by Thomas Hood
She had of hoof and frog,
On coming to a gate stopped short
As stiff as any log;
Whilst Huggins in the stirrup stood
With neck like neck of crane,
As sings the Scottish song— “to see
The gate his hart had gane.”
And lo! the dim and distant hunt
Diminished in a trice:
The steeds, like Cinderella’s team,
Seemed dwindling into mice;
And, far remote, each scarlet coat
Soon flitted like a spark, —
Tho’ still the forest murmured back
An echo of the bark!
But sad at soul John Huggins turned:
No comfort could he find;
While thus the “Hunting Chorus” sped,
To stay five bars behind.
For tho’ by dint of spur he got
A leap in spite of fate —
Howbeit there was no toll at all,
They could not clear the gate.
And, like Fitzjames, he cursed the hunt,
And sorely cursed the day,
And mused a new Gray’s elegy
On his departed gray!
Now many a sign at Woodford town
Its Inn-vitation tells:
But Huggins, full of ills, of course,
Betook him to the Wells,
Where Rounding tried to cheer him up
With many a merry laugh,
But Huggins thought of neighbor Fig,
And called for half-and-half.
Yet, ‘spite of drink, he could not blink
Remembrance of his loss;
To drown a care like his, required
Enough to drown a horse.
When thus forlorn, a merry horn
Struck up without the door, —
The mounted mob were all returned;
The Epping Hunt was o’er!
And many a horse was taken out
Of saddle, and of shaft;
And men, by dint of drink, became
The only “beasts of draught.”
For now begun a harder run
On wine, and gin, and beer;
And overtaken man discussed
The overtaken deer.
How far he ran, and eke how fast,
And how at bay he stood,
Deer-like, resolved to sell his life
As dearly as he could;
And how the hunters stood aloof,
Regardful of their lives,
And shunned a beast, whose very horns
They knew could handle knives!
How Huggins stood when he was rubbed
By help and ostler kind,
And when they cleaned the clay before,
How worse “remained behind.”
And one, how he had found a horse
Adrift — a goodly gray!
And kindly rode the nag, for fear
The nag should go astray.
Now Huggins, when he heard the tale,
Jumped up with sudden glee;
“A goodly gray! why, then, I say
That gray belongs to me!
“Let me endorse again my horse,
Delivered safe and sound;
And, gladly, I will give the man
A bottle and a pound!”
The wine was drunk, — the money paid,
Tho’ not without remorse,
To pay another man so much,
For riding on his horse.
And let the chase again take place,
For many a long, long year,
John Huggins will not ride again
To hunt the Epping Deer!
MORAL.
Thus pleasure oft eludes our grasp,
Just when we think to grip her;
And hunting after happiness,
We only hunt a slipper.
COMIC MELODIES (1830)
CONTENTS
LIEUTENANT LUFF.
THE SHIP LAUNCH
GOG AND MAGOG
VALENTINE’S DAY
LOVE HAS NOT EYES
THE LORD MAYOR’S SHOW
LIEUTENANT LUFF.
All you that are too fond of wine,
Or any other stuff,
Take warning by the dismal fate
Of one Lieutenant Luff.
A sober man he might have been,
Except in one regard,
He did not like soft water,
So he took to drinking hard!
Said he, “Let others fancy slops,
And talk in praise of Tea,
But I am no Bohemian,
So do not like Bohea.
If wine’s a poison, so is Tea,
Though in another shape:
What matter whether one is kill’d
By canister or grape!”
According to this kind of taste
Did he indulge his drouth,
And being fond of Port, he made
A port-hole of his mouth!
A single pint he might have sipp’d
And not been out of sorts,
In geologic phrase — the rock
He split upon was quarts!
To “hold the mirror up to vice”
With him was hard, alas!
The worse for wine he often was,
But not “before a glass.”
No kind and prudent friend had he
To bid him drink no more, —
The only chequers in his course
Where at a tavern door!
Full soon the sad effects of this
His frame began to show,
For that old enemy the gout
Had taken him in toe!
And join’d with this an evil came
Of quite another sort —
For while he drank, himself, his purse
Was getting “something short.”
For want of cash he soon had pawn’d
One half that he possessed,
And drinking showed him duplicates
Beforehand of the rest!
