A TALE I tell whose first beginning
May set some giddy folks a grinning;
But only let it all unfold,
A sadder tale was never told
Some people, who for years before,
Had seldom pass'd their outer door,
For once determin'd to be gay,
And have one merry-making day.
Agreed, "a sailing we will go:"
Thus all was settled at a blow.
With hats and bonnets duly ty'd,
They bustle to the water side;
And as the women stem the gale,
They seem already under sail:
[Page 8] Here, while we find them safe and sound,
A sailing only on dry ground,
We'll take occasion to declare
Who all these merry people were.
First, there was John; a Trader he
Clever and smart as you shall see;
High on the shelf, in nice array,
His various wares and Patterns lay;
Call when you will the thing's at hand,
And John is ever at his stand.
I grant, indeed, his price was high,
But then his shew-glass caught the eye;
Besides, 'twas known and understood,
His things were all extremely good.
Walk in, and if you talk with John,
I warrant he will draw you on:
Not that he ventur'd on the sin,
Of taking any strangers in;
For John, dispute it he who can,
Was a plain, open, honest man;
You saw it written in his face;
And then he serv'd you with a grace;
With gentle air, and accent sweet,
Powder'd and dress'd so spruce and neat▪
And most obliging in his speeches,
Unnumber'd ribbons down he reaches;
[Page 9] Presents before the Lady's view,
Each flow'ry edge, each beauteous hue,
Rolls and unrolls the slippery things,
And every finger has it wings;
Then waits, with rare command of face,
While Miss, in sad distressful case,
Puzzles, and frets, and doubts, between
A greenish blue, and blueish green.
At length each anxious mind is eas'd,
The bargain's struck, the Lady's pleas'd;
John humbly bows, then takes his flight
To write his bill as swift as light;
And ere the stranger's march'd away,
He next as sweetly asks for pay.
Yet if there enter'd one he knew,
John always gave the credit due;
Welcom'd the friend with joyful looks,
Yet clapp'd the debt into his books:
And tho' he begg'd the bill might wait,
'Twas sent at Christmas sure as fate.
At Christmas too (I tell his fame,
That traders all may do the same)
John calmly takes his books up stairs,
And balances his whole affairs;
Sees how his total credits stand,
And values all his stock in hand;
[Page 10] Then fairly puts on t'other side,
The debts he owes both far and wide;
The diff'rence is the sum he's worth,
'Tis all he has this year on earth:
Compares it with the year before,
"'Tis less than then"—"O, no; 'tis more—"
"'Tis vastly more," he says with glee,
"'Tis right, 'Tis right, my books agree!"
But who, except a trader's self,
Can paint these joys of growing pelf!
Or rather, to correct my song,
Who paint the pleasures that belong
To honest industry and thrift,
While God is thank'd for every gift!
Ah! foolish John, so blest at home,
What need hadst thou so far to roam?
Could thy new-fangled joys out-top
The hourly pleasures of thy shop:
Or if thy health an airing need,
And one grand holiday's decreed,
Couldst thou not go, to change the scene,
And take a turn upon the green?
Ah! foolish John, from what strange quarter
Could come this fancy for the water!
[Page 11] Well hast thou prosper'd while on shore,
There lab'ring nobly at the oar;
But if the wat'ry flood should ride thee,
Methinks some evil will betide thee:
And shouldst thou dare, when once afloat,
Thyself to steer, or row the boat,
The hour shall come—I see it nigh,
With my prophetic poet's eye,
When know, vain man, that thou shalt smart,
And all thy glory shall depart.
Then hear, ye Britons, while I preach,
This is the truth I mean to teach—
That he who in his shop is bright,
And skill'd to keep his reck'ning right,
Who steers in the good middle way,
And gets some custom, and some pay,
Marks when sad Bankrupt times prevail,
And carefully draws in his sail,
Keeps watch, has all his lanterns out,
And sees the dangers round about;
Pushes his trade with wind and oar,
And still gets forward more and more.
This trader, skill'd as he may be,
On shore a man of high degree,
May prove a very dunce at sea.
[Page 12] Ah! foolish John, no thoughts like these
Once enter'd to disturb his ease;
Onward he goes, and thinks it grand,
To quit the plain and simple land;
Leaves a good house of brick and mortar,
To try mere wood upon the water.
PART II.
'TWAS told you in a former lay,
How on a luckless evil day,
The trader John, a landsman brave,
Lest the dry ground to try the wave.
