CHARADES AND RIDDLES.

I.

If Nature and Fortune had plac’d me with you,

On my first, we my second might hope to obtain;

I might marry you, were I my third, it is true;

But that marriage would only embitter my pain.

II.

My first is the lot that is destin’d by fate,

For my second to meet with in every state:

My third is by many philosophers reckoned,

To bring very often my first to my second.

III.

My first, though your house, nay your life, he defends,

You ungratefully name like the wretch you despise;

My second, I speak it with grief, comprehends

All the brave, and the good, and the learn’d, and the wise.

Of my third I have little or nothing to say,

Except that it tells the departure of day.

IV.

The child of a peasant, Rose thought it no shame

To toil at my first all the day;

When her father grew rich, and a farmer became,

My first to my second gave way:

Then she married a merchant, who brought her to town;

To this eminent station preferr’d.

Of my first and my second unmindful she’s grown,

And gives all her time to my third.

V.

My first is the nymph I adore,

The sum of her charms is my second,

I was going to call it my third,

But I counted a million and more,

Till I found they could never be reckoned;

So I quickly rejected the word.

VI.

My first in ghosts, ’tis said abounds,

And wheresoe’er she walks her rounds,

My second never fails to go,

Yet oft attends her mortal foe.

If with my third you quench your thirst,

You sink for ever in my first.

VII.

My first is expressive of no disrespect,

Yet I never shall call you it while you are by;

If my second you still are resolv’d to reject,

As dead as my third I shall speedily lie.

VIII.

My first of unity’s a sign;

My second ere we knew to plant,

We us’d upon my third to dine,

“If all be true that poets chant.”

IX.

Your cat does my first in your ear,

O that I were admitted as near;

In my second I’ve held you my fair

So long that I almost despair;

But my prey if at last I o’ertake,

What a glorious third I shall make.

X.

My first with more than quaker’s pride,

At your most solemn duty,

You keep, nor deign to throw aside,

E’en though it veils your beauty.

My second on your cheek or lip,

May kindle Cupid’s fire,

While from your eye or nose’s tip

It ne’er provokes desire.

But if your third you entertain

For your unhappy poet,

In mercy Chloe spare his pain,

Not ever let him know it.

The following specimens of good-natured levity and humour were also produced by him, without any study or previous meditation.

The little girl, who was his favourite, as has before been mentioned, one day led him by the hand into the kitchen, to deliver a message to a servant. A young woman who had lived long in the family, and was much respected, was ironing linen. Her name was Susan, and the child desired Porson to write some verses upon her. Porson, as soon as he returned to the parlour, pronounced the following lines.

When lovely Susan irons smocks,

No damsel ere looked neater,

Her eyes are brighter than her box,

And burn me like a heater.

On the extravagant terms of flattery, which Mr. Hayley and Miss Seward used in compliments to one another, Porson frequently indulged much satirical observation. The following dialogue is supposed to take place between the parties.

MISS SEWARD loquitur.

Tuneful Poet, Britain’s glory,

Mr. Hayley that is you.

HAYLEY respondet.

Ma’am, you carry all before you,

Trust me Lichfield Swan you do.

MISS SEWARD.

Ode, didactic, epic, sonnet,

Mr. Hayley you’re divine.

MR. HAYLEY.

Ma’am, I’ll take my oath upon it,

You yourself are all the Nine.

Copied from Porson’s Manuscript, but whether his own or not is uncertain.

DE
CE
LIEU
DIEU
SORT
MORT
SORT
FORT
DUR
MAIS
TRES
SUR

Quadtdp
osnguisirusristiulcedineavit.
HsamChml

Mors mortis morti mortem nisi morte dedisset,

Aeternae vitæ janua clausa foret.

FRENCH CHARADES.

A Lise fais tu mon premier,

Qui prend le vrai pour le grossier,

Ne traite ne de gris ses yeux,

Ni de mon second ses cheveux,

On Lise en mon tout se mettra,

Et tes cheveux arrachera.

CHARADE BACCHIQUE.

Je reçu hier de mon cousin,

Pour etrennes tonneau de vin,

C’est mon premier lui m’en repond,

Pour la douceur et pour l’esprit,

Mais puisqu’au au moins c’est mon second,

Car c’est gratis comme j’ai dit.

Ouvrons mon tout, rien ne me coute,

Et buvons jusque a ne voir goutte.

...