So now his creditors resolved
To seize on his assets;
For why, — they found that his half-pay
Did not half pay his debts.
But Luff contrived a novel mode
His creditors to chouse;
For his own execution he
Put into his own house!
A pistol to the muzzle charged
He took devoid of fear;
Said he, “This barrel is my last,
So now for my last bier!”
Against his lungs he aimed the slugs,
And not against his brain,
So he blew out his lights — and none
Could blow them in again!
A Jury for a Verdict met,
And gave in it these terms: —
“We find as how as certain slugs
Has sent him to the worms!”
THE SHIP LAUNCH
SUNG BY MR. MATHEWS IN THE ENTERTAINMENT CALLED ‘THE SPRING MEETING’
The day is bright, the wind is light,
And gay with flags and streamers;
From side to side old Thames’s tide
Is mobb’d with boats and steamers,
Put up, my Dear, the bottled beer,
And pack the mutton haunch now,
Then off we go, row, Brothers, row,
And let us see the launch now.
So off we go, row, Brothers, row,
And let us see the launch now,
So off we go, row, Brothers, row,
And let us see the launch now!
The gallant Ship is on the slip,
Her banners waving o’er her;
And now she slides, away she glides,
And drives the foam before her.
Long may she brave the wind and wave,
And foil the foe’s endeavour;
Now let us say ‘Huzza, huzza,
Our wooden walls for ever!’ —
Now off we go, row, Brothers, row,
For we have seen the launch now,
Now off we go, row, Brothers, row,
For we have seen the launch now.
GOG AND MAGOG
A GUILDHALL DUET
MAGOG
Why, Gog, I say, it’s after One,
And yet no dinner carv’d;
Shall we endure this sort of fun,
And stand here to be starv’d?
GOG
I really think our City Lords
Must be a shabby set
I’ve stood here since King Charles’s time,
And had no dinner yet!
MAGOG
I vow I can no longer stay; —
I say, are we to dine to-day? —
GOG
My hunger would provoke a saint,
I’ve waited till I’m sick and faint;
I’ll tell you what, they’ll starve us both, —
I’ll tell you what, they’ll stop our growth.
MAGOG
I wish I had a round of Beef
My hungry tooth to charm;
I’ve wind enough in my inside
To play the Hundredth Psalm.
GOG
And yet they feast beneath our eyes
Without the least remorse; —
This very week I saw the Mayor
A feeding like a Horse!
MAGOG
Such loads of fish, and flesh, and fowl,
To think upon it makes me growl!
GOG
I wonder where the fools were taught,
That they should keep a Giant short!
They’ll stop our growth, they’ll stop our growth;
They’ll starve us both, they’ll starve us both!
MAGOG
They said, a Hundred Years ago,
That we should dine at One; —
Why, Gog, I say, our meat by this
Is rather over-done.
GOG
I do not want it done at all,
So hungry is my maw,
Give me an Alderman in chains,
And I will eat him raw!
MAGOG
Of starving Weavers they discuss,
And yet they never think of us.
I say, are we to dine to-day;
Are we to dine to-day? —
GOG
Oh dear, the pang it is to feel
So mealy-mouth’d without a meal!
MAGOG
I’ll tell you what, they’ll stop our growth!
GOG
I’ll tell you what, they’ll starve us both!
BOTH
They’ll stop our growth, they’ll starve us both!
VALENTINE’S DAY
Surely the mornin’ Cupid was born in
Ought to be kept, ’tis Valentine’s day,
Father and Mother, Sister and Brother;
This, that and t’other may preach as they may,
But nothing shall hinder a peep at the winder
To see if the Postman is over the way....
Their hearts they go pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat,
Flutter’d and flurried on Valentine’s Day.
Sure, of all days that ever were dated,
Valentine’s Day is the fullest of news; —
Then ev’ry lass expects to be mated
And Cupid goes round collecting his dues!
And levies a door-rate, like parish or poor-rate,
By getting the Postman to stand in his shoes....
Their hearts they go pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat,
Flutter’d and flurried on Valentine’s Day.
LOVE HAS NOT EYES
Of all the poor old Tobits a-groping in the street,
A Lover is the blindest that ever I did meet,
For he’s blind, he’s blind, he’s very blind, —
He’s as blind as any mole!
