Hard toil'd the youth so fresh and strong,
While Bobtail in his face would look,
And mark his master till the song,
"Sweet Molly Dumpling, O thou cook!"
Ah, not averse from love was she,
Tho' pure as heaven's snowy flake,
Both lov'd, and tho' a gardiner he,
He knew not what it was to rake.
Cold blows the blast, the night's obscure,
The mansion's crazy wainscots crack;
The sun had sunk, and all the moor,
Like ev'ry other moor, was black.
Alone, pale, trembling, near the fire
The lovely Molly Dumpling sat;
Much did she fear, and much admire,
What Thomas, gard'ner, cou'd be at.
List'ning, her hand supports her chin,
But ah! no foot is heard to stir,
He comes not from the garden in,
Nor he, nor little Bobtail cur.
She paces thro the hall antique,
To call her Thomas from his toil,
Opens the huge door, -the hinges creek,
Because the hinges wanted oil.
Thrice on the threshold of the hall
She "Thomas!" cried with many a sob,
And thrice on Bobtail did she call,
Exclaiming sweetly, "Bob! Bob! Bob!"
Back through the hall she bent her way,
And all was solitude around;
The candle shed a feeble ray
Tho' a large mould of four to the pound. Full closely to the fire she drew, Adown her cheek a salt tear stole, When, lo! a coffin out there flew, And in her apron burnt a hole.
Spiders their busy death-watch tick'd,-
A certain sign that fate will frown;
The clumsy kitchen clock click'd, click'd, -
A certain sign it was not down.
More strong and strong her terrors rose,
Her shadow did the maid appal;
She trembled at her lovely nose,
It look'd so long against the wall.
Up to her chamber, damp and cold,
She climb'd Lord Hoppergollop's stair,
Three stories high, long, dull, and old,
As great Lord's stories often are.
All nature now appear'd to pause,
And o'er one half the world seem'd dead;
No curtain sleep had she because
She had no curtains to her bed.
List'ning she lay, -with iron din
The clock struck twelve, the door flew wide,
When Thomas grimly glided in,
With little Bobtail by his side.
Tall like the poplar was his size;
Green, green his waistcoat was as leeks;
Red, red as beet-root were his eyes,
And pale as turnips were his cheeks.
Soon as the spectre she espy'd,
The fear-struck damsel faintly said,
"What would my Thomas?" -he reply'd,
"Oh, Molly Dumpling, I am dead!
"All in the flower of youth I fell,
"Cut off with healthful blossom crown'd;
"I was not ill, but in a well
"I tumbled backwards and was drown'd.
"Four fathom deep thy love doth lie,
"His faithful dog his fate doth share;
"We're fiends, this is not he, nor I;
"We are not here, for we are there.
"Yes, two foul water fiends are we:
"Maid of the moor, attend us now,
"Thy hour's at hand, we come for thee:"
The fiend cur said, " Bow, wow, wow!"
The fiends approach, the maid did shrink;
Swift thro' the night's foul air they spin;
They took her to the green well's brink,
And with a souse they plump'd her in.
So true the fair, so true the youth,
Maids to this day their story tell,
And hence the proverb rose, that truth
Lies in the bottom of a well.
AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE,
SPOKEN ON OPENING A NEW THEATRE.
The stoic's plan is futile, which requires,
Our wants supplied, by lopping our desires.
As well by this vague scheme might we propose,
Cut off your feet, twill save the prize of shoes.
As well might we, thus courting public favour,
To gain your plaudits, lop off ali endeavour.
The thought we spurn, be it our constant aim
By assiduity to gain a name,
Your approbation points the road to fame;
Each effort use, nor e'er a moment pause,
To reap that golden harvest, your applause.
Sweet is the balm which hope's kind aid bestows,
To lighten grief, or mitigate our woes;
To raise desponding merit, banish fear,
And from the trembler wipe the falling tear;
To diffidence inspire, its dread beguile,
And doubt extinguish with a cheering smile;
That task be yours. My co-mates, with some dread,
Depute me here, their willing cause to plead;
To see all the fine sights, Bet makes a great rout, So 'till dinner was ready, why we saunter'd about; "We went over the bridge, saw the town-hall and church,* "Which seems to have left all the town in the lurch; "What a number of steps did Bet and I count. "'Gad, I thought to the skies we were going to mount. "We saw all the docks, the guard-house and pier, "And at Clark's Golden Lion found very good cheer: "At dinner we'd plenty of what was in season, "Good wine, good attendance, and the bill was in reason." I thought that the best way to finish the day, Was to treat both myself and dear Bet to the play. Perhaps you may think that I'm full of my rai lery, When I tell you I left her just now in the gallery: There she is, tho' she's his y, I hope she don't throng ye, You may laugh, bus by jingo Bet Bouncer's among ye. Coming down here to buy her some apples and pears, My old friend (the Manager) I met on the stairs; For all your kind favours I've oft heard him say, No words can express them, n) language convey; On his true hearty thanks you inty safely depend, And with life that his gratitude only will end.
WRITTEN BY GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER.
Come on, old Time!-nav, that is stuff; -
Gaffer! hou com'st on fast enough,
Wing d foe to feather'd Cupid!
But, tell me, Sand-man! ere thy grains
Have multiplied upon my brains,
So thick to make me stupid; -
Tell me, Death's journeyman!-but no;
Hear thou my speech; -I will not grow
Irrev'rent while I try it;
For, though I mock thy flight, 'tis said,
Thy forelock fills me with such dread,
I never take thee by it.
List then, old Is - Was-and-To-be!
I'll state accounts 'twixt thee and me:-
Thou gav'st me, first, the measles;
With teething would'st have ta'en me off,
Then mad'st me, with the hooping-couch,
Thinner than fifty weazles.
Thou gav'st small-pox, (the dragon now,
That Jenner combats on a cow ;)
And, then some seeds of knowledge;
Grains of the grammar, which the flails
Of pedants thrash upon our tails,
To fit us for a college.
And, when at Christ Church, 'twas thy sport
To rack my brains, with sloe-juice port,
And lectures out of number:
There Freshman Folly quaffs, and sings,
While graduate Dulness clogs thy wings
With mathematic lumber.
Thy pinions, next, (which, while they wave,
Fan all our birth-days to the grave,)
I think, ere it was prudent,
Ball on'd me, from the schools, to town,
When I was parachuted down
A dapper Temple student.
Then, much in dramas did I look;
Much slighted thee, and great Lord Coke;
Congreve beat Blackstone hollow;
Shakspeare made all the statutes stale,
And, in my crown, no pleas had Hale,
To supersede Apollo.
Alı, Time! those raging heats, I find,
Were the mere dog-star of mind;
How cool is retrospection!
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