Part 39
I have long maintained a distinguished station in our modern days, but I cannot trace my origin to ancient times, though the learned have attempted it. After the revolution in 1688, I was chief physician to the king; at least in my absence he ever complained of sickness. Had I lived in ancient days, so friendly was I to crowned heads, that Cleopatra would have got off with a sting; and her cold arm would have felt a reviving heat. I am rather a friend to sprightliness than to industry; I have often converted a neutral pronoun into a man of talent: I have often amused myself with reducing the provident ant to indigence; I never meet a post horse without giving him a blow; to some animals I am a friend, and many a puppy has yelped for aid when I have deserted him. I am a patron of architecture, and can turn every thing into brick and mortar; and so honest withal, that whenever I can find a pair of stockings, I ask for their owner. Not even Lancaster has carried education so far as I have: I adopt always the system of interrogatories. I have already taught my hat to ask questions of fact; and my poultry questions of chronology. With my trees I share the labours of my laundry; they scour my linen; and when I find a rent, ’tis I who make it entire.
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In short, such are my merits, that whatever yours may be, you can never be more than half as good as I am.
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ANSWER
TO THE PRECEDING.
A _literary_ character you view, Known to the moderns only--W: I was physician to king William; When absent, he would say, “how--ill I am!” In ancient days if I had liv’d, the asp Which poison’d Egypt’s queen, had been a--Wasp; And the death-coldness of th’ imperial arm With life reviving had again been--Warm. A friend to sprightliness, that neuter it By sudden pow’r I’ve chang’d into a--Wit. The vainly-provident industrious ant With cruel sport I oft reduce to--Want; Whene’er I meet with an unlucky hack, I give the creature a tremendous--Whack: And many a time a puppy cries for help, If I desert capriciously the--Whelp. A friend to architecture, I turn all (As quick as Chelt’nham builders) into--Wall. I’m honest, for whene’er I find some hose, I seek the owner, loud exclaiming--Whose? Farther than Lancaster I educate, My system’s always to interrogate; Already have I taught my very hat Questions of fact to ask, and cry out--What? Questions of time my poultry, for the hen Cackles chronology, enquiring--When? My laundry’s labour I divide with ashes; It is with them the laundress scours and--Washes: And if an ugly rent I find, the hole Instantly vanishes, becoming--Whole.
In short, my merits are so bright to view How good soe’er you may be, just or true, You can but halve my worth, for I am--_double you_.
_Cheltenham._
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THE MERRY MONARCH,
AND “BLYTHE COCKPEN.”
While Charles II. was sojourning in Scotland, before the battle of Worcester, his chief confidant and associate was the laird of Cockpen, called by the nick-naming fashion of the times, “Blythe Cockpen.” He followed Charles to the Hague, and by his skill in playing Scottish tunes, and his sagacity and wit, much delighted the merry monarch. Charles’s favourite air was “Brose and Butter;” it was played to him when he went to bed, and he was awakened by it. At the restoration, however, Blythe Cockpen shared the fate of many other of the royal adherents; he was forgotten, and wandered upon the lands he once owned in Scotland, poor and unfriended. His letters to the court were unpresented, or disregarded, till, wearied and incensed, he travelled to London; but his mean garb not suiting the rich doublets of court, he was not allowed to approach the royal presence. At length, he ingratiated himself with the king’s organist, who was so enraptured with Cockpen’s wit and powers of music, that he requested him to play on the organ before the king at divine service. His exquisite skill did not attract his majesty’s notice, till, at the close of the service, instead of the usual tune, he struck up “Brose and Butter,” with all its energetic merriment. In a moment the royal organist was ordered into the king’s presence. “My liege, it was not me! it was not me!” he cried, and dropped upon his knees. “You!” cried his majesty, in a rapture, “you could never play it in your life--where’s the man? let me see him.” Cockpen presented himself on his knee. “Ah, Cockpen, is that you?--Lord, man, I was like to dance coming out of the church!”--“I once danced too,” said Cockpen, “but that was when I had land of my own to dance on.”--“Come with me,” said Charles taking him by the hand, “you shall dance to _Brose and Butter_ on your own lands again to the nineteenth generation;” and as far as he could, the king kept his promise.
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~Topography.~
SINGULAR INTERMENT.
The following curious entry is in the register of Lymington church, under the year 1736:--
“Samuel Baldwin, esq. sojourner in this parish, was _immersed_, without the Needles, _sans cérémonie_, May 20.”
This was performed in consequence of an earnest wish the deceased had expressed, a little before his dissolution, in order to disappoint the intention of his wife, who had repeatedly assured him, in their domestic squabbles, (which were very frequent,) that if she survived him, she would revenge her conjugal sufferings, by dancing on his grave.
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ODD SIGNS.
