Here we stop,
And wait for Philip.
DAGW: I hope so.
AUD: There, Sir Thomas; do you call that fear?
DAGW: I don’t know; perhaps he takes it by fits.
Why, noble Chandos, look you here –
50 One rotten sheep spoils the whole flock;
And if the bell-weather is tainted, I wish
The Prince may not catch the distemper too.
CHAND: Distemper, Sir Thomas! what distemper?
I have not heard.
DAGW: Why, Chandos, you are a wise man,
I know you understand me; a distemper
The King caught here in France of running away.
AUD: Sir Thomas, you say, you have caught it too.
DAGW: And so will the whole army; ’tis very catching,
60 For when the coward runs, the brave man totters.
Perhaps the air of the country is the cause. –
I feel it coming upon me, so I strive against it;
You yet are whole, but after a few more
Retreats, we all shall know how to retreat
Better than fight. – To be plain, I think retreating
Too often, takes away a soldier’s courage.
CHAND: Here comes the King himself; tell him your thoughts
Plainly, Sir Thomas.
DAGW: I’ve told him before, but his disorder
70 Makes him deaf.
Enter King Edward and Black Prince.
KING: Good morrow, Generals; when English courage fails,
Down goes our right to France;
But we are conquerors every where; nothing
Can stand our soldiers; each man is worthy
Of a triumph. Such an army of heroes
Ne’er shouted to the Heav’ns, nor shook the field.
Edward, my son, thou art
Most happy, having such command; the man
Were base who were not fir’d to deeds
80 Above heroic, having such examples.
PRINCE: Sire! with respect and deference I look
Upon such noble souls, and wish myself
Worthy the high command that Heaven and you
Have given me. When I have seen the field glow,
And in each countenance the soul of war
Curb’d by the manliest reason, I have been wing’d
With certain victory; and ’tis my boast,
And shall be still my glory. I was inspir’d
By these brave troops.
90 DAGW: Your Grace had better make
Them all Generals.
KING: Sir Thomas Dagworth, you must have your joke,
And shall, while you can fight as you did at
The Ford.
DAGW: I have a small petition to your Majesty.
KING: What can Sir Thomas Dagworth ask, that Edward Can refuse?
DAGW: I hope your Majesty cannot refuse so great
A trifle: I’ve gilt your cause with my best blood,
100 And would again, were I not forbid
By him whom I am bound to obey: my hands
Are tied up, my courage shrunk and wither’d,
My sinews slacken’d, and my voice scarce heard;.
Therefore I beg I may return to England.
KING: I know not what you could have ask’d, Sir Thomas,
That I would not have sooner parted with
Than such a soldier as you have been, and such a friend;
Nay, I will know the most remote particulars
Of this your strange petition; that, if I can,
110 I still may keep you here.
DAGW: Here on the fields of Cressy we are settled,
’Till Philip springs the tim’rous covey again.
The Wolf is hunted down by causeless fear;
The Lion flees, and fear usurps his heart;
Startled, astonish’d at the clam’rous Cock;
The Eagle, that doth gaze upon the sun,
Fears the small fire that plays about the fen;
If, at this moment of their idle fear,
The Dog doth seize the Wolf, the Forester the Lion,
120 The Negro in the crevice of the rock,
Doth seize the soaring Eagle; undone by flight,
They tame submit; such the effect flight has
On noble souls. Now hear its opposite:
The tim’rous Stag starts from the thicket wild,
The fearful Crane springs from the splashy fen,
The shining Snake glides o’er the bending grass,
The Stag turns head! and bays the crying Hounds;
The Crane o’ertaken, sighteth with the Hawk;
The Snake doth turn, and bite the padding foot;
130 And, if your Majesty’s afraid of Philip,
You are more like a Lion than a Crane:
Therefore I beg I may return to England.
KING: Sir Thomas, now I understand your mirth,
Which often plays with Wisdom for its pastime,
And brings good counsel from the breast of laughter,
I hope you’ll stay, and see us fight this battle,
And reap rich harvest in the fields of Cressy;
Then go to England, tell them how we fight,
And set all hearts on fire to be with us.
140 Philip is plum’d, and thinks we flee from him,
Else he would never dare to attack us. Now,
Now the quarry’s set! and Death doth sport
In the bright sunshine of this fatal day.
DAGW: Now my heart dances, and I am as light
As the young bridegroom going to be married.
Now must I to my soldiers, get them ready,
Furbish our armours bright, new plume our helms,
And we will sing, like the young housewives busied
In the dairy; my feet are wing’d, but not
150 For flight, an please your grace.
KING: If all my soldiers are as pleas’d as you,
’Twill be a gallant thing to fight or die;
Then I can never be afraid of Philip.