But here the Poet must rehearse,
In soft, and sweet, and tender verse,
How gentle Johnny had a wife,
The joy and solace of his life,
[Page 13] The sharer of his griefs and cares,
Privy to all his great affairs;
One who when ty'd in wedlock's noose
Had prov'd a helpmate fit for use;
One whom he married—not for whim—
But who could keep his house in trim;
No high-flown Miss, or belle, or beauty,
A simple girl that knew her duty;
Had well obey'd her father, mother,
And counsell'd well her younger brother;
Healthy when young, and rather stout;
Moral?—nay, more, she was devout;
And now a Christian quite at heart,
She carefully fulfills her part,
Well skill'd alike her house to guide,
And serve the shop at Johnny's side.
See now she works to help the trade,
And now instructs her under maid.
But 'tis her chief and special care,
Her husband's daily toil to spare,
When sick, or weary and opprest,
To ease the troubles of his breast,
To sooth his sorrows, calm his fears,
And help him thro' this vale of tears;
Remind him where his treasure lies,
And point to realms above the skies.
[Page 14] Where, when this shifting scene is o'er;
The faithful meet to part no more.
Now twenty summers, or above,
Have glided by and prov'd her love;
And tho' they may have marr'd her face,
Have ripen'd many a Christian grace:
Hence it may now be fairly guess'd,
Her latest days shall be her best.
John knows her worth, and now-a-days,
He grows quite eager in her praise;
For ev'ry calling friend is told,
"My wife is worth her weight in gold."
To this blest couple there was born,
One daughter cheerful as the morn;
A maiden she of spotless same,
E'en in her mirth quite clear from blame.
Train'd in Religion's "narrow way,"
Her mind untainted by a play,
She hates your giddy glitt'ring scenes,
Tho' long since enter'd on her teens;
Sees all things in a proper light,
And vice quite puts her in a fright;
Prompt and obedient from a child,
Obliging, humble, meek, and mild;
Still, before strangers, as a mouse;
Yet vastly useful in the house:
[Page 15] Toils for the shop, tho' seldom seen;
—Ah!—there she sits behind the screen;
There, like some flower both sweet and gay,
She shuns as yet the blaze of day;
(Well does her praise adorn my tale)
A new-blown lily of the vale.
Now should perchance some fool draw near,
And get to whisper in her ear,
Of plays, and balls, and fairs, and races,
Fine midnight routs, and public places,
And wonder how she can endure,
A life so useful, and so pure—
Extol her form, her piercing eyes,
And tell a hundred flatt'ring lies;
—While the sweet praise he thinks she sips,
The tortur'd maiden bites her lips;
Thinks his fine flatt'ry mere pretence,
And longs to tell him to talk sense;
Yet dreads to take the dunce in hand,
Lest he should still not understand.
But should he let his vice peep out,
The meek-ey'd girl can then turn stout;
[Page 16] For [...]ce ('tis said) in terms direct.
A spruce and saucy spark she check'd;
(She grew so solemn in her speeches,
The bucks gave out that "Nancy preaches")
And once put on the sweetest air,
And begg'd a carman not to swear.
Thus while she spends her peaceful days,
Her parent's care she well repays;
Honours her father, loves her mother,
She'll prove, methinks, just such another;
And tho' scarce seen, except at church,
The men won't leave her in the lurch;
Some honest Christian man she'll strike,
No buck or blood—for like loves like.
Next in my song, of equal same,
Comes a good honest antient dame;
John's mother—with no fault but one—
I mean—she doated on her son;
For when her own dear spouse was gone,
Her whole affections fell to John;
'Twas then the widow's age so great,
Her prospects small, her income strait,
That Johnny weigh'd the matter well,
And took her to his home to dwell:
[Page 17] No cost or trouble did he grudge,
For John had rightly learn'd to judge,
That people, once of little fame,
But now of high and mighty name,
Oft owe the glory of their station,
To the mere help of Education.
Quoth he—Were all men good and true,
Their wealth, methinks, might half be due,
To some good dame, who now is found,
Quite thrust upon the mere back ground:
Besides (he added, half in tears)
A child is always in arrears,
In debt, alas! o'er head and ears.
Oh, with what joy, what thanks and praise,
To the great length'ner of her days;
What feelings, not to be outdone,
Tow'rds her dear John, her only son,
Did the good parent take her station,
And kindly own the obligation!
And now his tenderness she pays,
By helping in a thousand ways.
