed, and pried,
Stufft noting-books and still my spaniel slept.
At length he waked, and yawned; and by yon
sky,

For aught I know, he knew as much as I.

JOHN MARSTON.

PHILOSOPHY OF HUDIBRAS. BESIDE, he was a shrewd philosopher, And had read every text and gloss over; Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath, He understood b' implicit faith. Whatever skeptic could inquire for, For every why he had a wherefore; Knew more than forty of them do, As far as words and terms could go : All which he understood by rote, And, as occasion served, would quote ; No matter whether right or wrong; They might be either said or sung. His notions fitted things so well That which was which he could not tell; But oftentimes mistook the one For the other, as great clerks have done. He could reduce all things to acts, And knew their natures by abstracts; Where entity and quiddity, The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly; Where truth in person does appear, Like words congealed in northern air: He knew what's what, and that's as high As metaphysic wit can fly.

SAMUEL BUTLER.

LOGIC OF HUDIBRAS.

HE was in logic a great critic, Profoundly skilled in analytic; He could distinguish and divide

A hair 'twixt south and southwest side;
On either which he would dispute,
Confute, change hands, and still confute :
He'd undertake to prove, by force
Of argument, a man's no horse;
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,

And that a lord may be an owl,

A calf an alderman, a goose a justice,
And rooks committee-men and trustees.
He'd run in debt by disputation,
And pay with ratiocination:

All this by syllogism true,

In mood and figure he would do.

SAMUEL BUTLER.

THE SPLENDID SHILLING.*

"Sing, heavenly Muse!

Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme,'

A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire."

Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!

Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie

With Massic, Setin, or renowned Falern.

Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarred,
Nor taste the fruits that the Sun's genial rays
Mature, john-apple, nor the downy peach,
Nor walnut in rough-furrowed coat secure,
Nor medlar, fruit delicious in decay;
Afflictions great! yet greater still remain :
My galligaskins, that have long withstood
The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts,
By time subdued (what will not time subdue!)
An horrid chasm disclosed with orifice
Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds,
Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force
Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves,
Tumultuous enter with dire, chilling blasts,
Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship,
Long sailed secure, or through the Ægean deep,
Or the Ionian, till cruising near

The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush
On Scylla, or Charybdis (dangerous rocks!)
She strikes rebounding; whence the shattered
oak,

HAPPY the man who, void of cares and strife, So fierce a shock unable to withstand,
In silken or in leather purse retains

A Splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain
New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale;
But with his friends, when nightly mists arise,
To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-hall repairs;
Where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye
Transfixed his soul, and kindled amorous flames,
Chloe, or Phillis, he each circling glass
Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love.
Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale,
Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint.
But I, whom griping penury surrounds,
And Hunger, sure attendant upon Want,
With scanty offals, and small acid tiff,
(Wretched repast !) my meager corpse sustain :
Then solitary walk, or doze at home
In garret vile, and with a warming puff
Regale chilled fingers: or from tube as black
As winter-chimney, or well-polished jet,
Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent:
Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size,
Smokes Cambro-Briton (versed in pedigree,
Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings
Full famous in romantic tale) when he,
O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff,
Upon a cargo of famed Cestrian cheese,
High overshadowing rides, with a design
To vend his wares, or at the Arvonian mart,
Or Maridunum, or the ancient town
Yclept Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream

⚫ In imitation of the style of Milton.

Admits the sea; in at the gaping side

The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage,
Resistless, overwhelming; horrors seize
The mariners; Death in their eyes appears,
They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear,

they pray :

(Vain efforts!) still the battering waves rush in,
Implacable, till, deluged by the foam,
The ship sinks foundering in the vast abyss.

THE CHAMELEON.

JOHN PHILIPS.

OFT has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark,
With eyes that hardly served at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post ;
Yet round the world the blade has been,
To see whatever could be seen.
Returning from his finished tour,
Grown ten times perter than before;
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The traveled fool your mouth will stop:
"Sir, if my judgment you 'll allow -
I've seen and sure I ought to know."
So begs you 'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travelers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed,
And on their way, in friendly chat,

Now talked of this, and then of that,
Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the chameleon's form and nature.
"A stranger animal," cries one,
"Sure never lived beneath the sun :
A lizard's body, lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its foot with triple claw disjoined ;
And what a length of tail behind!
How slow its pace! and then its hue -
Who ever saw so fine a blue?"

"Hold there," the other quick replies;
"T is green, I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warmed it in the sunny ray;
Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed,
And saw it eat the air for food."

"I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue;
At leisure I the beast surveyed
Extended in the cooling shade."

"T is green, 't is green, sir, I assure ye."
"Green!" cries the other in a fury;
"Why, sir, d' ye think I've lost my eyes?"
"T were no great loss," the friend replies;
"For if they always serve you thus,
You'll find them but of little use."

So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows: When luckily came by a third; To him the question they referred, And begged he 'd tell them, if he knew, Whether the thing was green or blue. "Sirs," cries the umpire, 'cease your pother; The creature 's neither one nor t' other.

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THE VICAR OF BRAY.

["The Vicar of Bray in Berkshire, England, was Simon Alleyn, or Allen, and held his place from 1540 to 1588. He was a Papist under the reign of Henry the Eighth, and a Protestant under Edward the Sixth. He was a Papist again under Mary, and once more became a Protestant in the reign of Elizabeth. When this scandal to the gown was reproached for his versatility of religious creeds, and taxed for being a turn-coat and an inconstant changeling, as Fuller expresses it, he replied: "Not so, neither; for if I changed my religion, I am sure I kept true to my principle, which is to live and die the Vicar of Bray."-Disraeli.

IN good King Charles's golden days,
When loyalty no harm meant,
A zealous high-churchman was I,
And so I got preferment.
To teach my flock I never missed :
Kings were by God appointed,
And lost are those that dare resist
Or touch the Lord's anointed.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever king shall reign,

Still I'll be the Vicar of Bray, sir.

When royal James possessed the crown,
And popery came in fashion,
The penal laws I hooted down,

And read the Declaration;
The Church of Rome I found would fit
Full well my constitution;
And I had been a Jesuit
But for the Revolution.
And this is law, etc.

When William was our king declared,
To ease the nation's grievance ;
With this new wind about I steered,

And swore to him allegiance;
Old principles I did revoke,
Set conscience at a distance;
Passive obedience was a joke,
A jest was non-resistance.

And this is law, etc.

When royal Anne became our queen,
The Church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory;
Occasional conformists base,

I blamed their moderation;
And thought the Church in danger was,
By such prevarication.

And this is law, etc.

When George in pudding-time came o'er,
And moderate men looked big, sir,
My principles I changed once more,
And so became a Whig, sir;
And thus preferment I procured

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