DAGW: A raw-bon’d fellow t’other day pass’d by me;
I told him to put off his hungry looks –
He answer’d me, ‘I hunger for another battle.’
I saw a little Welchman with a fiery face;
I told him he look’d like a candle half
Burn’d out; he answer’d, he was ‘pig enough
160 ‘To light another pattle.’ Last night, beneath
The moon I walk’d abroad, when all had pitch’d
Their tents, and all were still,
I heard a blooming youth singing a song
He had compos’d, and at each pause he wip’d
His dropping eyes. The ditty was, ‘if he
‘Return’d victorious, he should wed a maiden
‘Fairer than snow, and rich as midsummer.’
Another wept, and wish’d health to his father.
I chid them both, but gave them noble hopes.
170 These are the minds that glory in the battle,
And leap and dance to hear the trumpet sound.
KING: Sir Thomas Dagworth, be thou near our person;
Thy heart is richer than the vales of France:
I will not part with such a man as thee.
If Philip came arm’d in the ribs of death,
And shook his mortal dart against my head,
Thoud’st laugh his fury into nerveless shame!
Go now, for thou art suited to the work,
Throughout the camp; enflame the timorous,
180 Blow up the sluggish into ardour, and
Confirm the strong with strength, the weak inspire,
And wing their brows with hope and expectation:
Then to our tent return, and meet to council.
Exit Dagworth.
CHAND: That man’s a hero in his closet, and more
A hero to the servants of his house
Than to the gaping world; he carries windows
In that enlarged breast of his, that all
May see what’s done within.
PRINCE: He is a genuine Englishman, my Chandos,
190 And hath the spirit of Liberty within him.
Forgive my prejudice, Sir John; I think
My Englishmen the bravest people on
The face of the earth.
CHAND: Courage, my Lord, proceeds from self-dependence;
Teach man to think he’s a free agent,
Give but a slave his liberty, he’ll shake
Off sloth, and build himself a hut, and hedge
A spot of ground; this he’ll defend; ’tis his
By right of nature: thus set in action,
200 He will still move onward to plan conveniences,
’Till glory fires his breast to enlarge his castle,
While the poor slave drudges all day, in hope
To rest at night.
KING: O Liberty, how glorious art thou!
I see thee hov’ring o’er my army, with
Thy wide-stretch’d plumes; I see thee
Lead them on to battle;
210 I see thee blow thy golden trumpet, while
Thy sons shout the strong shout of victory!
O noble Chandos! think thyself a gardener,
My son a vine, which I commit unto
Thy care; prune all extravagant shoots, and guide
Th’ ambitious tendrils in the paths of wisdom;
Water him with thy advice, and Heav’n
Rain fresh’ning dew upon his branches. And,
O Edward, my dear son! learn to think lowly of
Thyself, as we may all each prefer other –
’Tis the best policy, and ’tis our duty.
Exit King Edward.
PRINCE: And may our duty, Chandos, be our pleasure –
220 Now we are alone, Sir John, I will unburden,
And breathe my hopes into the burning air,
Where thousand deaths are posting up and down,
Commission’d to this fatal field of Cressy;
Methinks I see them arm my gallant soldiers,
And gird the sword upon each thigh, and fit
Each shining helm, and string each stubborn bow,
And dance to the neighing of our steeds.
Methinks the shout begins, the battle burns;
Methinks I see them perch on English crests,
230 And roar the wild flame of fierce war, upon
The thronged enemy! In truth, I am too full;
It is my sin to love the noise of war.
Chandos, thou seest my weakness; strong nature
Will bend or break us; my blood, like a springtide,
Does rise so high, to overflow all bounds
Of moderation; while Reason, in his
Frail bark, can see no shore or bound for vast
Ambition. Come, take the helm, my Chandos,
That my full-blown sails overset me not
240 In the wild tempest; condemn my ’ventrous youth,
That plays with danger, as the innocent child,
Unthinking, plays upon the viper’s den:
I am a coward, in my reason, Chandos.
CHAND: You are a man, my prince, and a brave man,
If I can judge of actions; but your heat
Is the effect of youth, and want of use;
Use makes the armed field and noisy war
Pass over as a summer cloud, unregarded,
Or but expected as a thing of course.
250 Age is contemplative; each rolling year
Brings forth fruit to the mind’s treasure-house;
While vacant youth doth crave and seek about
Within itself, and findeth discontent:
Then, tir’d of thought, impatient takes the wing,
Seizes the fruits of time, attacks experience,
Roams round vast Nature’s forest, where no bounds
Are set, the swiftest may have room, the strongest
Find prey; till tir’d at length, sated and tired
With the changing sameness, old variety,
260 We sit us down, and view our former joys
With distaste and dislike.
PRINCE: Then if we must tug for experience,
Let us not fear to beat round Nature’s wilds,
And rouze the strongest prey; then if we fall,
We fall with glory; I know the wolf
Is dangerous to fight, not good for food,
Nor is the hide a comely vestment; so
We have our battle for our pains. I know
That youth has need of age to point fit prey,
270 And oft the stander-by shall steal the fruit
Of th’ other’s labour. This is philosophy;
These are the tricks of the world; but the pure soul
Shall mount on native wings, disdaining
Little sport, and cut a path into the heaven of glory,
Leaving a track of light for men to wonder at.
I’m glad my father does not hear me talk;
You can find friendly excuses for me, Chandos;
But do you not think, Sir John, that if it please
Th’ Almighty to stretch out my span of life,
280 I shall with pleasure view a glorious action,
Which my youth master’d.
CHAND: Considerate age, my Lord, views motives,
And not acts; when neither warbling voice,
Nor trilling pipe is heard, nor pleasure sits
With trembling age; the voice of Conscience then,
Sweeter than music in a summer’s eve,
Shall warble round the snowy head, and keep
Sweet symphony to feather’d angels, sitting
As guardians round your chair; then shall the pulse
290 Beat slow, and taste, and touch, and sight, and sound, and smell,
That sing and dance round Reason’s fine-wrought throne,
Shall flee away, and leave him all forlorn;
Yet not forlorn if Conscience is his friend.
Exeunt.
SCENE [4]
In Sir Thomas Dagworth’s Tent. Dagworth and William his Man.
DAGW: Bring hither my armour, William;
Ambition is the growth of ev’ry clime.
WILL: Does it grow in England, Sir?
DAGW: Aye, it grows most in lands most cultivated.
WILL: Then it grows most in France; the vines here
Are finer than any we have in England.
DAGW: Aye, but the oaks are not.
WILL: What is the tree you mentioned? I don’t think
I ever saw it.
10 DAGW: Ambition.
WILL: Is it a little creeping root that grows in ditches?
DAGW: Thou dost not understand me, William.
It is a root that grows in every breast;
Ambition is the desire or passion that one man
Has to get before another, in any pursuit after glory;
But I don’t think you have any of it.
WILL: Yes, I have; I have a great ambition to know every thing, Sir.
DAGW: But when our first ideas are wrong, what follows
20 must all be wrong of course; ’tis best to know a little, and to know that little aright.
WILL: Then, Sir, I should be glad to know if it was not ambition that brought over our King to France to fight for his right?
DAGW: Tho’ the knowledge of that will not profit thee much, yet I will tell you that it was ambition.
WILL: Then if ambition is a sin, we are all guilty in coming with him, and in fighting for him.
30 DAGW: Now, William, thou dost thrust the question
home; but I must tell you, that guilt being an act of the mind, none are guilty but those whose minds are prompted by that same ambition.
WILL: Now I always thought, that a man might be guilty of doing wrong, without knowing it was wrong.
DAGW: Thou art a natural philosopher, and knowest truth by instinct; while reason runs aground, as we have run our argument. Only remember, William, all have it in their power to know the motives of their own actions, and ’tis a sin to act without some reason.
40 WILL: And whoever acts without reason, may do a great
deal of harm without knowing it.
DAGW: Thou art an endless moralist.
WILL: Now there’s a story come into my head, that I will tell your honour, if you’ll give me leave.
DAGW: No, William, save it till another time; this is no time for storytelling; but here comes one who is as entertaining as a good story.
Enter Peter Blunt.
PETER: Yonder’s a musician going to play before the King; it’s a new song about the French and English, and the
50 Prince has made the minstrel a ’squire, and given him I
don’t know what, and I can’t tell whether he don’t mention us all one by one; and he is to write another about all us that are to die, that we may be remembered in Old England, for all our blood and bones are in France; and a great deal more that we shall all hear by and by; and I came to tell your honour, because you love to hear war-songs.
DAGW: And who is this minstrel, Peter, do’st know?
PETER: O aye, I forgot to tell that; he has got the same
60 name as Sir John Chandos, that the prince is always
with – the wise man, that knows us all as well as your honour, only e’nt so good natur’d.
DAGW: I thank you, Peter, for your information, but not for your compliment, which is not true; there’s as much difference between him and me, as between glittering sand and fruitful mold; or shining glass and a wrought diamond, set in rich gold, and fitted to the finger of an emperor: such is that worthy Chandos.
PETER: I know your honour does not think any thing of
70 yourself, but every body else does.
DAGW: Go, Peter, get you gone; flattery is delicious, even from the lips of a babbler.
Exit Peter.
WILL: I never flatter your honour.
DAGW: I don’t know that.
WILL: Why you know, Sir, when we were in England, at the tournament at Windsor, and the Earl of Warwick was tumbled over, you ask’d me if he did not look well when he fell? and I said, No, he look’d very foolish; and you was very angry with me for not flattering you.
80 DAGW: You mean that I was angry with you for not flattering
the Earl of Warwick.
Exeunt.
SCENE [5]
Sir Thomas Dagwort’s Tent. Sir Thomas Dagworth – to him.
Enter Sir Walter Manny.
SIR WALTER: Sir Thomas Dagworth, I have been weeping
Over the men that are to die to-day.
DAGW: Why, brave Sir Walter, you or I may fall.
SIR WALTER: I know this breathing flesh must lie and rot,
Cover’d with silence and forgetfulness. –
Death wons in cities’ smoke, and in still night,
When men sleep in their beds, walketh about!
How many in walled cities lie and groan,
Turning themselves upon their beds,
10 Talking with death, answering his hard demands!
How many walk in darkness, terrors are round
The curtains of their beds, destruction is
Ready at the door! How many sleep
In earth, cover’d with stones and deathy dust,
Resting in quietness, whose spirits walk
Upon the clouds of heaven, to die no more!
Yet death is terrible, tho’ borne on angels’ wings!
How terrible then is the field of death,
Where he doth rend the vault of heaven,
20 And shake the gates of hell!
O Dagworth, France is sick! the very sky,
Tho’ sunshine light it, seems to me as pale
As the pale fainting man on his death-bed,
Whose face is shewn by light of sickly taper!
It makes me sad and sick at very heart,
Thousands must fall to-day!
DAGW: Thousands of souls must leave this prison house,
To be exalted to those heavenly fields,
Where songs of triumph, palms of victory,
30 Where peace, and joy, and love, and calm content,
Sit singing in the azure clouds, and strew
Flowers of heaven’s growth over the banquet-table:
Bind ardent Hope upon your feet like shoes,
Put on the robe of preparation,
The table is prepar’d in shining heaven,
The flowers of immortality are blown;
Let those that fight, fight in good stedfastness,
And those that fall shall rise in victory.
SIR WALTER: I’ve often seen the burning field of war,
40 And often heard the dismal clang of arms;
But never, till this fatal day of Cressy,
Has my soul fainted with these views of death!
I seem to be in one great charnel-house,
And seem to scent the rotten carcases!
I seem to hear the dismal yells of death,
While the black gore drops from his horrid jaws:
Yet I not fear the monster in his pride. –
But O the souls that are to die to-day!
DAGW: Stop, brave Sir Walter; let me drop a tear,
50 Then let the clarion of war begin;
I’ll fight and weep, ’tis in my country’s cause;
I’ll weep and shout for glorious liberty.
Grim war shall laugh and shout, decked in tears,
And blood shall flow like streams across the
meadows, That murmur down their pebbly channels, and
Spend their sweet lives to do their country service:
Then shall England’s verdure shoot, her fields shall smile,
Her ships shall sing across the foaming sea,
Her mariners shall use the flute and viol,
60 And rattling guns, and black and dreary war,
Shall be no more.
SIR WALTER: Well; let the trumpet sound, and the drum beat;
Let war stain the blue heavens with bloody banners,
I’ll draw my sword, nor ever sheath it up,
’Till England blow the trump of victory,
Or I lay stretch’d upon the field of death!
Exeunt.
SCENE [6]
In the Camp. Several of the Warriors met at the King’s Tent with a Minstrel, who sings the following Song:
O sons of Trojan Brutus, cloath’d in war,
Whose voices are the thunder of the field,
Rolling dark clouds o’er France, muffling the sun
In sickly darkness like a dim eclipse,
Threatening as the red brow of storms, as fire
Burning up nations in your wrath and fury!
Your ancestors came from the fires of Troy,
(Like lions rouz’d by light’ning from their dens,
Whose eyes do glare against the stormy fires)
10 Heated with war, fill’d with the blood of Greeks,
With helmets hewn, and shields covered with gore,
In navies black, broken with wind and tide!
They landed in firm array upon the rocks
Of Albion; they kiss’d the rocky shore;
‘Be thou our mother, and our nurse,’ they said;
‘Our children’s mother, and thou shalt be our grave;
‘The sepulchre of ancient Troy, from whence
‘Shall rise cities, and thrones, and arms, and awful
pow’rs.’
Our fathers swarm from the ships. Giant voices
20 Are heard from the hills, the enormous sons
Of Ocean run from rocks and caves: wild men,
Naked and roaring like lions, hurling rocks,
And wielding knotty clubs, like oaks entangled
Thick as a forest, ready for the axe.
