Part 110
_Vaine._ Sir, all that I said of your tops was, that they made such a rushing noise as you walk’d, that my mistress could not hear one word of the love I made to her.
_Eng. Mons._ Sir, I cannot help that; for I shall justify my tops in the noise they were guilty of, since ’twas _Alamode_ of France. Can you say ’twas an English noise.
_Vaine._ I can say, though your tops were made in France, they made a noise in England.
_Eng. Mons._ But still, Sir, ’twas a French noise--
_Vaine._ But cannot a French noise hinder a man from hearing?
_Eng. Mons._ No, certainly, that’s a demonstration; for, look you, Sir, a French noise is agreeable to the air, and therefore not unagreeable, and therefore not prejudicial, to the hearing; that is to say, to a person that has seen the world.
The Monsieur comforts himself, when his mistress rejects him, that “’twas a denial with a French tone of voice, so that ’twas agreeable:” and, at her final departure, “Do you see, Sir, how she leaves us? she walks away with a French step.”
C. L.
* * * * *
THOU AND YOU, IN POETRY.
The promiscuous use of _thou_ and _you_ is a common error among all our poets, not the best or most accurate excepted.
The cause of this anomaly is not of difficult investigation. The second person singular not being colloquial with us, (for we never use it to our familiar friends like the French,) it at once elevates our language above the level of common discourse--a most essential object to the poet, and therefore he readily adopts it; but when it comes to govern a verb, the combination of _st_ is so harsh that he as readily abandons it.
In Pope’s Eloisa to Abelard, the singular pronoun is constantly used till verse 65:
“--Heaven listen’d while _you sung_;”
for _thou sungst_ (without considering the rhyme) would have been intolerable.
In lines 107, 109, the verb _canst thou_ has a good effect; as by lengthening the syllable by position it becomes more emphatic, and the harshness is amply compensated by the superior force of _canst thou_ to _can you_. The fastidious critic therefore would do well, before he passes his sentence, to consider whether an inaccuracy, which is never discovered except it be sought after, is not fairly entitled to the favour Aristotle grants to those deviations from strict propriety which tend to heighten the interest of a poem.
This change however is absolutely indefensible when used for the sake of rhyme only. Many instances of this occur in the same poem; the most striking will be found in two succeeding couplets:
O come! O! teach me nature to subdue, Renounce my love, my life, myself,--and _you_: Fill my fond heart with God alone; for he Alone can rival, can succeed to _thee_.
In some cases this change is strictly justifiable; as, when a person is addressed in a different style. For example, in Thomson’s Tancred and Sigismunda, when Siffredi discloses to Tancred that he is the king, he says,
Forgive me, sir! this trial of _your_ heart.
For the respectful appellation _sir_ demands the more colloquial term of address, but he immediately adds with animation,
_Thou! thou!_ art he!
And so in Tancred’s subsequent speech to Siffredi, he first says,
I think, my lord! _you_ said the king intrusted To _you_ his will!--
but soon after adds, in a more impassioned tone,
On this alone I will not bear dispute, Not even from _thee_, Siffredi!
The same distinction will, in general, be found in the speeches of Sigismunda to Tancred.[352]
[352] Pye.
* * * * *
HARVEST-CATCH IN NORFOLK.
_To the Editor._
Sir,--Your _Every-Day Book_ contains several interesting accounts relating to the present joyous season of the year. Amongst others, a correspondent ~G. H. J.~ (in vol. ii. col. 1168,) has furnished us with some amusing particulars of the old customs of the harvest supper. It should seem, however, that he is but imperfectly acquainted with the old “catch” of this country. That which he has given is evidently compounded of two different songs in use on these occasions, and I have no doubt when you have read and compared them you will be of my opinion. A few years more, and probably (but for your notice of them) they will be entirely forgotten.
The health-drinking catch, which is always the last thing before parting, is as follows:--
_First the mistress_:--
Now supper is over, and all things are past, Here’s our mistress’s good health in a full flowing glass; She is a good mistress, she provides us good cheer, Here’s our mistress’s good health, boys--Come drink _half_ your beer-- She is a good mistress, she provides us good cheer, Here’s our mistress’s good health, boys--Come drink _off_ your beer.