A gentleman lately travelling through Grantham, in Lincolnshire, observed the following lines under a sign-post, on which was placed an inhabited bee-hive.
Two wonders, Grantham, now are thine, The highest spire, and a living sign.
The same person, at another public-house in the country, where London porter was sold, observed the figure of Britannia engraved upon a tankard, in a reclining posture; underneath was the following motto:--
Pray SUP-PORTER.
Vol. I.--14.
The above engraving is from a lithographic view, published in Durham in 1820: it was designed by Mr. Bouet, a very ingenious French gentleman, resident there, whose abilities as an artist are of a superior order.
Elvet bridge consists of nine or ten arches, and was built by the excellent bishop Pudsey, about the year 1170. It was repaired in the time of bishop Fox, who held the see of Durham from 1494 to 1502, and granted an “indulgence” to all who should contribute towards defraying the expense; an expedient frequently resorted to in Catholic times for the forwarding of great undertakings. It was again improved, by widening it to twice its breadth, in 1806.
Upon this bridge there were two chapels, dedicated respectively to St. James and St. Andrew, one of which stood on the site of the old house close to the bridge, at present inhabited by Mr. Adamson, a respectable veterinary surgeon; the other stood on the site of the new houses on the south side of the bridge, occupied by Mr. Fenwick and Mr. Hopper. About three years ago, while clearing away the rubbish, preparatory to the erection of the latter houses, some remains of the old chapel were discovered: an arch was in a very perfect state, but unfortunately no drawing was made.
It is believed by some, that another chapel stood on, or near Elvet bridge, dedicated to St. Magdalen; and the name of the flight of steps leading from Elvet bridge to Saddler-street, viz. the Maudlin, or Magdalen-steps, rather favours the supposition. On the north side of Elvet bridge is a building, erected in 1632, formerly used as the house of correction, but which, since the erection of the new gaol, was sold to the late Stephen Kemble, Esq., and is now the printing and publishing office of the Durham Chronicle. The ground cells are miserable places: some figures, still visible on many of the walls, as faces, ships, &c. show to what resources the poor fellows confined there were driven to amuse themselves. This building is said to be haunted by the restless sprite of an old piper, who, as the story is, was brought down the river by a flood, and, on being rescued from the water, became an inmate of the house of correction, where he died a few years afterwards. The credulous often hear his bagpipes at midnight. Every old bridge seems to have its legend, and this is the legend of Elvet bridge.
The buildings represented by the engraving in the distance are the old gaol, and a few of the adjoining houses. This gaol, which stood to the east of the castle, and contiguous to the keep, was originally the great north gateway to the castle, and was erected by bishop Langley, who held the see of Durham from 1406 to 1437. It divided Saddler-street from the North Bailey, and was a fine specimen of the architecture of the age, but, from its confined situation, in a public part of the city, it was adjudged to be a nuisance, and was accordingly destroyed in 1820. On the west side of it is erected an elegant subscription library and news-room, and on the opposite a spacious assembly-room; these form a striking contrast to the spot in the state here represented. The present county gaol is at the head of Old Elvet; it is a splendid edifice, and so it should be, considering that it cost the county 120,000_l_.
Of bishop Pudsey, the builder of Elvet bridge, the following account is given in Hegg’s Legend of St. Cuthbert. Speaking of St. Goodrick, of whom there are particulars in the _Every-Day Book_, Hegg says, “Thus after he had acted all the miracles of a legend, he ended his scene in the yeare 1170, not deserving that honour conferred on his cell by the forenamed bishop Pusar (Pudsey), who told him he should be seven yeares blind before his death, so that the bishop deferring his repentance till the tyme of his blindness, (which Goodrick meant of the eyes of his understanding) dyed unprovided for death. But if good works be satisfactorie, then died he not in debt for his sinnes, who repayred and built many of the episcopall manors, and founded the manor and church at Darlington, and two hospitals, one at Alverton, and the other at _Sherburne_, neare Durham. He built also Elvet bridge, with two chapels upon it, over the Weer; and, lastly, built that beautiful work the Galilee, now the bishop’s consistory, and hither translated saint Bede’s bones, which lye enterred under a tomb of black marble.”
From the above extract, as punctuated in all the printed copies I have seen, it would appear that Hegg intended to represent both the chapels as being _over the Weer_, whereas only one was so situated, the other being on one of the land arches. To render this passage correct, the words “with two chapels upon it” should have been inserted in a parenthesis, which would make the passage stand thus, “He built also Elvet bridge, (with two chapels upon it,) over the Weer.” Hegg, with all his humour, is frequently obscure; and his legend, which was for some time in manuscript, has suffered by the inattention of transcribers; there are three different copies in print, and all vary. The edition printed by the late Mr. Allan of Darlington, from a manuscript in the library of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, and since reprinted by Mr. Hogget of Durham, is the most correct one, and from that the above extract is taken.