Quand vous me fites mon premier,

En ravissant mon cœur, Iris,

Je jurai de vous adorer,

Malgre votre orgueilleux mepris,

Et voici ce que je promis,

J’amuserai jusqu’au dernier point.

Maintenant je ne songe point,

Aux sermens que je violés,

Ai je tort? vous en jugerez

Vous etes mon entier toujours.

Plus mon entier encor que belle,

Vous me jouez cent mauvais tours,

Du beau sexe trop vrai modele,

Doit ma constance etre eternelle?

ON THE ENQUIRIES MADE AFTER THE WRITER OF A CERTAIN LEARNED PREFACE.

Perturbed spirits spare your ink,

Nor beat your stupid brains no longer,

Soon to oblivion then shall sink

Your persecuted Preface-monger.

INCERTI AUCTORIS.

RIDDLE.

In every gift of Fortune I abound,

In me is every vice and virtue found,

With black and blue and green myself I paint,

With me an atheist stands before a saint;

Far above Nature, I make Art precede,

And before sovereigns give the poor the lead.

Many who bear the name of learned and wise,

Did I not help them, you would oft despise;

Nay more, within my grasp together bound

The king, the beggar, and the harlot’s found;

In one thing I excel the proudest lords,

You always may depend upon my words.

RIDDLE.

I’m sometimes very honest, sometimes not,

And less sincere at court than in a cot;

Sometimes I pleasure give, and sometimes pain,

And now I praise bestow, and now disdain;

The lovelier I appear when small my throne,

Enlarge but this, and all my beauty’s gone;

Sullen and silent when my friends are gone,

I’m e’en invisible if left alone;

Few things there are, at least but few I know,

Which cost so little, and so much bestow.

RIDDLE.

Tho’ so light is my weight that no strength is required,

They who take me about are oftentimes tired;

Short, long, narrow, broad, of materials not strong,

The forms I assume to rude fingers belong;

Under thousands of names I am every day seen,

And of very great use to dull people have been;

Nay! often the vulgarest creatures on earth

Take me from the hands of the noblest in birth;

Me the folks of the country in general disown,

So civil and gay, I’m fit only for town;

In the coldest of winters my back is quite bare,

Yet so little I find of compassion or care,

That as soon as I’m seen I’m thought worthy of none,

My service is past, and my business is done.

RIDDLE.

What could man do without my aid?

Or what each fair industrious maid?

I lead the first o’er sea and land,

The second takes me by the hand,

Presses me close with care and skill,

And makes me do whate’er she will.

I cannot boast of many charms,

I’ve neither feet, nor legs, nor arms,

But all allow I have an eye

So fine, it may with beauty vye;

I fear I many wounds impart,

Shed blood, but never touch the heart.

They who would contemplate my end,

For that’s the point where I offend,

Sharply to look about must mind,

Or me much sharper they will find.

It has been mentioned that Porson wrote some notes for Nicholson, to be prefixed to the edition of Xenophon’s Anabasis, published at Cambridge, in 1786. One of the copies of that work, given him by the bookseller, he presented to the writer of this article, with an inscription in Latin, written in his most beautiful manner, and expressed in the most flattering terms. A great many years afterwards he happened to take this particular Volume into his hands, and on looking at the inscription, hastily tore it out, promising the owner to write another. He never could be prevailed upon to explain his motive for this act, but it was conceived that some particular form of expression or disposition of the words had appeared erroneous to his better judgment. His friendly sentiments were certainly unchanged, which he manifested by subsequently writing another inscription in the book, expressed in terms, to the full as flattering as those which preceded. The words were these.

Viro doctissimo
atque
Amicissimo

Amicitiæ
Ergo
Donat.
Ricardus Porson.
1789.

That he was friendly and social, many examples have already been adduced, sufficiently strong and numerous to prove that Gilbert Wakefield’s application to him of the term “Misanthrope” was absurd and unjust. But he was occasionally very playful, and once in a very merry mood, being in company with the young lady, of whom we have before spoken, and for whom he wrote most of the Charades, (printed in this work) he offered a trifling wager, that he could carry her round the room in his teeth. This was accordingly accepted. He fixed a handkerchief round her waist, and by first obtaining a nice balance he actually accomplished his purpose, without any seeming inconvenience.

Upon the tendency of his politics it is not intended to expatiate. It never interrupted an harmonious intercourse of more than twenty years with him, who pays this tribute to his memory, and to whom, in a moment of confidence, he gave, in his own hand-writing, a Pamphlet written in answer to Mr. Burke’s Reflections on the French Revolution. It is termed, A new Catechism for the use of the Natives of Hampshire. It is written with much vivacity and humour, but strongly marks the incorrigible bitterness of his political prejudices.

The humour of the Tract consists in playing upon the expression of the Swinish Multitude, said to have been applied by Burke to the common people. The beginning and conclusion are inserted as a sufficient specimen.

Q. What is your name?

A. Hog or Swine.

Q. Did God make you a Hog?

A. No. God made me man in his own image; the Right Hon. Sublime Beautiful made me a Swine.

Q. How did he make you a Swine?

A. By muttering obscure and uncouth spells. He is a dealer in the black art.

Q. Who feeds you?

A. Our Drivers, the only real men in this County.

Q. How many Hogs are you in all?

A. Seven or eight millions.

Q. How many Drivers?

A. Two or three hundred thousand.

Q. With what do they feed you?

A. Generally with husks, swill, draff, malt, grains, and now and then with a little barley-meal and a few potatoes, and when they have too much butter-milk themselves they give us some.

The following must be allowed not to be destitute of humour.

Q. What are the Interpreters[5] called?

A. The Black Letter Sisterhood.

Q. Why do they give the office to women?

A. Because they have a fluent tongue, and a knack of scolding.

Q. How are they are dressed?

A. In gowns and false hair.

Q. What are the principal orders?

A. Three—Writers, Talkers, and Hearers, which last are also called Deciders.

Q. What is their general business?

A. To discuss the mutual quarrels of the hogs, and to punish their affronts to any or all of the drivers.

Q. If two hogs quarrel, how do they apply to the sisterhood?

A. Each hog goes separately to a Writer.

Q. What does the Writer?

A. She goes to a Talker.

Q. What does the Talker?

A. She goes to a Hearer (or Decider.)

Q. What does the Hearer decide?

A. What she pleases.

Q. If a hog is decided to be in the right, what is the consequence?

A. He is almost ruined.

Q. If in the wrong, what?

A. He is quite ruined.

After some facetious sneers at the clergy, who are termed peace-makers, the dialogue proceeds.

Q. How are these peace-makers rewarded?

A. With our potatoes.

Q. What with all?

A. Ten per cent. only.

Q. Then you have still ninety left in the hundred?

A. No, we have only forty left.

Q. What becomes of the odd fifty?

A. The drivers take them, partly as a small recompence for their trouble in protecting us, and partly to make money of them, for the prosecution of law-suits with the neighbouring farmers.

Q. You talk very sensibly for a hog; whence had you your information?

A. From a learned Pig.

The following is given by way of answer to the question by what ceremony the hog is disenchanted, and resumes his natural shape.

A. The hog that is going to be disenchanted, grovels before the Chief Driver, who holds an iron skewer over him, and gives him a smart blow on the shoulder, to remind him at once of his former subjection and future submission. Immediately he starts up, like the devil from Ithuriel’s spear, in his proper shape, and ever after goes about with a nick-name. He then beats his hogs without mercy, and when they implore his compassion, and beg him to recollect that he was once their Fellow Swine, he denies that ever he was a hog.

This curious dialogue thus concludes:—

Q. What is the general wish of the hogs at present?

A. To save their bacon.

Chorus of hogs.

Amen.

It may be observed of Porson, as Junius heretofore remarked of himself, that perhaps his own recollection could not always bring before him the numerous things he had written at various times, and on different occasions. Two learned articles of great judgment and acute criticism, may be pointed out, which not improbably Porson never communicated, except to the individuals for whose immediate service they were intended; more particularly as those individuals proudly pursued and sturdily avowed principles and sentiments, in the most determined opposition to those with whom the Professor lived with greater familiarity and intimacy.

The first of these was an article containing very learned and ingenious observations on the Codex Theodori Bezæ Cantabrigiensis, published by Dr. Kipling in 1793.

The reader may remember, that this MS. was so printed, that every page, line, word, letter, and point, as far as types can imitate hand-writing, corresponded with the original. Dr. Woide had done the same thing before with respect to the celebrated Alexandrian MS. But of the two works, the Professor remarks, “that as much as Kipling’s work is superior to Dr. Woide’s in its outside, so does it appear to be below it in intrinsic merit.”