During the time the catch is going round the whole party are standing, and, with the exception of the drinker, they join in chorus. The glass circulates, beginning with the “Lord” in regular succession through the “company:” after that it is handed to the visitors,--the harvestmen of gone-by days,--who are not, or ought not to be, forgotten on the occasion. If the drinker be taken off his guard, and should drink off his beer at the pause in the catch, he is liable to a forfeit: if one of the chorus misplaces the words _half_ and _off_, which not unfrequently happens at the heel of an evening, he incurs a similar penalty.
_After the mistress the master_:--
Here’s health to our master, the lord of the feast, God bless his endeavours, and give him increase, And send him good crops, that we may meet another year, Here’s our master’s good health, boys--Come drink _half_ your beer. God send him good crops, &c.--Come drink _off_ your beer.
Where the beer flows very freely, and there is a family, it is sometimes usual to carry on the catch, through the different branches, with variations composed for the purpose, perhaps at the spur of the moment: some of these I have known very happily conceived. The other glee to which I alluded in the beginning of my letter, and which I conceive ~G. H. J.~ to have had in view, is this:--
Here’s health unto our master, the founder of the feast, God grant, whenever he shall die, his soul may go to rest, And that all things may prosper whate’er he has in hand, For we are all his servants, and are at his command; So drink, boys, drink, and mind you do none spill, For if you do You shall drink two, For ’tis our master’s will!
If the foregoing be acceptable, it will be a satisfaction to have contributed a trifle to a miscellany, which has afforded a fund of instruction and amusement to
Your constant reader and admirer,
~T. B. H.~
_Norfolk, August 20, 1827._
* * * * *
POTTED VENISON.
Sir Kenelm Digby, in a fanciful discourse on “Sympathy,” affirms, that the venison which is in July and August put into earthern pots, to last the whole year, is very difficult to be preserved during the space of those particular months which are called the fence-months; but that, when that period is passed, nothing is so easy as to keep it _gustful_ (as he words it) during the whole year after. This he endeavours to find a cause for from the “sympathy” between the potted meat, and its friends and relations, courting and capering about in its native park.
* * * * *
_For the Table Book._
THE DEFEAT OF TIME;
OR A
TALE OF THE FAIRIES.
Titania, and her moonlight Elves, were assembled under the canopy of a huge oak, that served to shelter them from the moon’s radiance, which, being now at her full noon, shot forth intolerable rays--intolerable, I mean, to the subtil texture of their little shadowy bodies--but dispensing an agreeable coolness to us grosser mortals. An air of discomfort sate upon the Queen, and upon her Courtiers. Their tiny friskings and gambols were forgot; and even Robin Goodfellow, for the first time in his little airy life, looked grave. For the Queen had had melancholy forebodings of late, founded upon an ancient Prophecy, laid up in the records of Fairy Land, that the date of Fairy existence should be _then_ extinct, when men should cease to believe in them. And she knew how that the race of the Nymphs, which were her predecessors, and had been the Guardians of the sacred floods, and of the silver fountains, and of the consecrated hills and woods, had utterly disappeared before the chilling touch of man’s incredulity; and she sighed bitterly at the approaching fate of herself and of her subjects, which was dependent upon so fickle a lease, as the capricious and ever mutable faith of man. When, as if to realise her fears, a melancholy shape came gliding in, and _that_ was--TIME, who with his intolerable scythe mows down Kings and Kingdoms; at whose dread approach the Fays huddled together, as a flock of timorous sheep, and the most courageous among them crept into acorn cups, not enduring the sight of that ancientest of Monarchs. Titania’s first impulse was to wish the presence of her false Lord, King Oberon, who was far away, in the pursuit of a strange Beauty, a Fay of Indian Land--that with his good lance and sword, like a faithful knight and husband, he might defend her against TIME. But she soon checked that thought as vain, for what could the prowess of the mighty Oberon himself, albeit the stoutest Champion in Fairy Land, have availed against so huge a Giant, whose bald top touched the skies. So in the mildest tone she besought the Spectre, that in his mercy he would overlook, and pass by, her small subjects, as too diminutive and powerless to add any worthy trophy to his renown. And she besought him to employ his resistless strength against the