Our fathers move in firm array to battle,
The savage monsters rush like roaring fire;
Like as a forest roars with crackling flames,
When the red lightning, borne by furious storms,
Lights on some woody shore; the parched heavens
30 Rain fire into the molten raging sea!
The smoaking trees are strewn upon the shore,
Spoil’d of their verdure! O how oft have they
Defy’d the storm that howled o’er their heads!
Our fathers, sweating, lean on their spears, and view
The mighty dead: giant bodies, streaming blood,
Dread visages, frowning in silent death!
Then Brutus spoke, inspir’d; our fathers sit
40 Attentive on the melancholy shore: –
Hear ye the voice of Brutus – ‘The flowing waves
‘Of time come rolling o’er my breast,’ he said;
‘And my heart labours with futurity:
‘Our sons shall rule the empire of the sea.
‘Their mighty wings shall stretch from east to west,
‘Their nest is in the sea; but they shall roam
‘Like eagles for the prey; nor shall the young
‘Crave or be heard; for plenty shall bring forth,
‘Cities shall sing, and vales in rich array
‘Shall laugh, whose fruitful laps bend down with fulness.
‘Our sons shall rise from thrones in joy,
50 ‘Each one buckling on his armour; Morning
‘Shall be prevented by their swords gleaming,
‘And Evening hear their song of victory!
‘Their towers shall be built upon the rocks,
‘Their daughters shall sing, surrounded with shining spears!
‘Liberty shall stand upon the cliffs of Albion,
‘Casting her blue eyes over the green ocean;
‘Or, tow’ring, stand upon the roaring waves,
‘Stretching her mighty spear o’er distant lands;
‘While, with her eagle wings, she covereth
‘Fair Albion’s shore, and all her families’
Dramatic Fragments
PROLOGUE, INTENDED FOR A DRAMATIC PIECE OF KING EDWARD THE FOURTH
O For a voice like thunder, and a tongue
To drown the throat of war! – When the senses
Are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness,
Who can stand? When the souls of the oppressed
Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand?
When the whirlwind of fury comes from the
Throne of God, when the frowns of his countenance
Drive the nations together, who can stand?
When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle,
10 And sails rejoicing in the flood of Death;
When souls are torn to everlasting fire,
And fiends of Hell rejoice upon the slain,
O who can stand? O who hath caused this?
O who can answer at the throne of God?
The Kings and Nobles of the Land have done it!
Hear it not, Heaven, thy Ministers have done it!
PROLOGUE TO KING JOHN
Justice hath heaved a sword to plunge in Albion’s breast; for Albion’s sins are crimson dy’d, and the red scourge follows her desolate sons! Then Patriot rose; full oft did Patriot rise, when Tyranny hath stain’d fair Albion’s breast with her own children’s gore. Round his majestic feet deep thunders roll; each heart does tremble, and each knee grows slack. The stars of heaven tremble: the roaring voice of war, the trumpet, calls to battle! Brother in brother’s blood must bathe, rivers of death! O land, most hapless!
10 O beauteous island, how forsaken! Weep from thy
silver fountains; weep from thy gentle rivers! The angel of the island weeps! Thy widowed virgins weep beneath thy shades! Thy aged fathers gird themselves for war! The sucking infant lives to die in battle; the weeping mother feeds him for the slaughter! The husbandman doth leave his bending harvest! Blood cries afar! The land doth sow itself! The glittering youth of courts must gleam in arms! The aged senators their ancient swords assume! The trembling sinews of old age must work the work of death
20 against their progeny; for Tyranny hath stretch’d his
purple arm, and ‘blood,’ he cries; ‘the chariots and the horses, the noise of shout, and dreadful thunder of the battle heard afar!’ – Beware, O Proud! thou shalt be humbled; thy cruel brow, thine iron heart is smitten, though lingering Fate is slow. O yet may Albion smile again, and stretch her peaceful arms, and raise her golden head, exultingly! Her citizens shall throng about her gates, her mariners shall sing upon the sea, and myriads shall to her temples crowd! Her sons shall joy as
30 in the morning! Her daughters sing as to the rising year!
A WAR SONG TO ENGLISHMEN
Prepare, prepare, the iron helm of war,
Bring forth the lots, cast in the spacious orb;
Th’ Angel of Fate turns them with mighty hands,
And casts them out upon the darken’d earth!
Prepare, prepare.
Prepare your hearts for Death’s cold hand! prepare
Your souls for flight, your bodies for the earth!
Prepare your arms for glorious victory!
Prepare your eyes to meet a holy God!
10 Prepare, prepare.
Whose fatal scroll is that? Methinks ’tis mine!
