POEMS OF JOHN BYROM. A PASTORAL WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR, WHEN A STUDENT AT TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, AND FIRST PRINTED IN THE EIGHTH VOLUME OF THE SPECTATOR. MY time, O ye Muses, was happily spent, When Phoebe went with me wherever I went; Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my breast: Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest! But now she is gone, and has left me behind, What a marvellous change on a sudden I find! When things were as fine as could possibly be, I thought 'twas the Spring; but alas! it was she. With such a companion to tend a few sheep, To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep: I was so good-humour'd, so cheerful and gay, My heart was as light as a feather all day, But now I so cross, and so peevish am grown; So strangely uneasy, as never was known. My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drown'd, And my heart-I am sure it weighs more than a pound. The fountain, that wont to run sweetly along, And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among; Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there, 'Twas pleasure to look at, 't was music to hear: But now she is absent, I walk by its side, And still, as it murmurs, do nothing but chide; Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain? Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain. My lambkins around me would oftentimes play, And Phoebe and I were as joyful as they, How pleasant their sporting, how happy their time, When Spring, Love, and Beauty were all in their prime; But now, in their frolics when by me they pass, My dog I was ever well pleased to see Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me; And Phoebe was pleas'd too, and to my dog said, "Come hither, poor fellow;" and patted his head. But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look Cry "Sirrah;" and give him a blow with my crook: And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe's away? When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I seen, How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green! Sweet music went with us both all the wood thro'. The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too; Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by us did bleat, And chirp went the grasshopper under our feet. But now she is absent, tho' still they sing on, The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone: Her voice in the consort, as now I have found, Gave ev'ry thing else its agreeable sound. Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue? Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you drest, breast: You put on your colours to pleasure her eye, How slowly Time creeps, till my Phoebe return! Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear, And rest so much longer for't when she is here. Ah Colin! old Time is full of delay, [say. Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst Will no pitying pow'r, that hears me complain, Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain? To be cur'd, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove; But what swain is so silly to live without love? No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return, For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn. Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair; Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your fair. A DESCRIPTION OF TUNBRIDGE, IN A LETTER TÒ P. M. ESQ. DEAR Peter, whose friendship I value much more, Lay aside for a while, and come down to the Wells: Some sev'n or eight mile off, to give you the meeting, Barbers, dippers, and so forth, we send to you greeting. Soon as they set eyes on you, off flies the hat, Does your honour want this, does your honour want that? That being a stranger, by this apparatus [at us. You may see our good manners, before you come Now this, please your honour, is what we call Tooting, A trick in your custom to get the first footing. Conducted by these civil gen'men to town You put up your horse, for rhyme sake at the But to see the fine ladies in their dishabille, The ladies you see, ay, and ladies as fair, Till from some pretty nymph a deep wound you receive, And yourself want the cure, which you thought you could give. Not so wounded howe'er, as to make you forget, That your honour this morn has not breakfasted yet; So to Morley's you go, look about, and sit down; Then comes the young lass for your honour's halfcrown; She brings out the book, you look wisely upon her, "What's the meaning of this?"