But sedentary weavers of long tales
Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
'Tis the most asinine employ on earth,
To hear them tell of parentage and birth,
And echo conversations dull and dry,
Embellished with—“He said,”—and,—“So said I.”
At every interview their route the same,
The repetition makes attention lame :
We bustle up with unsuccessful speed,
And in the saddest part cry-" Droll indeed!"
The path of narrative with care pursue,
Still making probability your clue;
On all the vestiges of truth attend,
And let them guide you to a decent end.
Of all ambitions man may entertain,
The worst that can invade a sickly brain,
Is that which angles hourly for surprise,
And baits its hook with prodigies and lies.
Credulous infancy, or age as weak,
Are fittest auditors for such to seek,
Who to please others will themselves disgrace,
Yet please not, but affront you to your face.
A great retailer of this curious ware,
Having unloaded, and made many stare,
"Can this be true?"—an arch observer cries;
"Yes, (rather moved) I saw it with these eyes!"
"Sir! I believe it on that ground alone;
I could not, had I seen it with my own."
A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct;
The language plain, the incidents well linked.
Tell not as new what everybody knows,
And, new or old, still hasten to a close;
There centring in a focus, round and neat,
Let all your rays of information meet.
What neither yields us profit nor delight,
Is like a nurse's lullaby at night;
Guy Earl of Warwick and fair Eleanore,
Or giant-killing Jack, would please me more.
W. COWPER.
Excess of Epithets, Enfeebling to Poetry.
MASTER CAPERWIT, before you read, pray tell me,
Have your verses any adjectives?
Adjectives! would you have a poem without
Adjectives! they are the flower, the grace of all our lan-
A well-chosen epithet doth give new soul
To fainting poesy, and makes every verse
A bride! With adjectives we bait our lines,
When we do fish for gentlewomen's loves,
And with their sweetness catch the nibbling ear
Of amorous ladies; with the music of
These ravishing nouns we charm the silken tribe,
And make the gallant melt with apprehension
Of the rare word. I will maintain it against
A bundle of grammarians, in poetry
The substantive itself cannot subsist
Without its adjective.
Those words would sound more full, methinks, that are not So larded; and if I might counsel you,
You should compose a sonnet clean without them.
A row of stately substantives would march
Like Switzers, and bear all the fields before them;
Carry their weight; show fair, like deeds enrolled;
Not writs, that are first made and after filled.
Thence first came up the title of blank verse ;-
You know, sir, what blank signifies?—when the sense,
First framed, is tied with adjectives like points,
And could not hold together without wedges:
Hang it, 'tis pedantic, vulgar poetry.
Let children, when they versify, stick here
And there these peddling words for want of matter.
Poets write masculine numbers.
The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington.
THERE was a youth, and a well-beloved youth,
And he was a Squire's son;
He loved a bailiff's daughter dear,
That lived in Islington.
Yet she, being coy, would not believe
That he did love her so,
Nor would she any countenance
Unto this young man show.
But when his friends did understand
His fond and foolish mind,
They sent him up to fair London,
An apprentice him to bind.
And now he's gone 'tis seven long years,
And never his love could see:
"O many a tear have I shed for her sake,
When she little thought of me!"
One day the maids of Islington
Went forth to sport and play;
And then the bailiff's daughter dear,
She secretly stole away.
She pulled off her pretty gown of pink,
And put on ragged attire,
And to fair London she would go,
For her true love to enquire.
And as she went along the road,
The weather being hot and dry,
She sat her down on a grassy bank,
And her true love came riding by.
She started up, with a colour so red,
Catching hold of his bridle-rein:
"One penny, one penny, kind sir," she said, "Would ease me of much pain."
"Before I give you one penny, sweetheart,
Pray tell me where you were born."
"At Islington, kind sir," said she,
"Where I have had many a scorn."
"I prithee, sweetheart, then tell to me,
O tell me whether you know
The bailiff's daughter of Islington?"
"She's dead, sir, long ago."
"If she be dead, then take my horse,
My saddle and bridle also;
For I'll sail away to some far country,
Where no man shall me know."
"O stay, good youth! O look, dear love!
She standeth by thy side;
She's here alive, she is not dead,
She's ready to be thy bride."
"O farewell grief, and welcome joy,
Ten thousand times, therefore!
For now I have found mine own true love, Whom I thought I should never see more."
John Gilpin.
JOHN GILPIN was a citizen
Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town.
John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,
"Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.
"To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
All in a chaise and pair.
"My sister, and my sister's child,
Myself, and children three,
Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
On horseback after we."
He soon replied, "I do admire
Of womankind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.
"I am a linen-draper bold,
As all the world doth know,
And my good friend the calend❜rer
Will lend his horse to go."
Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said;
And for that wine is dear,
We will be furnished with our own,
Which is both bright and clear."
John Gilpin kissed his loving wife;
O'erjoyed was he to find,
That, though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.
The morning came, the chaise was brought,
But yet was not allowed
To drive up to the door, lest all
Should say that she was proud.
So three doors off the chaise was stayed,
Where they did all get in;
Six precious souls, and all agog
To dash through thick and thin.
Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, Were never folk so glad;
The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were mad.
John Gilpin, at his horse's side
Seized fast the flowing mane,
And up he got, in haste to ride,—
But soon came down again;
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