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A Satire Anthology
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Год написания книги
2017
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But since I’m hard press’d, and that I must forgive,
I forgive, if I die – but as sure as I live
That ugly blackguard I will surely desthroy!
So, now for your blessin’, sweet Father Molloy!”
Samuel Lover.
GAFFER GRAY
(From “Hugh Trevor.”)
HO! why dost thou shiver and shake,
Gaffer Gray?
And why does thy nose look so blue?
“’Tis the weather that’s cold,
’Tis I’m grown very old,
And my doublet is not very new,
Well-a-day!”
Then line thy worn doublet with ale,
Gaffer Gray!
And warm thy old heart with a glass.
“Nay, but credit I’ve none,
And my money’s all gone;
Then say how may that come to pass?
Well-a-day!”
Hie away to the house on the brow,
Gaffer Gray,
And knock at the jolly priest’s door.
“The priest often preaches
Against worldly riches,
But ne’er gives a mite to the poor,
Well-a-day!”
The lawyer lives under the hill,
Gaffer Gray;
Warmly fenced both in back and in front.
“He will fasten his locks,
And will threaten the stocks,
Should he ever more find me in want,
Well-a-day!”
The squire has fat beeves and brown ale,
Gaffer Gray;
And the season will welcome you there.
“His beeves and his beer,
And his merry New Year,
Are all for the flush and the fair,
Well-a-day!”
My keg is but low, I confess,
Gaffer Gray;
What then? While it lasts, man, we’ll live.
“The poor man alone,
When he hears the poor moan,
Of his morsel a morsel will give,
Well-a-day!”
Thomas Holcroft.
COCKLE V. CACKLE
THOSE who much read advertisement and bills,
Must have seen puffs of Cockle’s pills,
Call’d Anti-bilious,
Which some physicians sneer at, supercilious,
But which we are assured, if timely taken,
May save your liver and bacon;
Whether or not they really give one ease,
I, who have never tried,
Will not decide;
But no two things in union go like these,
Viz., quacks and pills – save ducks and pease.
Now Mrs. W. was getting sallow,
Her lilies not of the white kind, but yellow,
And friends portended was preparing for
A human pâté périgord;
She was, indeed, so very far from well,
Her son, in filial fear, procured a box
Of those said pellets to resist bile’s shocks,
And, tho’ upon the ear it strangely knocks,
To save her by a Cockle from a shell!
But Mrs. W., just like Macbeth,
Who very vehemently bids us “throw
Bark to the Bow-wows,” hated physic so,
It seem’d to share “the bitterness of death”:
Rhubarb, magnesia, jalap, and the kind,
Senna, steel, asafœtida, and squills,
Powder or draught; but least her throat inclined
To give a course to boluses or pills.
No, not to save her life, in lung or lobe,
For all her lights’ or liver’s sake,
Would her convulsive thorax undertake
Only one little uncelestial globe!
’Tis not to wonder at, in such a case,
If she put by the pill-box in a place
For linen rather than for drugs intended;
Yet, for the credit of the pills, let’s say,
I forgive, if I die – but as sure as I live
That ugly blackguard I will surely desthroy!
So, now for your blessin’, sweet Father Molloy!”
Samuel Lover.
GAFFER GRAY
(From “Hugh Trevor.”)
HO! why dost thou shiver and shake,
Gaffer Gray?
And why does thy nose look so blue?
“’Tis the weather that’s cold,
’Tis I’m grown very old,
And my doublet is not very new,
Well-a-day!”
Then line thy worn doublet with ale,
Gaffer Gray!
And warm thy old heart with a glass.
“Nay, but credit I’ve none,
And my money’s all gone;
Then say how may that come to pass?
Well-a-day!”
Hie away to the house on the brow,
Gaffer Gray,
And knock at the jolly priest’s door.
“The priest often preaches
Against worldly riches,
But ne’er gives a mite to the poor,
Well-a-day!”
The lawyer lives under the hill,
Gaffer Gray;
Warmly fenced both in back and in front.
“He will fasten his locks,
And will threaten the stocks,
Should he ever more find me in want,
Well-a-day!”
The squire has fat beeves and brown ale,
Gaffer Gray;
And the season will welcome you there.
“His beeves and his beer,
And his merry New Year,
Are all for the flush and the fair,
Well-a-day!”
My keg is but low, I confess,
Gaffer Gray;
What then? While it lasts, man, we’ll live.
“The poor man alone,
When he hears the poor moan,
Of his morsel a morsel will give,
Well-a-day!”
Thomas Holcroft.
COCKLE V. CACKLE
THOSE who much read advertisement and bills,
Must have seen puffs of Cockle’s pills,
Call’d Anti-bilious,
Which some physicians sneer at, supercilious,
But which we are assured, if timely taken,
May save your liver and bacon;
Whether or not they really give one ease,
I, who have never tried,
Will not decide;
But no two things in union go like these,
Viz., quacks and pills – save ducks and pease.
Now Mrs. W. was getting sallow,
Her lilies not of the white kind, but yellow,
And friends portended was preparing for
A human pâté périgord;
She was, indeed, so very far from well,
Her son, in filial fear, procured a box
Of those said pellets to resist bile’s shocks,
And, tho’ upon the ear it strangely knocks,
To save her by a Cockle from a shell!
But Mrs. W., just like Macbeth,
Who very vehemently bids us “throw
Bark to the Bow-wows,” hated physic so,
It seem’d to share “the bitterness of death”:
Rhubarb, magnesia, jalap, and the kind,
Senna, steel, asafœtida, and squills,
Powder or draught; but least her throat inclined
To give a course to boluses or pills.
No, not to save her life, in lung or lobe,
For all her lights’ or liver’s sake,
Would her convulsive thorax undertake
Only one little uncelestial globe!
’Tis not to wonder at, in such a case,
If she put by the pill-box in a place
For linen rather than for drugs intended;
Yet, for the credit of the pills, let’s say,
Другие электронные книги автора Carolyn Wells
Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее