The Choice Humorous Works, Ludicrous Adventures 89

The Choice Humorous Works, Ludicrous Adventures 89

Tom hated to go back with an empty bag; and having failed in his

attempts at higher game, it struck him as a good joke to ridicule the

exploits of the day himself, in order to prevent any one else from

doing it for him, and he thought to carry home a certain number of

the domestic inhabitants of the pond and its vicinity would serve the

purpose admirably. Accordingly, up he goes to the farmer and accosts

him very civilly--

 

"My good friend," says Tom, "I'll make you an offer."

 

"Of what, sur?" says the farmer.

 

"Why," replies Tom, "I've been out all day fagging after birds, and

haven't had a shot--now, both my barrels are loaded--I should like to

take home something; what shall I give you to let me have a shot with

each barrel at those ducks and fowls--I standing here--and to have

whatever I kill?"

 

"What sort of a shot are you?" said the farmer.

 

"Fairish," said Tom, "fairish."

 

"And to _have_ all you kill?" said the farmer, "eh?"

 

"Exactly so," said Tom.

 

"Half a guinea," said the farmer.

 

"That's too much," said Tom. "I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll give

you a seven-shilling piece, which happens to be all the money I have

in my pocket."

 

"Well," said the man, "hand it over."

 

The payment was made--Tom, true to his bargain, took his post by the

barn-door, and let fly with one barrel and then with the other; and

such quacking and splashing, and screaming and fluttering, had never

been seen in that place before.

 

Away ran Tom, and, delighted at his success, picked up first a hen,

then a chicken, then fished out a dying duck or two, and so on, until

he numbered eight head of domestic game, with which his bag was nobly

distended.

 

"Those were right good shots, sir," said the farmer.

 

"Yes," said Tom, "eight ducks and fowls were more than you

bargained for, old fellow--worth rather more, I suspect, than seven

shillings--eh?"

 

"Why, yes," said the man, scratching his head--"I think they be; but

what do I care for that--_they are none of them mine_!"

 

"Here," said Tom, "I was for once in my life _beaten_, and made off

as fast as I could, for fear the right owner of my game might make

his appearance--not but that I could have given the fellow that took

me in seven times as much as I did for his cunning and coolness."

 

 

POLLY HIGGINBOTTOM.[67]

 

In Chester's town a man there dwelt,

Not rich as Crœsus, but a buck;

The pangs of love he clearly felt--

His name was _Thomas Clutterbuck_.

The lady he did most approve

Most guineas gold had got 'em;

And Clutterbuck fell deep in love

With _Polly Higginbottom_.

O Thomas Clutterbuck!

And O Polly Higginbottom!

I sing the loves--the smiling lives--

Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom.

 

A little trip he did propose:--

Upon the Dee they got 'em;

The wind blew high--he blew his nose,

And sung to Polly Higginbottom.

The strain was sweet--the stream was deep--

He thought his notes had caught her;

But she, alas! first fell--asleep;

And then fell--in the water.

O Polly Higginbottom!

She went to the bottom--

I sing the death--the doleful death!--

Of pretty Polly Higginbottom!

 

Yet still he strain'd his little throat;

To love he did invite her;

And never miss'd her--till his boat,

He thought, went rather lighter.

But when he found that she was lost,

The summum of his wishes--

_He boldly paid the waterman_,

And jump'd among the fishes.

O Polly Higginbottom,

He comes to the bottom!

I sing the death--the double death--

Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom.

 

Round Chester stalk the river ghosts

Of this young man and fair maid:

His head looks like a _salmon-trout_;

Her tail is like a _mermaid_.

 

MORAL.

 

Learn this, ye constant lovers all,

Who live on England's island--

The way to shun a watery death

Is making love on dry land!

O Polly Higginbottom,

Who lies at the bottom!

So sing the ghosts--the water-ghosts--

Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom.

 

 

SONG.[68]

 

Mary once had lovers two--

Whining--pining--sighing:

"Ah!" cries one, "what shall I do?

Mary dear, I'm dying!"

T' other vow'd him just the same--

Dead in grief's vagary;

But sighs could never raise a flame

In the heart of Mary.

 

A youth there came, all blithe and gay--

Merry--laughing--singing--

Sporting--courting, all the day--

And set the bells a-ringing.

Soon he tripp'd it off to church,

Lightly, gay, and airy;

Leaving t' others in the lurch,

Sighing--after Mary.

 

 

PHILIP.

 

In the famed town of Cadiz

Lived the fairest of ladies,

Donna Louisa Isabella:

And she had a lover,

Who did his mind discover;

And she thought him a charming fellow.

 

Now this fairest of ladies

Had a father lived in Cadiz,

And he lock'd her within a high tower:

And her lover coming thither,

He promised to be with her

At a certain appointed hour.

 

He was there at the time,

And he call'd out in rhyme--

For his heart was consumed to a cinder--

"You have nothing now to fear,

Since your Philip now is here;--

Louisa, pray come to the window!"

 

The lady appears,

And quiets all his fears;

For his boldness she likes him the better.

"All I want," says he, "to do,

Is to get convey'd to you--

This very interesting letter!"

 

 

THE BLACKSMITH.

 

A blacksmith, you'll own, is so clever,

And great in the world is his place;

And the reason I've guess'd, why for ever

A blacksmith's deserving of grace.

Great lawyers who plead and who preach,

While many good causes they mar,

May yield to the blacksmith to teach,

For he labours still more at the _bar_!

 

When great men do wrong in the State,

The Commons try hard at their polls;

While the blacksmith, as certain as fate,

Could have 'em _haul'd over the coals_.

And if rogues put their name to a draft,

The law for their hanging will teaze;

But blacksmiths are free from all craft,

And may _forge_ just as much as they please.

 

The _vices_ of trade he holds cheap,

And laughs at the world as it rails,

For, spite of the pother they keep,

They can't make a smith _eat his nails_!

And if, to his praise be it spoke,

To raise him still higher and higher;

You may say, and without any joke,

All he gets is got _out of the fire_!

 

Then let blacksmiths be toasted round,

For well it may always be said,

When a fortune by blacksmiths is found,

They must hit the right _nail o' the head_.

 

No _irony_ now I'm about,

To his _metal_ you'll find him still true,

Since I've _hammer'd his history out_,

I hope 'twill be temper'd by you.

 

 

"MY FATHER DID SO BEFORE ME."[69]

 

When I was a chicken I went to school,

My master would call me an obstinate fool,

For I ruled the roast, and I roasted all rule,

And he wonder'd how ever he bore me.

His tables I blotted, his windows I broke,

I fired his wig, and I laughed at the smoke,

And always replied if he row'd at the joke,

Why--my father did so before me.