————“To subscribe, please your honour:" [ye, So you write, as your betters have all done before 'Tis a custom, and so there's an end of the story. And now, all this while, it is forty to one But some friend or other you've happen'd upon: You all go to church, upon hearing the bell, [tell: Whether out of devotion-yourselves best can From thence to the tavern to toast pretty Nancy, Th' aforesaid bright nymph, that had smitten your fancy; [mands, Where wine and good victuals attend your comAnd wheatears, far better than French ortolans. Then, after you've din'd, take a view of our ground, [round, And observe the fine mountains that compass us And, if you could walk a mile after your eating, There's some.comical rocks, that are worth contemplating; You may, if you please, for their oddness and make, [o' Peak; Compare 'em- let's see- -to the De'el's Arse They're one like the other, except that the wonder Does here lie above ground, and there it lies under. To the walks, about seven, you trace back your way, [day; Where the Sun marches off, and the ladies make What crowding of charms! gods! or rather god desses! [and dresses! What beauties are here! what bright looks, airs, But when to their gaming the ladies withdraw, Those beautics are fled, which when walking you saw: Ungrateful the scene which you there see display'd, Chance murd'ring those features which Heav'n had made: If the fair ones their charms did sufficiently prize, Their elbows they'd spare for the sake of their eyes; And the men too-what work! its enough, in good faith is't, Of the nonsence of chance, to convince any atheist DEAR Martin Folkes, dear scholar, brother, friend; And words of like importance without end; Forgive the Muse, who sings what, I suppose, On Tuesday night, you know with how much sorrow I bid the club farewel-"I go to morrow-" Bull was the house, and Bishopsgate the street, Now then, as Fortune had contriv'd, our way However, since we, none of us, had yet Scarce had he spoken, when the brickman's wife Cry'd out," Good Lord! he's here, upon my life." Forth from behind the wheels the villain came, And swore such words as I dare hardly name; But you 'il suppose them, brother, not to drop From me, but him-" G-d d-n ye, coachman, stop: Your money, zounds, deliver me your money, Quick, d-n ye, quick; must I stay waiting on ye? Quick, or I'll send”-(and nearer still he rode) "A brace of balls amongst ye all, by ➡.” I leave you, sir, to judge yourself what plight We all were put in, by this cursed wight. The trembling females into labour fell; Big with the sudden fear, they pout, they swell; And soon, deliver'd by his horrid curses, [purses: Brought forth two strange and preternatural That look'd indeed like purses made of leather; But let the sweet-tongued Manningham' say wheA common purse could possibly conceal [ther Shillings, half-crowns, and half-pence by piece: meal. The youth, who flung the bottle at the knave So with impetuous haste he flung him that, My heart-for truth I always must confess- No more! why hang him, is not that too much, To pay a guinea for his vile High Dutch? 'Tis true, he has us here upon the hank, With action strong; and swears to it point blank: Yet why resign the yellow one pound one? No, tax his bill, and give him silver, John. So said, so done, and putting fist to fob I flung th' apparent value of the job, An ounce of silver, into his receiver, And mark'd the issue of the rogue's behaviour. He, like a thankless wretch, that 's overpaid, Resents, forsooth, th' affront upon his trade; And treats my kindness with a-" this won't do, Look ye here, sir, I must ha' gold from you." To this demand of the ungrateful cur, Defendant John thought proper to demur. The bricklayer joining in the white opinion, Tender'd five shillings to Diana's minion; Who still kept threat'ning to pervade his buff, Because the payment was not prompt enough. Before the women, with their purses each, Had strength to place contents within his reach, 'Dr. Manningham; who wrote a pamphlet in defence of the well-known story of the RabbitWoman. 