"And oh!" said the nymph, " since to-morrow you go,
"Far hence with a serjeant to list;
"Your tears for your Peggy soon ceasing to flow,
"Your love for some wealthier maiden you'll show,
"And she'll by my Roger be kiss'd."
"What nonsense you talk!" said the youth in a pet, "For by the Lord Harry I swear,
"Nor cheeks red as cherries, nor eyes black as jet, "Nor moist lips, nor of teeth the most beautiful set, "Shall make me untrue to my fair.
"If ever, by money or love led aside,
"I forget my fair Peggy the gay;
"With the power of a Justice's warrant supplied,
"May a constable come as I sit by my bride,
"And bear me to prison away!"
To Glo'ster then hasted the ploughman so bold;
His sweetheart lamented him sore:
But scarcely nine months had over him roll'd,
When a rich butcher's widow, with bags full of gold,
Bold Roger entic'd to her door.
Her mutton and beef, so red and so white,
Soon made him untrue to his vows;
They pamper'd his palate, they dazzled his sight,
They caught his affections, so vain and so light,
And she carried him home as her spouse.
From church the fond couple adjourn to the Crown;
The company drink, laugh, and sing;
The bacon and greens they go merrily down,
And the mugs were all frothing with liquor so brown,
When the bell of the alehouse went 'ting.'
Now first Roger Gray with amazement beheld
A stranger stalk into the room;
He spoke not, he mov'd not, he look'd not aside;
He neither regarded the Landlord nor Bride,
But earnestly gaz'd on the Groom.
Full stout were his limbs, and full tall was his height;
His boots were all dirty to view,
Which made all the damsels draw back in a fright,
Lest by chance they should sully their petticoats white:
And poor Roger began to look blue.
His presence all bosoms appear'd to dismay;
The men sat in silence and fear,
Till trembling, at length cried poor Roger, "I pray
"Aside your great coat, my old cock, you would lay,
"And deign to partake of our cheer."
The swain now is silent-the stranger complies:
His coat now he slowly unclos'd—
Good Gods!-what a sight struck poor Roger Gray's eyes:
What words can express his dismay and surprise,
When a Constable's staff was expos'd!
All present then utter'd a terrific shout;
All hasten with hurry away;
For, as no one could tell whom he came to seek out,
Some try'd to creep in, and some try'd to creep out,
When the constable cry'd "Roger Gray!"
"Behold me, thou false one! behold me!" he cry'd,
"Remember fair Peggy the gay,
"Whom you left big with child to possess a new bride; "But his worship, to punish thy falsehood and pride, "Has sent me to fetch thee away."
So saying, he laid his strong arm on the clown
Calling vainly for help from the throng.
He bore him away to the gaol of the town,
Nor ever again was he seen at the Crown,
Or the catchpole that dragged him along.
Not long staid the bride-for, as old women say,
The meat in her shop was all spoil'd:
All her mutton and beef were carried away,
And sold to buy caudle for Peggy the gay,
And biggins and pap for the child.
Four times in each year, when, in judgment profound,
The quorum all doze on the bench;
Is Roger brought up, and is forc'd to be bound
With a friend in the sum of at least forty pound,
To provide for the child and the wench.
The churchwardens sit round, the treat they don't pay,
Their cares all with 'bacco beguil'd;
They drink out of mugs newly form'd of bak'd clay;
Their liquor is ale; and this whimsical lay
They sing "Here's a health to fair Peggy the gay,
"And the false Roger Gray, and his child.”
INTENDED FOR THE SAXON PRINCESS}
A TRAGEDY, NEVER YET ACTED.
TO-NIGHT a pupil of Stagyra's sage
For the first time has ventur'd on the stage.
Ye learned train who fill the critic's chair,
Suspend your thunder, and a brother spare.
And you, ye fair! unskill'd in forms of art,
Who judge alone from nature and the heart,
Think not, because he knows each antient rule,
Each rigid law of Aristotle's school,
Swoll'n with pedantic arrogance, he means
To curb the freedom of Britannia's scenes.
Be due respect to Grecian models shown;
But we can draw from sources all our own:
Nor need we look for Athens' distant light,
While our own Shakespeare blazes full and bright.
Why round the shore with timid caution creep,
While his clear load-star guides us through the deep?
Yet while our bard admires his burning ray,
Cautious he treads, and trembling picks his way;
Lest, while his upturned eyes with rapture glow,
His feet, unheeding, tempt the pit below.
As no mechanic rules of antient art
Can bid insipid dullness move the heart;
So, not the boldest license of that age,
When Shakespeare's daring genius trod the stage,
Will cheat the critic's eagle eye, or hide
The specious tinsel of bombastic pride.
Mimics his antiquated phrase may hit;
But where's the style, the pathos, and the wit?
Our bard has tried, perhaps in vain, to steer
Between licentious ease and rules severe :
Such his design-But ah! with what success,
So far from confident, he dares not guess:
He only trusts his theory is true;
How just his model, he must learn from you.
ACCEPT this present.-Could I send a worse?
What gift more hateful than an empty purse?
Which of itself can no attention win-
Respected only for its worth within-
Slighted if pence or shillings it should hold,
But highly valued when replete with gold.
Such is the human mind; an useless void
If not by virtue and by sense employ'd:
If base or trifling thoughts inhabit there,
The specious outside's scorn'd, however fair;
But if with sterling merit richly fraught,
By all mankind the golden prize is sought.
Oh! may the early hope that now appears
Grow with your growth, and strengthen with your years!
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