Bishop Pudsey’s memory must always be dear to the inhabitants of the county of Durham, as probably no man ever conferred greater service on the county. It was he who, in order to supply the deficiency of Doomsday-book, caused a general survey to be made of all the demesne lands and possessions in his bishopric. This survey is recorded in a small folio of twenty-four pages, written in a bad hand, and called “Bolden Buke,” now in the archives at Durham. It contains inquisitions, or verdicts of all the several tenures of lands, services, and customs; all the tenants’ names of every degree; how much each of them held at that time, and what rents were reserved for the same. This book has been produced, and read in evidence on several trials at law, on the part of the succeeding bishops, in order to ascertain their property.
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XI.
[From “Jack Drum’s Entertainment,” a Comedy, Author unknown, 1601.]
_The free humour of a Noble Housekeeper._
_Fortune (a Knight)._ I was not born to be my cradle’s drudge, To choke and stifle up my pleasure’s breath, To poison with the venom’d cares of thrift My private sweet of life: only to scrape A heap of muck, to fatten and manure The barren virtues of my progeny, And make them sprout ’spite of their want of worth; No, I do wish my girls should wish me live; Which few do wish that have a greedy sire, But still expect, and gape with hungry lip, When he’ll give up his gouty stewardship. _Friend._ Then I wonder, You not aspire unto the eminence And height of pleasing life. To Court, to Court-- There burnish, there spread, there stick in pomp, Like a bright diamond in a Lady’s brow. There plant your fortunes in the flowring spring, And get the Sun before you of Respect. There trench yourself within the people’s love, And glitter in the eye of glorious grace. What’s wealth without respect and mounted place? _Fortune._ Worse and worse!--I am not yet distraught, I long not to be squeez’d with my own weight, Nor hoist up all my sails to catch the wind Of the drunk reeling Commons. I labour not To have an awful presence, nor be feared. Since who is fear’d still fears to be so feared. I care not to be like the Horeb calf, One day adored, and next pasht all in pieces. Nor do I envy Polyphemian puffs, Switzers’ slopt greatness. I adore the Sun, Yet love to live within a temperate zone. Let who will climb ambitious glibbery rounds, And lean upon the vulgar’s rotten love, I’ll not corrival him. The sun will give As great a shadow to my trunk as his; And after death, like Chessmen having stood In play, for Bishops some, for Knights, and Pawns, We all together shall be tumbled up Into one bag. Let hush’d-calm quiet rock my life asleep; And, being dead, my own ground press my bones; Whilst some old Beldame, hobbling o’er my grave, May mumble thus: ‘Here lies a Knight whose Money was his Slave.’
* * * * *
[From the “Changes,” a Comedy, by James Shirley, 1632.]
_Excess of Epithets, enfeebling to Poetry._
_Friend._ Master Caperwit, before you read, pray tell me, Have your verses any Adjectives? _Caperwit._ Adjectives! would you have a poem without Adjectives? they’re the flower, the grace of all our language. 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 ’t against A bundle of Grammarians, in Poetry The Substantive itself cannot _subsist_ Without its Adjective. _Friend._ But for all that, 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 ’em. A row of stately Substantives would march Like Switzers, and bear all the fields before ’em; Carry their weight; shew fair, like Deeds Enroll’d; Not Writs, that are first made and after fill’d. 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 ’t, ’tis pedantic, vulgar Poetry. Let children, when they versify, stick here And there these piddling words for want of matter Poets write Masculine Numbers.
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[From the “Guardian,” a Comedy, by Abraham Cowley, 1650. This was the first Draught of that which he published afterwards under the title of the “Cutter of Coleman Street;” and contains the character of a Foolish Poet, omitted in the latter. I give a few scraps of this character, both because the Edition is scarce, and as furnishing no unsuitable corollary to the Critical Admonitions in the preceding Extract.--The “Cutter” has always appeared to me the link between the Comedy of Fletcher and of Congreve. In the elegant passion of the Love Scenes it approaches the former; and Puny (the character substituted for the omitted Poet) is the Prototype of the half-witted Wits, the Brisks and Dapper Wits, of the latter.]
_Doggrell, the foolish Poet, described._
_Cutter._ ---- the very Emblem of poverty and poor poetry. The feet are worse patched of his rhymes, than of his stockings. If one line forget itself, and run out beyond his elbow, while the next keeps at home (like _him_), and dares not show his head, he calls that an Ode. * * *
_Tabitha._ Nay, they mocked and fleered at us, as we sung the Psalm the last Sunday night.
_Cutter._ That was that mungrel Rhymer; by this light he envies his brother poet John Sternhold, because he cannot reach his heights. * * *
_Doggrell_ (_reciting his own verses_.) Thus pride doth still with beauty dwell, And like the Baltic ocean swell. _Blade._ Why the Baltic, Doggrell? _Doggrell._ Why the Baltic!--this ’tis not to have read the Poets. * * * She looks like Niobe on the mountain’s top.