2 An expression used by of the Royal Society, and afterwards proverbially adopted in ridicule by the author and his friends. One of his pieces, falling downwards, drew Now, while in deep and serious ponderment I doubt I must resign-there's no defending When lo! descending to her champion's aid Soon as the wretch the sacred writing spy'd, "What conjuration-sight is this," he cry'd! My eyes meanwhile the heav'nly vision clear'd, It show'd how all his hellish look appear'd. (Heav'n shield all travellers from foul disgrace, As I saw Tyburn in the ruffian's face; And if aright I judge of human mien, His face ere long in Tyburn will be seen.) The hostile blaze soon seiz'd his miscreant blood; He star'd-turn'd short-and fled into the wood. Danger dismiss'd, the gentle goddess smil❜d, Like a fond parent o'er her fearful child; And thus began to drive the dire surprise Forth from my anxious breast, in jocund wise. "My son," said she, "this fellow is no Weston, No adversary, child, to make a jest on. With ink sulphureous, upon human skin He writes indenting, horrid marks therein; But-thou hast read his fate-the halter'd slave Shall quickly sing his penitential stave. "Pursue thy rout; but when thou tak'st another, Bestride some generous quadruped or other. Let this enchanted vehicle confine, From this time forth, no votaries of mine: Let me no more see honest short-hand men Coop'd up in wood, like poultry in a pen. And at Trin. Col. whene'er thou art enlarging On Epping Forest, note this in the margin: 'Let Cambridge scholars, that are not quite bare, Shun the dishonest track, and ride thro' Ware,' Alluding to some short-hand characters neatly eut in paper by the author's sister, and presented to M. F. esq. Weston, the inventor of a method of shorthand, then in some vogue; the great irregularity and defects of which our author had often humorously exposed. "Adieu! my son-resume thy wonted jokes; And write account hereof to Martin Folkes." This said, she mounts the characters divine Thro' the bright path immensely brilliant shine. Now safe arriv'd-first for my boots I wroteI tell the story-and subjoin the noteAnd lastly, to fulfil the dread commands, These hasty lines presume to kiss your hands. Excuse the tedious tale of a disaster, I am your humble servant and Grand Masters. A LETTER TO R. L. ES2. ON HIS DEPARTURE FROM LONDON. DEAR Peter', whose absence, whate'er I may do In a week or two hence, at this present I rue; These lines, in great haste, I convey to the Mitre, To tell the sad plight of th' unfortunate writer: You have left your old friend so affected with grief, That nothing but rhyming can give him relief; Tho' the Muses were never worse put to their trumps, To comfort poor bard in his sorrowful dumps. The moment you left us, with grief be it spoken, This poor heart of mine was as thoff it were broken; And I almost faint still, if a carriage approach The Rhenish and sugar, which at your de parture [what heartier; Yet the wine but more strongly to weeping inWe drank, would have made me, I hop'd, some clin'd, And my grief, I perceiv'd, was but double refin'd: It is not to tell how my breast fell a throbbing, When at the last parting our noses were bobbing: Those sad farewell accents! (I think on 'em still) "You'll remember to write John ?"-"Yes, Peter, I will." You no sooner was gone, but this famous metropolis, That seem'd just before so exceedingly populous, When I turn'd me towards it, seem'd all of a sudden As if it was gone from the place it had stood in: How he brought me from Smithfield to Dick's I can't say, But remember the Charter-house stood in our way At Dick's I repos'd me, and call'd for some coffee, [of ye; And sweeten'd, and supt, and still kept thinking But not with such pleasure as when I came there To wait 'till sir Peter should chance to appear: "A title usually given to the author by his short-hand scholars. R. L. esq. generally called by his college acquaintance, Peter. us [mentous. From treating of matters more high and moPoor Jonathan Wild!-Clowes, Peer Williams, and I Have just been in waiting to see him pass by: Good law! how the houses were crowded with mobs, That look'd like leviathan's picture in Hobb's; From the very ground-floor to the top of the leads, While Jonathan past thro' a Holborn of heads. From Newgate to Tyburn he made his pro- Supported by two of the nimble professiou: And to morrow, earl Thomas's fate to determine, VERSES, SPOKEN EXTEMPORE AT THE MEETING OF A CLUB, UPON THE PRESIDENT'S APPEARING IN OUR President, in days of yore, A sad and dismal change alas! Sure it could ne'er be his own choosing The mob all along, as he pass'd 'em, huzzaing; ing, Of which I can only remember these following. "The cunning old pug, ev'ry body remembers, That when he saw chesnuts a roasting i' th' embers, To save his own bacon, took puss's two foots, And now, Peter, I'm come to the end of my So I wish you good company, journey, and wea- tam P.S. What news? Why the lords, if the mi- [two, Just like a raven from an oak. A caxen of so black a hue, Who does not tremble for the Club The President, when's wig was white, Thou art a lawyer, honest Joe, |