ambitious Children of Men, and to lay waste their aspiring works, to tumble down their towers and turrets, and the Babels of their pride, fit objects of his devouring Scythe, but to spare her and her harmless race, who had no existence beyond a dream; frail objects of a creed; that lived but in the faith of the believer. And with her little arms, as well as she could, she grasped the stern knees of TIME, and waxing speechless with fear, she beckoned to her chief attendants, and Maids of Honour, to come forth from their hiding places, and to plead the Plea of the Fairies. And one of those small delicate creatures came forth at her bidding, clad all in white like a Chorister, and in a low melodious tone, not louder than the hum of a pretty bee--when it seems to be demurring whether it shall settle upon this sweet flower or that, before it settles--set forth her humble Petition. “We Fairies,” she said, “are the most inoffensive race that live, and least deserving to perish. It is we that have the care of all sweet melodies, that no discords may offend the Sun, who is the great Soul of Music. We rouse the lark at morn; and the pretty Echos, which respond to all the twittering quire, are of our making. Wherefore, great King of Years, as ever you have loved the music which is raining from a morning cloud, sent from the messenger of day, the Lark, as he mounts to Heaven’s gate, beyond the ken of mortals; or if ever you have listened with a charmed ear to the Night Bird, that
in the flowery spring, Amidst the leaves set makes the thickets ring Of her sour sorrows, sweeten’d with her song:
spare our tender tribes; and we will muffle up the sheep-bell for thee, that thy pleasure take no interruption, whenever thou shall listen unto Philomel.”
And TIME answered, that “he had heard that song too long; and he was even wearied with that ancient strain, that recorded the wrongs of Tereus. But if she would know in what music TIME delighted, it was, when sleep and darkness lay upon crowded cities, to hark to the midnight chime, which is tolling from a hundred clocks, like the last knell over the soul of a dead world; or to the crush of the fall of some age-worn edifice, which is as the voice of himself when he disparteth kingdoms.”
A second female Fay took up the Plea, and said, “We be the handmaids of the Spring, and tend upon the birth of all sweet buds; and the pastoral cowslips are our friends, and the pansies; and the violets, like nuns; and the quaking hare-bell is in our wardship; and the Hyacinth, once a fair youth, and dear to Phœbus.”
Then TIME made answer, in his wrath striking the harmless ground with his hurtful scythe, that “they must not think that he was one that cared for flowers, except to see them wither, and to take her beauty from the rose.”
And a third Fairy took up the Plea, and said, “We are kindly Things; and it is we that sit at evening, and shake rich odours from sweet bowers upon discoursing lovers, that seem to each other to be their own sighs; and we keep off the bat, and the owl, from their privacy, and the ill-boding whistler; and we flit in sweet dreams across the brains of infancy, and conjure up a smile upon its soft lips to beguile the careful mother, while its little soul is fled for a brief minute or two to sport with our youngest Fairies.”
Then SATURN (which is TIME) made answer, that “they should not think that he delighted in tender Babes, that had devoured his own, till foolish Rhea cheated him with a Stone, which he swallowed, thinking it to be the infant Jupiter.” And thereat in token he disclosed to view his enormous tooth, in which appeared monstrous dints, left by that unnatural meal; and his great throat, that seemed capable of devouring up the earth and all its inhabitants at one meal. “And for Lovers,” he continued, “my delight is, with a hurrying hand to snatch them away from their love-meetings by stealth at nights, and to ravish away hours from them like minutes whilst they are together, and in absence to stand like a motionless statue, or their leaden Planet of mishap (whence I had my name), till I make their minutes seem ages.”
Next stood up a male fairy, clad all in green, like a forester, or one of Robin Hood’s mates, and doffing his tiny cap, said, “We are small foresters, that live in woods, training the young boughs in graceful intricacies, with blue snatches of the sky between; we frame all shady roofs and arches rude; and sometimes, when we are plying our tender hatches, men say, that the tapping woodpecker is nigh: and it is we that scoop the hollow cell of the squirrel; and carve quaint letters upon the rinds of trees, which in sylvan solitudes sweetly recall to the mind of the heat-oppressed swain, ere he lies down to slumber, the name of his Fair One, Dainty Aminta, Gentle Rosalind, or Chastest Laura, as it may happen.”