_Cutter._ That Niobe, Doggrell, you have used worse than Phœbus did. Not a dog looks melancholy but he’s compared to Niobe. He beat a villainous Tapster ’tother day, to make him look like Niobe.
C. L.
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ANCIENT WAGGERY.
_For the Table Book._
[From the “Pleasant Conceits of old Hobson, the merry Londoner; full of humourous Discourses and merry Merriments:--1607.”]
_How Maister Hobson hung out a lanterne and candlelight._
In the beginning of queen Elizabeth’s reign, when the order of hanging out lanterne and candlelight first of all was brought up,[95] the bedell of the warde where Maister Hobson dwelt, in a dark evening, crieing up and down, “Hang out your lanternes! Hang out your lanternes!” using no other wordes, Maister Hobson tooke an emptie lanterne, and, according to the bedells call, hung it out. This flout, by the lord mayor, was taken in ill part, and for the same offence Hobson was sent to the Counter, but being released, the next night following, thinking to amend his call, the bedell cryed out, with a loud voice, “Hang out your lanternes and candle!” Maister Hobson, hereupon, hung out a lanterne and candle unlighted, as the bedell again commanded; whereupon he was sent again to the Counter; but the next night, the bedell being better advised, cryed “Hang out your lanterne and candle light! Hang out your lanterne and candle light!” which Maister Hobson at last did, to his great commendations, which cry of lanterne and candle light is in right manner used to this day.
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_How Maister Hobson found out the Pye-stealer._
In Christmas Holy-dayes when Maister Hobson’s wife had many pyes in the oven, one of his servants had stole one of them out, and at the tauerne had merrilie eat it. It fortuned, the same day, that some of his friends dined with him, and one of the best pyes were missing, the stealer thereof, after dinner, he found out in this manner. He called all his servants in friendly sort together into the hall, and caused each of them to drinke one to another, both wine, ale, and beare, till they were all drunke; then caused hee a table to be furnished with very goode cheare, whereat hee likewise pleased them. Being set altogether, he saide, “Why sit ye not downe fellows?”--“We bee set already,” quoth they.--“Nay,” quoth Maister Hobson, “he that stole the pye is not yet set.”--“Yes, that I doe!” quoth he that stole it, by which means Maister Hobson knewe what was become of the pye; for the poor fellowe being drunke could not keepe his owne secretts.
[95] The custom of hanging out lanterns before lamps were in use was earlier than queen Elizabeth’s reign.
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THE FIRST VIOLET.
The spring is come: the violet’s gone, The first-born child of the early sun; With us she is but a winter flower, The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower-- And she lifts up her head of dewy blue To the youngest sky of the self-same hue.
And when the spring comes with her host Of flowers--that flower beloved the most, Shrinks from the crowd that may confuse Her heavenly odour and virgin hues.
Pluck the others, but still remember Their herald out of dim December-- The morning star of all the flowers, The pledge of daylight’s lengthened hours. Nor, midst the roses, e’er forget The virgin--virgin violet.
* * * * *
YORKSHIRE SAYING.
_For the Table Book._
“LET’S BEGIN AGAIN LIKE THE CLERK OF BEESTON.”
The clerk of Beeston, a small village near Leeds, one Sunday, after having sung a psalm about half way through the first verse, discovered he had chosen a wrong tune, on which he exclaimed to the singers, “Stop lads, we’ve got into a wrong metre, let’s begin again!” Hence the origin of the saying, so common in Leeds and the neighbourhood, “Let’s begin again, like the clerk of Beeston.”
T. Q. M.
* * * * *
TO CONTENTMENT.
I.
Spark of pure celestial fire, Port of all the world’s desire, Paradise of earthly bliss, Heaven of the other world and this; Tell me, where thy court abides. Where thy glorious chariot rides?
II.
Eden knew thee for a day, But thou wouldst no longer stay; Outed for poor Adam’s sin, By a flaming cherubin; Yet thou lov’st that happy shade Where thy beauteous form was made, And thy kindness still remains To the woods, and flow’ry plains.
III.
Happy David found thee there, Sporting in the open air; As he led his flocks along, Feeding on his rural song: But when courts and honours had Snatch’d away the lovely lad, Thou that there no room cou’dst find, Let him go and staid behind.
IV.
His wise son, with care and pain, Search’d all nature’s frame in vain; For a while content to be, Search’d it round, but found not thee; Beauty own’d she knew thee not, Plenty had thy name forgot: Music only did aver, Once you came and danc’d with her.[96]
[96] From Dunton’s “Athenian Sport.”
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~Biography.~
PIETRE METASTASIO.