The Professor objects, in the first instance, to the title prefixed by Dr. Kipling, viz. Codex Theodori Bezæ Cantabrigiensis. It is argued that an ambiguity is here involved, and that the natural construction of the words would make Bezæ, a Cambridge man at least, if not a member of the University. The whole, however, forms a fair and candid specimen of criticism, though the writer persists to the last in assigning the higher rank in point of merit to Dr. Woide’s most valuable publication.

The other Critical Essay, to which the Professor materially contributed, was a series of remarks on Wakefield’s Lucretius. It could not escape the discernment of so sagacious an observer as Porson manifestly was, that even when performing the office merely of editing a classical author, Wakefield could not resist the impulse he always obeyed of obtruding his opinions on subjects no more connected with Lucretius than with the history of China; and this has extorted the following sentence, sharp enough it must be acknowledged, but unquestionably true. “Mr. W.’s notes are very numerous and various; philological, critical, illustrative, and political, such as he always pours forth with a facility which judgment sometimes limps after in vain.”

It is well known to scholars, that the undertaking of collating manuscripts is very far from being an easy task, but in this labour the Professor was remarkably well skilled. It will appear from the observations here alluded to, that Porson actually submitted to the drudgery of collating three of the manuscripts employed by Wakefield. These MSS. were as follows:—

A MS, belonging to the public library at Cambridge, designated in Wakefield’s edition by the Greek letter Ω.

A MS. belonging to Edward Poore, Esq. of no great value or antiquity, referred to by Ο.

And three Harleian MSS. preserved in the British Museum, respectively called in the edition Δ. Π. Σ.

These three last MSS. being immediately within his reach, the Professor carefully collated, and the result of his conclusion was, that Wakefield cannot receive the palm of a skilful and scrupulously accurate collator. It is not intended to assert that the passage which follows, came from Porson’s pen, but it is so perfectly true in itself, and characteristic of Wakefield, that it is here inserted.

“In thus examining the present Edition of Lucretius, we feel a strong confidence that we shall not be suspected of being actuated by any resentment against a person, who must himself feel the chief evils of a restless, impatient, intolerant, mind. We think it, indeed, most lamentable, that a man, whose proper occupations are study and polite literature, should be so little able to command himself, as to fall into extravagances of political conduct, injurious ultimately to himself and family. Too many instances of this spirit appear completely out of their places in this Edition of Lucretius, in the form of political verses, allusions to the glories of France, and aspirations after similar changes here, with prophetic intimations of their approach.

“In such a farrago, abuse of us and our work, as supporting all that Mr. W. wishes to see overthrown, is virtually the highest compliment, and though we owe no gratitude to the author, we cannot but approve the tendency of his conduct towards us.

“We see, however, in his pages not the slightest tincture of that character, which he has, very early in his Preface, bestowed upon himself. ‘Si quis unquam diffidens mei.’ A most extravagant self-confidence, on the contrary, is every where conspicuous, except in a few of the prefatory flourishes; and though his maturer judgment has enabled him to see in his own ‘Silva critica plurima quæ sint juveniliter temeraria απροσδιονυσα prorsus et homine critico indigna,’ yet the very same character unimproved, will be found to prevail in his critical conjectures, scattered abundantly throughout the notes to his work, and readily accessible by means of his critical index. No author escapes his rage for correction, and Horace and Virgil in particular would have as little knowledge of their own works, were they presented to them reformed à la Wakefield, as we should of the British constitution were it given to his emendation. We can, however, pity while we censure, and most sincerely wish that with a more temperate mind, even in literature, he would give himself exclusively, and without mixture, to those studies, in which, with all his failings, he has certainly made a proficiency not common among scholars of this country.”

Whether the miscellaneous articles which follow be worthy of insertion, may by some be doubted, but they are genuine, and asperity may be softened by the consideration that they are the last.

If the reader will refer to the edition of Demosthenes, by Wolfius, printed at Frankfort, 1604, at p. 470, he will find the Oration of Æschines contre Ctesiphontem to conclude thus:

Και ειμεν καλως και αζιως του αδικηματος κατηγορηκα, ειπον ως εβουλομην, ειδε ενδεεστερως ως εδυναμην.

Porson has noted a singular coincidence of expression to be found in the 38th verse of the last chapter of the second book of Maccabees.

“And if I have done well and as fitting the story it is that which I desired, but if slenderly and meanly, it is that which I could attain unto.”

Part of a humourous and satirical copy of verses addressed to Dr. W⸺, on his being appointed Tutor to the D⸺ of G⸺ by some attributed to Porson, by some to a hand now Right Reverend.