SATURN, nothing moved with this courteous address, bade him be gone, or “if he would be a woodman, to go forth, and fell oak for the Fairies’ coffins, which would forthwith be wanting. For himself, he took no delight in haunting the woods, till their golden plumage (the yellow leaves) were beginning to fall, and leave the brown black limbs bare, like Nature in her skeleton dress.”
Then stood up one of those gentle Fairies, that are good to Man, and blushed red as any rose, while he told a modest story of one of his own good deeds. “It chanced upon a time,” he said, “that while we were looking cowslips in the meads, while yet the dew was hanging on the buds, like beads, we found a babe left in its swathing clothes--a little sorrowful deserted Thing; begot of Love, but begetting no love in others; guiltless of shame, but doomed to shame for its parents’ offence in bringing it by indirect courses into the world. It was pity to see the abandoned little orphan, left to the world’s care by an unnatural mother, how the cold dew kept wetting its childish coats; and its little hair, how it was bedabbled, that was like gossamer. Its pouting mouth, unknowing how to speak, lay half opened like a rose-lipt shell, and its cheek was softer than any peach, upon which the tears, for very roundness, could not long dwell, but fell off, in clearness like pearls, some on the grass, and some on his little hand, and some haply wandered to the little dimpled well under his mouth, which Love himself seemed to have planned out, but less for tears than for smilings. Pity it was, too, to see how the burning sun scorched its helpless limbs, for it lay without shade, or shelter, or mother’s breast, for foul weather or fair. So having compassion on its sad plight, my fellows and I turned ourselves into grasshoppers, and swarmed about the babe, making such shrill cries, as that pretty little chirping creature makes in its mirth, till with our noise we attracted the attention of a passing rustic, a tenderhearted hind, who wondering at our small but loud concert, strayed aside curiously, and found the babe, where it lay on the remote grass, and taking it up, lapt it in his russet coat, and bore it to his cottage, where his wife kindly nurtured it, till it grew up a goodly personage. How this Babe prospered afterwards, let proud London tell. This was that famous Sir Thomas Gresham, who was the chiefest of her Merchants, the richest, the wisest. Witness his many goodly vessels on the Thames, freighted with costly merchandise, jewels from Ind, and pearls for courtly dames, and silks of Samarcand. And witness more than all, that stately Bourse (or Exchange) which he caused to be built, a mart for merchants from East and West, whose graceful summit still bears, in token of the Fairies’ favours, his chosen crest, the Grasshopper. And, like the Grasshopper, may it please you, great King, to suffer us also to live, partakers of the green earth!”
The Fairy had scarce ended his Plea, when a shrill cry, not unlike the Grasshopper’s, was heard. Poor Puck--or Robin Goodfellow, as he is sometimes called--had recovered a little from his first fright, and in one of his mad freaks had perched upon the beard of old TIME, which was flowing, ample, and majestic, and was amusing himself with plucking at a hair, which was indeed so massy, that it seemed to him that he was removing some huge beam of timber rather than a hair; which TIME by some ill chance perceiving, snatched up the Impish Mischief with his great hand, and asked “What it was?”
“Alas!” quoth Puck, “A little random Elf am I, born in one of Nature’s sports, a very weed, created for the simple sweet enjoyment of myself, but for no other purpose, worth, or need, that ever I could learn. ’Tis I, that bob the Angler’s idle cork, till the patient man is ready to breathe a curse. I steal the morsel from the Gossip’s fork, or stop the sneezing Chanter in mid Psalm; and when an infant has been born with hard or homely features, mothers say, that I changed the child at nurse; but to fulfil any graver purpose I have not wit enough, and hardly the will. I am a pinch of lively dust to frisk upon the wind, a tear would make a puddle of me, and so I tickle myself with the lightest straw, and shun all griefs that might make me stagnant. This is my small philosophy.”