Why sinks my heart, why faultereth my tongue?
Had I three lives, I’d die in such a cause,
And rise, with ghosts, over the well-fought field.
Prepare, prepare.
The arrows of Almighty God are drawn!
Angels of Death stand in the low’ring heavens!
Thousands of souls must seek the realms of light,
And walk together on the clouds of heaven!
20 Prepare, prepare.
Soldiers, prepare! Our cause is Heaven’s cause;
Soldiers, prepare! Be worthy of our cause:
Prepare to meet our fathers in the sky:
Prepare, O troops, that are to fall to-day!
Prepare, prepare.
Alfred shall smile, and make his harp rejoice;
The Norman William, and the learned Clerk,
And Lion Heart, and black-brow’d Edward, with
His loyal queen shall rise, and welcome us!
30 Prepare, prepare.
Poems Written in a Copy of Poetical Sketches
SONG 1ST BY A SHEPHERD
Welcome stranger to this place,
Where joy doth sit on every bough,
Paleness flies from every face,
We reap not what we do not sow.
Innocence doth like a Rose,
Bloom on every Maidens cheek;
Honor twines around her brows,
The jewel Health adorns her neck.
SONG 2ND BY A YOUNG SHEPHERD
When the trees do laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs with the noise of it,
When the meadow laughs with lively green,
And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene;
When the greenwood laughs with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by,
When Edessa, and Lyca, and Emilie,
With their sweet round mouths sing Ha, Ha, He.
When the painted birds laugh in the shade
10 Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread,
Come live and be merry and join with me,
To sing the sweet chorus of Ha, Ha, He.
SONG 3RD BY AN OLD SHEPHERD
When silver snow decks Sylvio’s cloaths
And jewel hangs at shepherd’s nose,
We can abide life’s pelting storm
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Whilst Virtue is our walking staff,
And Truth a lantern to our path;
We can abide life’s pelting storm
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Blow boisterous Wind, stern Winter frown,
10 Innocence is a Winter’s gown;
So clad, we’ll abide life’s pelting storm
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
SONGS FROM ‘AN ISLAND IN THE MOON’
From CHAP 3d
In the Moon as Phebus stood over his oriental Gardening O ay come Ill sing you a song said the Cynic, the trumpeter shit in his hat said the Epicurean & clapt it on his head said the Pythagorean
Ill begin again said the Cynic
Little Phebus came strutting in
With his fat belly & his round chin
What is it you would please to have
Ho Ho
10 I wont let it go at only so & so
*
Then the Cynic sung
Honour & Genius is all I ask
And I ask the Gods no more
Here Aradobo suckd his under lip
From CHAP 6
Ah said Sipsop, I only wish Jack [Hunter] Tearguts had had the cutting of Plutarch he understands anatomy better than any of the Ancients hell plunge his knife up to the hilt in a single drive and thrust his fist in, and all in the space of a Quarter of an hour. he does not mind their crying – tho they cry ever so hell Swear at them & keep them down with his fist & tell them that hell scrape their bones if they done lay still & be quiet – What the devil should the people in the hospital that have it done for
10 nothing, make such a piece of work for
Hang that said Suction let us have a Song
Then [Sipsop sang] the Cynic sang
When old corruption first begun
Adornd in yellow vest
He committed on flesh a whoredom
O what a wicked beast
2
From them a callow babe did spring
And old corruption smild
To think his race should never end
20 For now he had a child
3
He calld him Surgery & fed
The babe with his own milk
For flesh & he could neer agree
She would not let him suck
4
And this he always kept in mind
And formd a crooked knife
And ran about with bloody hands
To seek his mothers life
5
And as he ran to seek his mother
30 He met with a dead woman
He fell in love & married her
A deed which is not common
6
She soon grew pregnant & brought forth
Scurvy & spotted fever
The father grind & skipt about
And said I’m made for ever
7
For now I have procurd these imps
Ill try experiments
With that he tied poor scurvy down
40 & stopt up all its vents
8
And when the child began to swell
He shouted out aloud
Ive found the dropsy out & soon
Shall do the world more good
9
He took up fever by the neck
And cut out all its spots
And thro the holes which he had made
He first discovered guts
From CHAP 8
Hear then the pride & knowledge of a Sailor
His sprit sail fore sail main sail & his mizen
A poor frail man god wot I know none frailer
I know no greater sinner than John Taylor
*
Phebe drest like beauties Queen
Jellicoe in faint peagreen
Sitting all beneath a grot
Where the little [lambs do] lambkins trot
Maidens dancing loves a sporting
10 All the country folks a courting
Susan Johnny Bet & Joe
Lightly tripping on a row
Happy people who can be
