Saint Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes.
The carps, with their spawn,
Are all thither drawn ;
Have opened their jaws,
Eager for each clause.
No sermon beside
Had the carps so edified.
Sharp-snouted pikes,
Who keep fighting like tikes,
Now swam up harmonious
To hear Saint Antonius.
No sermon beside
Had the pikes so edified.
And that very odd fish,
Who loves fast-days, the cod-fish,—
The stock-fish, I mean,
At the sermon was seen.
No sermon beside
Had the cods so edified.
Good eels and sturgeon,
Which aldermen gorge on,
Went out of their way
To hear preaching that day.
No sermon beside
Had the eels so edified.
Crabs and turtles also,
Who always move slow,
Made haste from the bottom,
As if the devil had got 'em.
No sermon beside
Had the crabs so edified.
Saint Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes.
Fish great and fish small,
Lords, lackeys, and all,
Each looked at the preacher
Like a reasonable creature.
At God's word,
They Anthony heard.
The sermon now ended,
Each turned and descended;
The pikes went on stealing,
The eels went on eeling.
Much delighted were they,
But preferred the old way.
The crabs are backsliders,
The stock-fish thick-siders,
The carps are sharp-set,
All the sermon forget.
Much delighted were they,
But preferred the old way.
WAS on the day when city dames repair
To take their weekly dose of Hide-Park ́air;
When forth we trot: no carts the road infest,
For still on Sundays country horses rest.
Thy gardens, Kensington, we leave unseen;
Through Hamersmith jog on to Turnham-green:
That Turnham-green, which dainty pigeons fed,
But feeds no more: for Solomon1 is dead.
Three dusty miles reach Brentford's tedious town,
For dirty streets, and white-legg'd chickens known:
Thence o'er wide shrubby heaths, and furrow'd lanes,
We come, where Thames divides the meads of Stanes.
We ferry'd o'er; for late the Winter's flood
Shook her frail bridge, and tore her piles of wood.
Prepar'd for war, now Bagshot Heath we cross,
Where broken gamesters oft repair their loss.
At Hartley Row the foaming bit we prest,
While the fat landlord welcom'd ev'ry guest.
Supper was ended, healths the glasses crown'd,
Our host extoll'd his wine at ev'ry round,
Relates the Justices' late meeting there,
How many bottles drank, and what their cheer;
What lords had been his guests in days of yore,
And praised their wisdom much, their drinking more.
1 A man famous for feeding pigeons at Turnham-green.
Let travellers the morning vigils keep :
The morning rose, but we lay fast asleep.
Twelve tedious miles we bore the sultry sun,
And Popham Lane was scarce in sight by one:
The straggling village harbour'd thieves of old,
'Twas here the stage-coach'd lass resign'd her gold;
That gold which had in London purchas'd gowns,
And sent her home a Belle to country towns.
Sutton we pass, and leave her spacious down,
And with the setting sun reach Stockbridge town.
O'er our parch'd tongue the rich metheglin glides,
And the red dainty trout our knife divides.
Sad melancholy ev'ry visage wears;
What, no election come in seven long years!
Of all our race of Mayors, shall Snow alone
Be by Sir Richard's dedication known?
Our streets no more with tides of ale shall float,
Nor cobblers feast three years upon one vote.
Next morn, twelve miles led o'er th' unbounded plain,
Where the cloak'd shepherd guides his fleecy train.
No leafy bow'rs a noon-day shelter lend,
Nor from the chilly dews at night defend :
With wondrous art, he counts the straggling flock,
And by the sun informs you what's a clock,
How are our shepherds fall'n from ancient days!
No Amaryllis chants alternate lays ;
From her no list'ning echoes learn to sing,
Nor with his reed the jocund valleys ring.
Here sheep the pasture hide, there harvests bend,
See Sarum's steeple o'er yon hill ascend;
2 Sir Richard Steele, when member for Stockbridge, wrote a treatise called "The Importance of Dunkirk considered," and dedicated it to Mr. John Snow, Bailiff of Stockbridge.
Our horses faintly trot beneath the heat,
And our keen stomachs know the hour to eat.
Who can forsake thy walls, and not admire
The proud cathedral, and the lofty spire?
What sempstress has not proved thy scissars good?
From hence first came th' intriguing riding-hood.
Amid three boarding-schools well stock'd with misses,
Shall three knight-errants starve for want of kisses ?3
O'er the
4 the miles slide swift away,
green turf 4
And Blandford ends the labours of the day.
The morning rose; the supper reck'ning paid,
And our due fees discharged to man and maid,
The ready ostler near the stirrup stands,
And as we mount, our half-pence load his hands.
Now the steep hill fair Dorchester o'erlooks,
Border'd by meads, and wash'd by silver brooks.
Here sleep my two companions, eyes supprest,
And propt in elbow chairs they snoring rest:
I weary sit, and with my pencil trace
Their painful postures, and their eyeless face;
Then dedicate each glass to some fair name,
And on the sash the diamond scrawls my flame.
Now o'er true Roman way our horses sound,
Grævius would kneel, and kiss the sacred ground.
On either side low fertile vallies lie,
The distant prospects tire the travelling eye.
Through Bridport's stony lanes our rout we take,
And the proud steep descend to Morcombe's lake.
As herses pass'd, our landlord robb'd the pall,
And with the mournful scutcheon hung his hall.
On unadulterate wine we here regale,
3 Salisbury was the head quarters of cutlery until supplanted by Sheffield.
the old copy from which this Epistle to the Earl of Burlington is abridged, it is thought worthy of attestation in a note that Salisbury actually contained "three" ladies' schools.
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