Written by
T S (Thomas Stearns) Eliot |
Old Deuteronomy's lived a long time;
He's a Cat who has lived many lives in succession.
He was famous in proverb and famous in rhyme
A long while before Queen Victoria's accession.
Old Deuteronomy's buried nine wives
And more--I am tempted to say, ninety-nine;
And his numerous progeny prospers and thrives
And the village is proud of him in his decline.
At the sight of that placid and bland physiognomy,
When he sits in the sun on the vicarage wall,
The Oldest Inhabitant croaks: "Well, of all .
.
.
Things.
.
.
Can it be .
.
.
really! .
.
.
No!.
.
.
Yes!.
.
.
Ho! hi!
Oh, my eye!
My mind may be wandering, but I confess
I believe it is Old Deuteronomy!"
Old Deuteronomy sits in the street,
He sits in the High Street on market day;
The bullocks may bellow, the sheep they may bleat,
But the dogs and the herdsmen will turn them away.
The cars and the lorries run over the kerb,
And the villagers put up a notice: ROAD CLOSED--
So that nothing untoward may chance to distrub
Deuteronomy's rest when he feels so disposed
Or when he's engaged in domestic economy:
And the Oldest Inhabitant croaks: "Well, of all .
.
.
Things.
.
.
Can it be .
.
.
really! .
.
.
No!.
.
.
Yes!.
.
.
Ho! hi!
Oh, my eye!
My sight's unreliable, but I can guess
That the cause of the trouble is Old Deuteronomy!"
Old Deuteronomy lies on the floor
Of the Fox and French Horn for his afternoon sleep;
And when the men say: "There's just time for one more,"
Then the landlady from her back parlour will peep
And say: "New then, out you go, by the back door,
For Old Deuteronomy mustn't be woken--
I'll have the police if there's any uproar"--
And out they all shuffle, without a word spoken.
The digestive repose of that feline's gastronomy
Must never be broken, whatever befall:
And the Oldest Inhabitant croaks: "Well, of all .
.
.
Things.
.
.
Can it be .
.
.
really! .
.
.
No!.
.
.
Yes!.
.
.
Ho! hi!
Oh, my eye!
My legs may be tottery, I must go slow
And be careful of Old Deuteronomy!"
Of the awefull battle of the Pekes and the Pollicles:
together with some account of the participation of the
Pugs and the Poms, and the intervention of the Great
Rumpuscat
The Pekes and the Pollicles, everyone knows,
Are proud and implacable passionate foes;
It is always the same, wherever one goes.
And the Pugs and the Poms, although most people say
That they do not like fighting, yet once in a way,
They will now and again join in to the fray
And they
Bark bark bark bark
Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you can hear them all over the Park.
Now on the occasion of which I shall speak
Almost nothing had happened for nearly a week
(And that's a long time for a Pol or a Peke).
The big Police Dog was away from his beat--
I don't know the reason, but most people think
He'd slipped into the Wellington Arms for a drink--
And no one at all was about on the street
When a Peke and a Pollicle happened to meet.
They did not advance, or exactly retreat,
But they glared at each other, and scraped their hind
feet,
And they started to
Bark bark bark bark
Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you can hear them all over the Park.
Now the Peke, although people may say what they please,
Is no British Dog, but a Heathen Chinese.
And so all the Pekes, when they heard the uproar,
Some came to the window, some came to the door;
There were surely a dozen, more likely a score.
And together they started to grumble and wheeze
In their huffery-snuffery Heathen Chinese.
But a terrible din is what Pollicles like,
For your Pollicle Dog is a dour Yorkshire tyke,
And his braw Scottish cousins are snappers and biters,
And every dog-jack of them notable fighters;
And so they stepped out, with their pipers in order,
Playing When the Blue Bonnets Came Over the Border.
Then the Pugs and the Poms held no longer aloof,
But some from the balcony, some from the roof,
Joined in
To the din
With a
Bark bark bark bark
Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you can hear them all over the Park.
Now when these bold heroes together assembled,
That traffic all stopped, and the Underground trembled,
And some of the neighbours were so much afraid
That they started to ring up the Fire Brigade.