In happiness compard with ye
The Pilgrim with his crook & hat
Sees your happiness compleat
CHAP 9
I say this evening [we’d] we’ll all get drunk. I say dash, an Anthem an Anthem, said Suction
Lo the Bat with Leathern wing
Winking & blinking
Winking & blinking
Winking & blinking
Like Doctor Johnson
Quid–––O ho Said Doctor Johnson
To Scipio Africanus
10 If you dont own me a Philosopher
Ill kick your Roman Anus
Suction – A ha To Doctor Johnson
Said Scipio Africanus
Lift up my Roman Petticoatt
And kiss my Roman Anus
And the Cellar goes down with a Step (Grand Chorus
Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Hooooo my poooooor siiides I I should die if I was to live here said Scopprell Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho
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Here was Great confusion & disorder Aradobo said that the boys in the street sing something very pritty & funny [about London O no] about Matches Then Mrs Nannicantipot sung
30 I cry my matches as far as Guild hall
God bless the duke & his aldermen all
Then sung Scopprell
I ask the Gods no more
no more no more
Then Said Suction come Mr Lawgiver your song and the Lawgiver sung
As I walkd forth one may morning
To see the fields so pleasant & so gay
O there did I spy a young maiden sweet
40 Among the Violets that smell so sweet
Smell so sweet
Smell so sweet
Among the Violets that smell so sweet
Hang your Violets heres your Rum & water [sweeter] O ay said Tilly Lally. Joe Bradley & I was going along one day in the Sugar house Joe Bradley saw for he had but one eye saw a treacle Jar So he goes of his blind side & dips his hand up to the shoulder in treacle. here lick lick lick said he Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha For he had but one eye
50 Ha Ha Ha Ho then sung Scopprell
And I ask the Gods no more
no more no more
no more no more
Miss Gittipin said he you sing like a harpsichord. let your bounty descend to our fair ears and favour us with a fine song
then she sung
This frog he would a wooing ride
Kitty alone Kitty alone
60 This frog he would a wooing ride
Kitty alone & I
[This frog] Sing cock I cary Kitty alone
Kitty alone Kitty alone
Cock I cary Kitty alone
Kitty alone & I
Charming truly elegant said Scopprell
And I ask the gods no more
Hang your Serious Songs, said Sipsop & he sung as follows
Fa ra so bo ro
70 Fa ra bo ra
Sa ba ra ra ba rare roro
Sa ra ra ra bo ro ro ro
Radara
Sarapodo no flo ro
Hang Italian songs lets have English said Quid [Sing a Mathematical Song Obtuse Angle then he sung] English Genius for ever here I go
Hail Matrimony made of Love
80 To thy wide gates how great a drove
On purpose to be yok’d do come
Widows & maids & Youths also
That lightly trip on beauty’s toe
Or sit on beauty’s bum
Hail fingerfooted lovely Creatures
The females of our human Natures
Formed to suckle all Mankind
Tis you that come in time of
need Without you we shoud never Breed
90 Or any Comfort find
For if a Damsel’s blind or lame
Or Nature’s hand has crooked her frame
Or if she’s deaf or is wall eyed
Yet if her heart is well inclined
Some tender lover she shall find
That panteth for a Bride
The universal Poultice this
To cure whatever is amiss
In damsel or in Widow gay
100 It makes them smile it makes them skip
Like Birds just cured of the pip
They chirp & hop away
Then come ye Maidens come ye Swains
Come & be eased of all your pains
In Matrimony’s Golden cage –
I [None of] Go & be hanged said Scopprel how can you have the face to make game of Matrimony [What you skipping flea how dare ye? Ill dash you through your chair says the Cynic This Quid (cries out Miss Gittipin) always
110 spoils good company in this manner & its a shame]
Then Quid calld upon Obtuse Angle for a Song & he wiping his face & looking on the corner of the cieling Sang
To be or not to be
Of great capacity
Like Sir Isaac Newton
Or Locke or Doctor South
Or Sherlock upon death
Id rather be Sutton
For he did build a house
120 For aged men & youth
With walls of brick & stone
He furnished it within
With whatever he could win
And all his own
He drew out of the Stocks
His money in a box
And sent his servant
To Green the Bricklayer
And to the Carpenter
130 He was so fervent
The chimneys were three score
The windows many more
And for convenience
He sinks & gutters made
And all the way he pavd
To hinder pestilence
Was not this a good man
Whose life was but a span
Whose name was Sutton
140 As Locke or Doctor South
Or Sherlock upon Death
Or Sir Isaac Newton
The Lawgiver was very attentive & begd to have it sung over again & again till the company were tired & insisted on the Lawgiver singing a song himself which he readily complied with
This city & this country has brought forth many mayors
To sit in state & give forth laws out of their old oak
chairs
With face as brown as any nut with drinking of strong ale
