ECCENTRIC AND NONDESCRIPT.
THE JOVIAL PRIEST'S CONFESSION. TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF WALTER DE MAPES, TIME OF HENRY II. LEIGH HUNT.
I devise to end my days—in a tavern drinking,
May some Christian hold for me—the glass when I am shrinking.
That the cherubim may cry—when they see me sinking,
God be merciful to a soul—of this gentleman's way of thinking.
A glass of wine amazingly—enlighteneth one's intervals;
'Tis wings bedewed with nectar—that fly up to supernals;
Bottles cracked in taverns—have much the sweeter kernels,
Than the sups allowed to us—in the college journals.
Every one by nature hath—a mold which he was cast in;
I happen to be one of those—who never could write fasting;
By a single little boy—I should be surpass'd in
Writing so: I'd just as lief—be buried; tomb'd and grass'd in.
Every one by nature hath—a gift too, a dotation:
I, when I make verses—do get the inspiration
Of the very best of wine—that comes into the nation:
It maketh sermons to astound—for edification.
Just as liquor floeth good—floweth forth my lay so;
But I must moreover eat—or I could not say so;
Naught it availeth inwardly—should I write all day so;
But with God's grace after meat—I beat Ovidius Naso.
Neither is there given to me—prophetic animation,
Unless when I have eat and drank—yea, ev'n to saturation,
Then in my upper story—hath Bacchus domination
And Phoebus rushes into me, and beggareth all relation.
TONIS AD RESTO MARE. ANONYMOUS
AIR—"Oh, Mary, heave a sigh for me."
O MARE aeva si forme;
Forme ure tonitru;
Iambicum as amandum,
Olet Hymen promptu;
Mihi is vetas an ne se,
As humano erebi;
Olet mecum marito te,
Or eta beta pi.
Alas, plano more meretrix,
Mi ardor vel uno;
Inferiam ure artis base,
Tolerat me urebo.
Ah me ve ara silicet,
Vi laudu vimin thus?
Hiatu as arandum sex—
Illuc Ionicus.
Heu sed heu vix en imago,
My missis mare sta;
O cantu redit in mihi
Hibernas arida?
A veri vafer heri si,
Mihi resolves indu:
Totius olet Hymen cum—
Accepta tonitru.
DIC. DEAN SWIFT.
Dic, heris agro at, an da quar to fine ale,
Fora ringat ure nos, an da stringat ure tale.
[Footnote: Dick, here is a groat, a quart o' fine ale.
For a ring at your nose, and a string at your tail.]
MOLL. DEAN SWIFT.
Mollis abuti,
Has an acuti,
No lasso finis,
Molli divinis.
[Footnote: Moll is a beauty,
Has an acute eye;
No lass so fine is,
Molly divine is.]
TO MY MISTRESS. DEAN SWIFT.
O mi de armis tres,
Imi na dis tres.
Cantu disco ver
Meas alo ver?
[Footnote: O my dear mistress
I am in a distress.
Can't you discover
Me as a lover?]
A LOVE SONG. DEAN SWIFT.
Apud in is almi de si re,
Mimis tres I ne ver re qui re,
Alo veri findit a gestis,
His miseri ne ver at restis.
[Footnote: A pudding is all my desire,
My mistress I never require;
A lover I find it a jest is,
His misery never at rest is.]