He thinks his love the fairest that ever yet was clasp’d,
Tho’ her clay is overbaked, and it never has been rasp’d.
For he’s blind, &c.
He thinks her face an angel’s, altho’ it’s quite a frump’s,
Like a toad a-taking physic, or a monkey in the mumps.
For he’s blind, &c.
Upon her graceful figure then how he will insist,
Tho’ she’s all so much awry, she can only eat a twist!
For he’s blind, &c.
He’ll swear that in her dancing she cuts all others out,
Tho’ like a Gal that’s galvanised, she throws her legs about.
For he’s blind, &c.
If he should have a letter in answer to his sighs,
He’ll put it to his lips up, instead of to his eyes.
For he’s blind, &c.
Then if he has a meeting the question for to put, —
In suing for her hand he’ll be kneeling at her foot.
For he’s blind, &c.
Oh Love is like a furnace wherein a Lover lies,
And like a pig before the fire, he scorches out his eyes.
Till he’s blind, &c.
THE LORD MAYOR’S SHOW
SUNG BY MR. MATHEWS IN ‘THE SPRING MEETING’
How well I remember the ninth of November,
The Sky very foggy, the Sun looking groggy,
In fact, altogether pea-soup colour’d weather.
Shop-windows all shutter’d, the pavement all buttered,
Policemen paraded, the street barricaded,
And a peal from the steeple of Bow!
Low women in pattens, high ladies in satins,
And Cousin Suburbans, in flame-colour’d turbans,
Quite up to the attics, inviting rheumatics, —
A great mob collecting, without much selecting, —
And some, it’s a pity, are free of the city,
As your pockets may happen to know!...
Such hustle and bustle, and mobbing and robbing,
All, all to see the Lord May’r’s Show!
How well I remember the ninth of November,
Six trumpets on duty, as shrill as Veluti,
A great City Marshall, to riding not partial,
The footmen, the state ones, with calves very great ones,
The Cook and the Scullion, well basted with bullion,
And the squad of each Corporate Co.
Four draymen from Perkins, in steel and brass jerkins,
A Coach like a lantern, I wonder it can turn,
All carved like old buildings, and drawn by six gildings,
With two chubby faces, where sword and where mace is,
The late May’r, the Ex one, a thought that must vex one,
And the new May’r just come into blow!...
Such hustle and bustle, and mobbing and robbing,
All, all to see the Lord May’r’s Show.
How well I remember, the ninth of November,
The fine Lady May’ress, an Ostrich’s heiress, —
In best bib and tucker, and dignified pucker,
The learned Recorder, in Old Bailey order,
The Sheriffs together, — with their hanging weather,
And their heads like John Anderson’s pow!
The Aldermen courtly, and looking ‘red port’ ly,
And buckler and bargemen, with other great large men,
With streamers and banners, held up in odd manners,
A mob running ‘arter,’ to see it by ‘vater,’
And the Wharfs popping off as they go!...
Such hustle and bustle, such mobbing and robbing, —
All, all to see the Lord May’r’s Show!
THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM, THE MURDERER
THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.
I.
’Twas in the prime of summer time,
An evening calm and cool,
And four-and-twenty happy boys
Came bounding out of school:
There were some that ran and some that lea
pt,
Like troutlets in a pool.
II.
Away they sped with gamesome minds,
And souls untouch’d by sin;
To a level mead they came, and there
They drave the wickets in:
Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.
III.
Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran, —
Turning to mirth all things of earth,
As only boyhood can;
But the Usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man!
IV.
His hat was off, his vest apart,
To catch heaven’s blessed breeze;
For a burning thought was in his brow,
And his bosom ill at ease:
So he lean’d his head on his hands, and read
The book between his knees!
V.
Leaf after leaf he turn’d it o’er,
Nor ever glanced aside,
For the peace of his soul he read that book
In the golden eventide:
Much study had made him very lean,
And pale, and leaden-eyed.
VI.
At last he shut the ponderous tome,
With a fast and fervent grasp
He strain’d the dusky covers close,
And fix’d the brazen hasp:
“Oh, God! could I so close my mind,
And clasp it with a clasp!”
VII.
Then leaping on his feet upright,