150 Good English hospitality O then it did not fail
With scarlet gowns & broad gold lace would make a
yeoman sweat
With stockings rolld above their knees & shoes as black
as jet
With eating beef & drinking beer O they were stout and
hale
Good English hospitality O then it did not fail
Thus sitting at the table wide the Mayor & Aldermen
Were fit to give law to the city each eat as much as ten
The hungry poor enterd the hall to eat good beef & ale
Good English hospitality O then it did not fail
Here they gave a shout & the company broke up
From CHAP 11
Upon a holy thursday their innocent faces clean
The children walking two & two in grey & blue & green
Grey headed beadles walkd before with wands as white
as snow
Till into the high dome of Pauls they like thames water
flow
O what a multitude they seemd, these flowers of
London town
Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own
The hum of multitudes were there but multitudes of
lambs
[And all in order sit waiting the chief chanters commands]
Thousands of little girls & boys raising their innocent hands
10 [When the whole multitude of innocents their voices raise
Like angels on the throne of heaven raising the voice of
praise]
[Let Cherubim & Seraphim now raise their voices high]
Then like a mighty wind they raise to heavn the voice of song
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heavn among
Beneath them sit the revrend men the guardians of the poor
Then cherish pity lest you drive an angel from your door
After this they all sat silent for a quarter of an hour [&
Mrs Sigtagatist] & Mrs Nannicantipot said it puts me in
Mind of my [grand] mothers song
[The voice/The tongues] When the tongues of children are
20 heard on the green
And laughing [upon] is heard on the hill
My heart is at rest within my breast
And every thing else is still
Then come home [children the sun is down] my children
the sun is gone down
And the dews of night arise
Come Come leave off play & let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies
No No let us play for it is yet day
And we cannot [sleep till its dark] go to sleep
30 [The flocks are at play & we cant go away]
Besides in the Sky the little birds fly
And the meadows are coverd with Sheep
Well Well go & play till the light fades away
And then go home to bed
The little ones leaped & shouted & laughd
And all the hills ecchoed
Then [Miss Gittipin] [Tilly Lolly sung] [Quid] sung
Quid
O father father where are you going
O do not walk so fast
40 O speak father speak to your little boy
Or else I shall be lost
The night it was dark & no father was there
And the child was wet with dew
The mire was deep & the child did weep
And away the vapour flew
Here nobody could sing any longer, till Tilly Lally pluckd up a spirit & he sung.
O I say you Joe
Throw us the ball
50 Ive a good mind to go
And leave you all
I never saw saw such a bowler
To bowl the ball in a [turd] tansey
And to clean it with my handkercher
Without saying a word
That Bills a foolish fellow
[To hit me with the bat]
He has given me a black eye
He does not know how to handle a bat
60 Any more than a dog or a cat
He has knockd down the wicket
And broke the stumps
And runs without shoes to save his pumps
Here a laugh began and Miss Gittipin sung
Leave O leave [me] to my sorrows
Here Ill sit & fade away
Till Im nothing but a spirit
And I lose this form of clay
Then if chance along this forest
70 Any walk in pathless ways
Thro the gloom he’ll see my shadow
Hear my voice upon the Breeze
The Lawgiver all the while sat delighted to see them in such a serious humour Mr Scopprell said he you must be acquainted with a great many songs. O dear sir Ho Ho Ho I am no singer I must beg of one of these tender hearted ladies to sing for me – they all declined & he was forced to sing himself
Theres Doctor Clash
80 And Signior Falalasole
O they sweep in the cash
Into their purse hole
Fa me la sol La me fa Sol
[(If) How many Blackamoors
Could sing with their thick lips]
Great A little A
Bouncing B
Play away Play away
Your out of the key
90 Fa me la sol La me fa sol
Musicians should have
A pair of very good ears
And Long fingers & thumbs
And not like clumsy bears
Fa me la sol La me fa sol
Gentlemen Gentlemen
Rap Rap Rap
Fiddle Fiddle Fiddle
Clap Clap Clap
100 Fa me la sol La me fa sol
Hm said the Lawgiver, funny enough lets have handels
waterpiece then Sipsop sung
A crowned king,
On a white horse sitting
With his trumpets sounding
And Banners flying
Thro the clouds of smoke he makes his way
And the shout of his thousands fills his heart with
rejoicing & victory
And the shout of his thousands fills his heart with
rejoicing & victory
110 Victory Victory – twas William the prince of Orange
THERE IS NO NATURAL RELIGION
[a]
The Argument. Man has no notion of moral fitness but from Education.
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