Deck'd in her best, she comes in view,
And serves the shop from twelve to two;
[Page 18] Knows not each price, perhaps, quite pat,
Yet keeps the croud in civil chat,
Till John himself comes up to sell
A yard of lutestring, or an ell:
Next to the cook her aid she brings,
And does a hundred little things:
Loves her own self to lay the cloth,
To dress the sallad, skim the broth:
At shelling peas is quick and nimble,
Tho' now grown tardy with her thimble;
And always puts you quite at ease,
Walks out, and leaves you, if you please:
Plain as she seems, has much good sense,
And hence she never takes offence;
And all agree, for all are lenient,
The good old Lady's quite convenient.
Yet let me add, if things go wrong,
Madam soon shews her fears are strong;
And then she gives a certain spice
Of plain and downright good advice;
Talks in a most convincing tone,
Of what she's seen, and what she's known;
And in a way that vastly wins,
Will warn you of her own past sins:
Tranquil at eve, in elbow chair,
Tells what her former follies were;
[Page 19] Recounts her dangers, nice escapes,
Sad sufferings once, and aukward scrapes;
And while she paints her varied life,
Adds wisdom e'en to Johnny's wife:
John, warn'd of her, each matter weights,
And Nancy trembles and obeys.
Thus, some old seaman, once so brave,
And buffeted by wind and wave,
Of the rude seas too long the sport,
Enters at length some peaceful port;
Rejoices now no more to roam,
Yet acts as pilot nearer home.
[Page 20]
PART III.
LONG has the Muse her tale delay'd
Has stopp'd to talk of Johnny's trade;
Wife daughter, mother too, of John,
And quite forgot to travel on.
Long has the Muse with trembling fear▪
View'd the sad scene that now is near;
Hung back, indeed▪ from very fright,
And shrunk and started at the sight.
As the tall steed, if he should spy
Some unknown form of danger nigh,
Starts from his path, his eye-balls glare
His feet fly prancing in the air,
Round on the spot, and round he wheels
Upright upon his mere hind heels;
So have we started at the view
Of what our John is now to do,
[Page 21] Have gaily frisk'd it round and round,
Nor gain'd as yet an inch of ground.
Come, gentle Muse, the tale declare,
Sing how this bold advent'rous pair,
With mother brave, and willing daughter,
March'd to the borders of the water.
Sing how they trod the beach so steep,
Gaz'd at the wonders of the deep,
And stopt to view, as in a trance,
The awful ocean's vast expanse;
Then gaz'd at ev'ry passing boat,
Till they quite long'd to get on float.
The boatmen, as they cross the Strand,
Spring from an alehouse just at hand;
All on the party down they burst,
And each is sure that he was first.
Oh! how they press and fill the ground,
And push and elbow all around!
Each to a Lady makes his suit,
Till Nancy starts, as at a brute:
While prudent Johnny, marching down,
Hires a snug boat for half a crown,
Of smaller size, but stiff and tight,
And having seen that all is right,
[Page 22] Rallies his daughter, claims his wife,
Burst through the croud and ends the strife.
And now with self complacent grin,
The favour'd boatmen hands them in;
But first he plants, as is his rule,
On the wave's edge his little stool,
And while he begs them to take care,
Presents his elbow high in air.
All in they stept, all down they sat;
All safe, all even, and all flat:
The boatmen pushes off the boat;
Was e'er such treasure all afloat!
And now amid the sun's bright gleam,
See how they cut the silver stream!
See how the breeze begins to play!
See how it wafts them far away!
Scarce had the party lest the shore,
When Ruffman longs to spare his oar,
Points to the bench where lies a sail,
And begs to profit by the gale.
At first the boatman's words appal,
And all the female faces fall;
And madam bets ten thousand pound,
This instant we shall all be drown'd.
[Page 23] Mean time old Ruffman, with a sneer,
Forbids each vain and silly fear;
Talks of the seas that he hath cross'd,
Beaten, and blown, and tempest toss'd;
Tells of his dangers now no more,
While a green youth in days of yore,
Of feats perform'd by way of fun,
And boasts of matches he has won:
Then drops his tone, and quite allays
All the new fears he seem'd to raise;
Pleads his great care, asserts his skill,
Begs each dear Lady'll dread no ill;
For if he keeps the rope in hand,
The water's just as safe as land.