When suddenly, up from a small basement flat,
Why who should stalk out but the GREAT RUMPUSCAT.
His eyes were like fireballs fearfully blazing,
He gave a great yawn, and his jaws were amazing;
And when he looked out through the bars of the area,
You never saw anything fiercer or hairier.
And what with the glare of his eyes and his yawning,
The Pekes and the Pollicles quickly took warning.
He looked at the sky and he gave a great leap--
And they every last one of them scattered like sheep.
And when the Police Dog returned to his beat,
There wasn't a single one left in the street.
|
Written by
Anne Killigrew |
NExt Heaven my Vows to thee (O Sacred Muse! )
I offer'd up, nor didst thou them refuse.
O Queen of Verse, said I, if thou'lt inspire,
And warm my Soul with thy Poetique Fire,
No Love of Gold shall share with thee my Heart,
Or yet Ambition in my Brest have Part,
More Rich, more Noble I will ever hold
The Muses Laurel, than a Crown of Gold.
An Undivided Sacrifice I'le lay
Upon thine Altar, Soul and Body pay;
Thou shalt my Pleasure, my Employment be,
My All I'le make a Holocaust to thee.
The Deity that ever does attend
Prayers so sincere, to mine did condescend.
I writ, and the Judicious prais'd my Pen:
Could any doubt Insuing Glory then ?
What pleasing Raptures fill'd my Ravisht Sense ?
How strong, how Sweet, Fame, was thy Influence ?
And thine, False Hope, that to my flatter'd sight
Didst Glories represent so Near, and Bright ?
By thee deceiv'd, methought, each Verdant Tree,
Apollos transform'd Daphne seem'd to be;
And ev'ry fresher Branch, and ev'ry Bow
Appear'd as Garlands to empale my Brow.
The Learn'd in Love say, Thus the Winged Boy
Does first approach, drest up in welcome Joy;
At first he to the Cheated Lovers sight
Nought represents, but Rapture and Delight,
Alluring Hopes, Soft Fears, which stronger bind
Their Hearts, than when they more assurance find.
Embolden'd thus, to Fame I did commit,
(By some few hands) my most Unlucky Wit.
But, ah, the sad effects that from it came !
What ought t'have brought me Honour, brought me shame !
Like Esops Painted Jay I seem'd to all,
Adorn'd in Plumes, I not my own could call:
Rifl'd like her, each one my Feathers tore,
And, as they thought, unto the Owner bore.
My Laurels thus an Others Brow adorn'd,
My Numbers they Admir'd, but Me they scorn'd:
An others Brow, that had so rich a store
Of Sacred Wreaths, that circled it before;
Where mine quite lost, (like a small stream that ran
Into a Vast and Boundless Ocean)
Was swallow'd up, with what it joyn'd and drown'd,
And that Abiss yet no Accession found.
Orinda, (Albions and her Sexes Grace)
Ow'd not her Glory to a Beauteous Face,
It was her Radiant Soul that shon With-in,
Which struk a Lustre through her Outward Skin;
That did her Lips and Cheeks with Roses dy,
Advanc't her Height, and Sparkled in her Eye.
Nor did her Sex at all obstruct her Fame,
But higher 'mong the Stars it fixt her Name;
What she did write, not only all allow'd,
But ev'ry Laurel, to her Laurel, bow'd !
Th'Envious Age, only to Me alone,
Will not allow, what I do write, my Own,
But let 'em Rage, and 'gainst a Maide Conspire,
So Deathless Numbers from my Tuneful Lyre
Do ever flow; so Phebus I by thee
Divinely Inspired and possest may be;
I willingly accept Cassandras Fate,
To speak the Truth, although believ'd too late
|
Written by
Isaac Watts |
Power and government from God alone.
[Applied to the glorious Revolution by King William, or the happy accession of King George to the throne.
]
To thee, most Holy and most High,
To thee we bring our thankful praise;
Thy works declare thy name is nigh,
Thy works of wonder and of grace.
Britain was doomed to be a slave,
Her frame dissolved, her fears were great;
When God a new supporter gave,
To bear the pillars of the state.
He from thy hand received his crown,
And sware to rule by wholesome laws;
His foot shall tread th' oppressor down,
His arm defend the righteous cause.