Then TIME, dropping him on the ground, as a thing too inconsiderable for his vengeance, grasped fast his mighty Scythe; and now not Puck alone, but the whole State of Fairies had gone to inevitable wreck and destruction, had not a timely Apparition interposed, at whose boldness TIME was astounded, for he came not with the habit, or the forces, of a Deity, who alone might cope with TIME, but as a simple Mortal, clad as you might see a Forester, that hunts after wild coneys by the cold moonshine; or a Stalker of stray deer, stealthy and bold. But by the golden lustre in his eye, and the passionate wanness in his cheek, and by the fair and ample space of his forehood, which seemed a palace framed for the habitation of all glorious thoughts, he knew that this was his great Rival, who had power given him to rescue whatsoever victims TIME should clutch, and to cause them to live for ever in his immortal verse. And muttering the name of SHAKSPEARE, TIME spread his Roc-like wings, and fled the controuling presence. And the liberated Court of the Fairies, with Titania at their head, flocked around the gentle Ghost, giving him thanks, nodding to him, and doing him curtesies, who had crowned them henceforth with a permanent existence, to live in the minds of men, while verse shall have power to charm, or Midsummer moons shall brighten.
* * * * *
What particular endearments passed between the Fairies and their Poet, passes my pencil to delineate; but if you are curious to be informed, I must refer you, gentle reader, to the “Plea of the Fairies,” a most agreeable Poem, lately put forth by my friend, Thomas Hood: of the first half of which the above is nothing but a meagre, and a harsh, prose-abstract. Farewell.
ELIA.
_The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo._
* * * * *
PARODIES ON HORACE.
Mr. James Petit Andrews, the continuator of Dr. Henry’s History of England, mentions a whimsical instance of literary caprice--a parody of Horace, by a German, David Hoppius, who had interest enough to have his book printed at Brunswick, in 1568, under the particular protection of the elector of Saxony. Hoppius, with infinite labour, transformed the odes and epodes of Horace into pious hymns, preserving the original measure, and, as far as possible, the words of the Roman poet. “The classical reader,” Mr. Andrews says, “will, at one glance, comprehend the amazing difficulties which such a parodist must undergo, and will be surprised to find these productions not wanting in pure Latinity.” A specimen or two are annexed.
_Ad Pyrrham._ Ode v. lib. 1.
Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosâ Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro? Cui flavam religas comam Simplex munditiis? &c.
_Ad Mariam Deiparam._ Parodia v. lib. 1.
Quis fœno recubans, in grac li tenet Innexus teneris te, pia, fasciis Blandus, Virgo, puellus? Cui primos adhibes cibos. Dives munditiis? &c.
_In Juliam Barinen._ Ode viii. lib 2.
Ulla si juris tibi pejerati Pœna, Barine, nocuisset unquam, Dente si nigro fieres, vel uno Turpior unqui. Crederem--Sed tu simul obligasti Perfidum votis caput, enitescis Pulchrior multo, juvenumque prodis Publica cura, &c.
Προσφωγησις _Christi ad Peccatorem_. Parodia ix. lib. 2.
Ulla si juris tibi pejerati Culpa, peccator, doluisset unquam Mente, si tantum fieres vel unâ Tristior hora Plauderem--Sed tu, simul obligasti Perfidum votis caput, ingemiscis Ob scelus nunquam, scelerumque prodis Publicus autor, &c.
_In Bacchum._ Ode xxiii. lib. 3.
Quo me, Bacche, rapis tui Plenum, Quæ in nemora, aut quod agor in specus, Velox mente novâ; quibus Antris, egregie Cæsaris audiar Æternum meditans decus Stellis inserere et consilio Jovis, &c.
_Ad Christum._ Parodia xxiii. lib. 3.
Quo me, Christe, feram mali Plenum, Quæ in nemora, aut quos fugiam in specus, Pressus mole gravi? Quibus Antris ob maculam criminis occultar Æternam meditans facem Infernum effugere, et simplicium Stygis? &c.
* * * * *
A GENTLEMAN’S FASHION.
In the reign of Henry VII. sir Philip Calthrope, a Norfolk knight, sent as much cloth, of fine French tauney, as would make him a gown, to a tailor in Norwich. It happened one John Drakes, a shoemaker, coming into the shop, liked it so well, that he went and bought of the same as much for himself, enjoining the tailor to make it of the same fashion. The knight was informed of this, and therefore commanded the tailor to cut his gown as full of holes as his sheers could make. John Drakes’s was made “of the same fashion,” but he vowed he never would be of the _gentleman’s_ fashion again.
* * * * *
~Discoveries~
OF THE
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. VII.