Thus all objections down he beat,
And now the awful sail is set;
Ah how! how they plough the whit'ning seas,
So fine, so glorious is the breeze;
How fresh and cooling too the air,
While the sail shades them from the glare;
The boatmen, who a while before
Sat coatless, heated at the oar,
Now lolls his ease, observes the wind,
Steers with one careful hand behind;
[Page 24] While his right fist holds hard the sail,
Resists or humours well the gale;
Then half-appearing to turn back,
At once he stops and makes a tak;
Points at the distant land once more,
And seems to run you right ashore;
But ere he lets you quite touch ground
Again he spins his vessel round,
And shifts across, with skill so nice,
The flutt'ring canvas in a trice;
Scuds o'er the spacious seas again;
Again he plows the mighty main;
Again the less'ning shore retires,
Woods, hills depart, and distant spires
While the bright sun, yon clouds between
Shines forth and gilds the glorious scene.
The party, eas'd of all their fright,
Gaze round and round with sweet delight▪
Praise with one voice both land and seas,
And now they languish for a breeze;
Dread lest the slack'ning wind should fail,
And welcome every growing gale:
Swift o'er the swelling waves they fly,
And pleasure beams in every eye.
[Page 25]
But, ah! how oft with genial sun,
While the gay course of life we run,
And fancy as we taste the treat,
Our human bliss is now complete:
How oft in that same favour'd hour,
Does the whole sky begin to lour!
The cheering sun-shine's pass'd away,
There comes a dreary doleful day:
Afflictions gather like a cloud;
The swelling tempest roars aloud;
While from yon threat'ning heav'ns so dark,
It thunders round our little bark:
Unskill'd to struggle thro' the breeze,
We toss in new and troubl'd seas,
And life's gay morning all so bright,
Ends in some woeful tale at night.
[Page 26]
PART IV.
COME, mournful Muse, and now relate
The awful change in Johnny's fate,
And while the doleful song is sung,
Tell from what cause the ruin sprung.
Cool'd by the breeze, and half undrest,
The rough gale blust'ring round his breast,
Robb'd of the sun's bright noon-tide ray,
And oft besprinkled by the spray,
Forth from you bottom of the boat
Old Ruffman lugs his sailor's coat,
[Page 27] And while he casts the jacket on,
Leaves rope and rudder all to John.
Ah! now begins the tragic tale,
For now the landsmen holds the sail!
He sees around the watery realm,
Yet goes and seizes on the helm;
And seated just in Ruffman's place,
Shews his cock'd hat and tradesman's face:
And now, without one sailing art,
E'en simple Nancy bears a part;
Sits playful by her father's side,
And light and gay, and merry-ey'd,
Holds with that hand that held a fan,
Rude ropes, as if she were a man,
While idle Ruffman, freed from care,
Half sleeping earns his easy fare.
—But hark! from yonder distant shore,
Did you not hear the thunder roar?
See! See! the vivid light'nings play,
And the dark cloud deforms the day:
Now too there comes the whistling breeze,
And sweeps the rudely swelling seas;
Fill's with one blast the sail so full,
Wife, mother, daughter, help to pull.
[Page 28] Now sailors, if it seems to blow,
For safety let the canvas go;
But women, not like passive men,
In vengeance always pull again.
Besides, as each her strength apply'd,
Each crouded on the leeward side;
And though a lady's like a feather,
E'en feathers weigh when heap'd together.
Fierce blows the whirlwind, and o [...] course
The lad [...] double all their force;
Each pulls and strains, and tugs and strives,
Like people pulling for their lives;
John, honest landsmen! simply lets them;
Fear lends them strength, and oversets them.
Fain would I urge the frighted Muse
To paint the scene which next ensues—
To tell how Ruffman, rous'd from sleep,
Fell headlong down amid the deep;
Then mounting, ey'd the distant shore,
How Nancy sunk to rise no more—
[Page 29] But ah! we'll leave it quite alone,
'Twould break methinks a heart of stone.
—Plung'd in the deep, half lost in death,
Struggling and panting hard for breath;
John thought to struggle now no more,
When his hand lights upon an oar;
His chin uplifted o'er the wave,
He thus escapes a watery grave;
Saves, hardly saves his wretched life—
Bereft of mother, daughter, wife!
Thus dearly for his fault he pays;
Henceforth a mourner all his days.
Here ends the tale—My friends arise
And wipe, I pray, your weeping eyes:
My fable—did you think it true?
Was fram'd in fact to picture you;
So next I'll preach to all the nation;
And first, ye sons of Innovation!
When Britons, wearied with their lot,
Grow wild to get they know not what,
And quit, through love of revolution,
Our good old English Constitution;
When Frenchmen lead the mazy dance
And Britons ape fantastic France;
Methinks, like Johnny once so brave,
They're leaving land to try the wave;
[Page 30] They're quitting ancient house and home,
Mid the wild winds and seas to roam.