Let haughty sinners sink their pride,
Nor lift so high their scornful head;
But lay their foolish thoughts aside,
And own the king that God hath made.
Such honors never come by chance,
Nor do the winds promotion blow;
'Tis God the Judge doth one advance,
'Tis God that lays another low.
No vain pretence to royal birth
Shall fix a tyrant on the throne:
God, the great Sovereign of the earth,
Will rise and make his justice known.
[His hand holds out the dreadful cup
Of vengeance mixed with various plagues,
To make the wicked drink them up,
Wring out and taste the bitter dregs.
Now shall the Lord exalt the just;
And while he tramples on the proud,
And lays their glory in the dust,
My lips shall sing his praise aloud.
]
|
Written by
Marriott Edgar |
On Jubilee Day the Ramsbottoms
Invited relations to tea,
Including young Albert's grandmother-
An awkward old .
.
party, was she.
She'd seen Queen Victoria's accession
And `er wedding to Albert (the Good)
But she got quite upset when young Albert
Asked `er `ow she'd got on in the Flood.
She cast quite a damper on't party,
But she warmed up a bit after tea,
And gave Albert a real golden sovereign
She'd been saving since last Jubilee.
It `ad picture of Queen on't one side
And a dragon fight on the reverse,
And it smelled of camphor and cobwebs
Through being so long in `er purse.
Albert `andled the coin, and `e kissed it
And `e felt the rough edge with `is tongue;
For `e knew by the look of `is father
That it wouldn't be `is very long.
"I`ll show you a trick wi' that sovereign,"
Said Pa, `oo were `overin' near-
And `e took and pretended to eat it,
Then brought it back out of `is ear.
This magic filled Albert with wonder,
And before you could say "Uncle Dick",
`E'd got the coin back from `is father
And performed the first part of the trick.
When they all saw where the money `ad gone
With excitement the relatives burned;
And each one suggested some process
For getting the money returned.
Some were for fishing with tweezers,
While some were for shaking it out;
"If we only got back a few shillings,"
They said "`twould be better than nowt.
"
They tried `olding Albert `ead downward
And giving `is shoulders a clump-
`Till his uncle, `oo worked for a chemist
Said "There's nowt for it but stomach pump.
"
Well, they `adn't a stomach pump `andy,
But Pa did the best that `e could
With a bicycle pump that they borrowed
But that weren't nearly so good.
So off they went to the doctor
`Oo looked down `is throat with a glass;
`E said "This'll mean operation-
I fear that `e'll `ave to `ave gas.
"
"`Ow much is this `ere goin' to cost me?"
Said Father, beginning to squirm.
"I'm afraid that it comes out expensive-
The best gas is eight pence a therm.
There's my time, six shillings an hour;
You can't do these things in two ticks-
By rights I should charge you a guinea,
But I'll do it for eighteen and six.
"
"Wot, eighteen and six to get sovereign?"
Said Father, "That doesn't sound sense
I'll tell you, you'd best keep young Albert
And give us the odd eighteen pence!"
The doctor concurred this arrangement,
But to this day he stands in some doubt
As to whether he's in eighteen shillings
Or whether he's eighteen pence out.
|
Written by
Ben Jonson |
LXIV.
— TO THE SAME, UPON THE ACCESSION OF
THE TREASURERSHIP TO HIM.
[ROBERT CECIL, EARL OF SALISBURY]
Not glad, like those that have new hopes, or suits,
With thy new place, bring I these early fruits
Of love, and, what the golden age did hold
A treasure, art ; contemn'd in the age of gold.
Nor glad as those, that old dependents be,
To see thy father's rites new laid on thee.
Nor glad for fashion ; nor to shew a fit
Of flattery to thy titles ; nor of wit.
But I am glad to see that time survive,
Where merit is not sepulcher'd alive ;
Where good men's virtues them to honors bring,
And not to dangers ; when so wise a king
Contends to have worth enjoy, from his regard,
As her own conscience, still, the same reward.
These, noblest CECIL, labor'd in my thought,
Wherein what wonder see thy name hath wrought ?
That whilst I meant but thine to gratulate,
I have sung the greater fortunes of our state.
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