My father he is now from home,
And I am all alone, sir:
Therefore across the water come,
And I am all your own, sir.
False maid, thou canst no more deceive;
I scorn the treacherous bait-a;
If thou would'st have me thee believe,
Now open me the gate-a.
The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr'd,
My father he has the keys, sir;
But I have for my love prepar'd
A shorter way, and easier.
Over the moate I've laid a plank
Full seventeen feet in measure,
Then step across to the other bank,
And there we'll take our pleasure.
These words she had no sooner spoke,
But straight he came tripping over:
The plank was saw'd, it snapping broke,
And sous'd the unhappy lover.
TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD. A TALE. MATTHEW PRIOR.
Once on a time, in sunshine weather,
Falsehood and Truth walk'd out together,
The neighboring woods and lawns to view,
As opposites will sometimes do.
Through many a blooming mead they passed,
And at a brook arriv'd at last.
The purling stream, the margin green,
With flowers bedeck'd, a vernal scene,
Invited each itinerant maid,
To rest a while beneath the shade.
Under a spreading beach they sat,
And pass'd the time with female chat;
Whilst each her character maintain'd;
One spoke her thoughts, the other feign'd.
At length, quoth Falsehood, sister Truth
(For so she call'd her from her youth),
What if, to shun yon sultry beam,
We bathe in this delightful stream;
The bottom smooth, the water clear,
And there's no prying shepherd near?
With all my heart, the nymph replied,
And threw her snowy robes aside,
Stript herself naked to the skin,
And with a spring leapt headlong in.
Falsehood more leisurely undrest,
And, laying by her tawdry vest,
Trick'd herself out in Truth's array,
And 'cross the meadows tript away.
From this curst hour, the fraudful dame
Of sacred Truth usurps the name,
And, with a vile, perfidious mind,
Roams far and near, to cheat mankind;
False sighs suborns, and artful tears,
And starts with vain pretended fears;
In visits, still appears most wise,
And rolls at church her saint-like eyes;
Talks very much, plays idle tricks,
While rising stock [Footnote: South Sea, 1720.] her conscience pricks;
When being, poor thing, extremely gravel'd,
The secrets op'd, and all unravel'd.
But on she will, and secrets tell
Of John and Joan, and Ned and Nell,
Reviling every one she knows,
As fancy leads, beneath the rose.
Her tongue, so voluble and kind,
It always runs before her mind;
As times do serve, she slyly pleads,
And copious tears still show her needs.
With promises as thick as weeds—
Speaks pro and con., is wondrous civil,
To-day a saint, to-morrow devil.
Poor Truth she stript, as has been said,
And naked left the lovely maid,
Who, scorning from her cause to wince,
Has gone stark-naked ever since;
And ever naked will appear,
Belov'd by all who Truth revere.
FLATTERY. A FABLE. SIR CHARLES HANBURY WILLIAMS.
Fanny, beware of flattery,
Your sex's much-lov'd enemy;
For other foes we are prepar'd,
And Nature puts us on our guard:
In that alone such charms are found,
We court the dart, we nurse the hand;
And this, my child, an Aesop's Fable
Will prove much better than I'm able.
A young vain female Crow,
Had perch'd upon a pine tree's bough,
And sitting there at ease,
Was going to indulge her taste,
In a most delicious feast,
Consisting of a slice of cheese.
A sharp-set Fox (a wily creature)
Pass'd by that way
In search of prey;
When to his nose the smell of cheese,
Came in a gentle western breeze;
No Welchman knew, or lov'd it better:
He bless'd th' auspicious wind,
And strait look'd round to find,
What might his hungry stomach fill,
And quickly spied the Crow,
Upon a lofty bough,
Holding the tempting prize within her bill.
But she was perch'd too high,
And Reynard could not fly:
She chose the tallest tree in all the wood,
What then could bring her down?
Or make the prize his own?
Nothing but flatt'ry could.
He soon the silence broke,
And thus ingenious hunger spoke:
"Oh, lovely bird,
Whose glossy plumage oft has stirr'd
The envy of the grove;
Thy form was Nature's pleasing care,
So bright a bloom, so soft an air,
All that behold must love.
But, if to suit a form like thine,
Thy voice be as divine;
If both in these together meet,
The feather'd race must own
Of all their tribe there's none,
Of form so fair, of voice so sweet.
Who'll then regard the linnet's note,
Or heed the lark's melodious throat?
What pensive lovers then shall dwell
With raptures on their Philomel?
The goldfinch shall his plumage hide,
The swan abate her stately pride,
And Juno's bird no more display
His various glories to the sunny day:
Then grant thy Suppliant's prayer,
And bless my longing ear
With notes that I would die to hear!"
Flattery prevail'd, the Crow believ'd
The tale, and was with joy deceiv'd;
In haste to show her want of skill,
She open'd wide her bill:
She scream'd as if the de'el was in her
Her vanity became so strong
That, wrapt in her own frightful song,
She quite forgot, and dropt her dinner,
The morsel fell quick by the place
Where Reynard lay,
Who seized the prey
And eat it without saying grace.
He sneezimg cried "The day's my own,
My ends obtain'd
The prize is gain'd,
And now I'll change my note.
Vain, foolish, cheated Glow,
Lend your attention now,
A truth or two I'll tell you!
For, since I've fill'd my belly,
Of course my flattry's done:
Think you I took such pains,
And spoke so well only to hear you croak?
No, 'twas the luscious bait,
And a keen appetite to eat,
That first inspir'd, and carried on the cheat
'Twas hunger furnish'd hands and matter,
Flatterers must live by those they flatter;
But weep not, Crow, a tongue like mine
Might turn an abler head than thine;
And though reflection may displease,
If wisely you apply your thought,
To learn the lesson I have taught,
Experience, sure, is cheaply bought,
And richly worth a slice of cheese."