When coblers meet in grand debate,
And little folks feel vastly great;
When each forsooth would quit his station,
And Jack and Will would rule the nation,
Methinks we're then in evil case—
Here's Johnny perch'd in Ruffman's place.
When women too make free to mix,
Send try their hand in politics,
Set England right while drinking tea,
And shew how all things ought to be;
Reprove, pass sentence, or acquit,
And talk as grand as Fox or Pitt;
Such ladies never mend my hopes—
Here Nancy's handling all the ropes.
When Parker rules as grand dictator,
And each Jack Tar's a legislator;
When seamen sit like kings in state,
While Lords come down and captains wait:
Again, I say, tis just the case
Of Johnny perch'd in Ruffman's place.
[Page 31] H [...]p! Britons, help! we sink, we drown!
T [...]ey've turn'd our vessel upside down.
When some raw lad, with jockey face,
H [...]s gain'd five thousand at a race,
And flush'd with joy, resolves to stand
For some vile borough, purse in hand:
Rains ribbons round him, half for fun,
At once bids all the barrels run,
Drinks his poor dull opponent down,
And at one onset storms the town;
Then pays with honour half his debts,
And off he flies to mind his bets;
Loses at next Newmarket stand,
Stocks, money, horses, house and land;
With jockey speed runs up to town,
Votes some great question, and runs down;
Grows now a red hot party prater,
And call's himself a legislator.
—Why this, I'd tell him to his face,
Is Johnny perch'd in Ruffman's place.
When College Youths, well vers'd in vice,
Turn all so reverend in a trice,
[Page 32] From deacon duly rise to priest,
Then r [...]n to play, to ball, to feast,
Give their poor flocks no christian light▪
While Paine must set our morals right▪
Indeed, indeed, it makes me fret,
For then the church is overset;
But should these heads some pulpit grace▪
Why then 'tis John in Ruffman's place.
When hair-brain'd Quacks, without degree,
Presume to take the doctors fee;
Cure all disorders every day,
In some safe, easy, simple [...]ay;
Colds and catarrhs, all aching pain,
Consumption, fever in the brain;
All nervous maladies to [...]oot,
With some soft syrup or new root▪
—Oh! dunces, tell then not your case,
'Tis Johnny perch'd in Ruffman's place.
When men of rank and talents rare,
Make some fine stud their only care,
Though form'd to rule and guide the land,
Love better guiding four in hand,
[Page 33] [...]ass in the stable half their lives,
[...]re more with Will than with their wives;
Or when my lady quite descends
And turns her servants into friends,
Of all her equals seems afraid,
And whispers secrets to her maid:
With Betty dwells on this and that,
And dearly loves some kitchen chat.—
—When servants too get much too smart,
And each must act the master's part;
Just like their master when they dine,
Sit long, eat venison, and drink wine;
When footmen get above their place,
And butlers shew their lordly face;
When Betty too disdains her pattens,
And flaunts about in silks and sattins;
Or should she find the fashion varies,
Then follows all the new vagaries,
Adopts at once my lady's taste,
And scarce can bear an inch of waist;
Has ear-rings, just the self-same pair,
Binds the same turban round her hair;
Apes in each part my lady quite,
And trips in muslins just as white;
When such, alas! is all the case,
'Tis Johnny got in Ruffman's place.
[Page 34]
Again, when wives have got vict [...] rious,
And the poor husband sneaks ingloriou [...] ▪
When John is gentle, Jenny coarse,
And the grey mare's the better horse▪
Or when you children have your way
And strange to tell, papa obeys!
When things are manag'd all so ill
That little Tommy says, "I will;"
Or lastly, let me tell you when—
When men turn women, women men
Men hate of all things to be rash,
And women, meek-eye'd women, dast
Men down their forehead, draw the locks,
And women shew their colour'd clock
Discard their shame, forget their sex,
And chuse to open all their necks:
When such again is all the case,
'Tis Johnny got in Ruffman's place.
Oh! would ye stop the nation's fall
Then every cobler mind your awl:
You labouring lads push home you spade;
Ye trading Johnnies mind your trade;
[Page 35] Ye seamen haul and don't debate;
Watch statesmen well the helm of state:
Ye clergy mind your awful part,
'Tis your's to turn the nation's heart;
Keep parents to the good old way,
And make your children all obey;
Claim not ye wives the chief command,
Keep back ye Nancie [...] of the land
Let women ne'er be over ready,
You'll trim the boat by sitting steady:
Instructed thus by Johnny's case,
Let ev'ry person mind his place.