CANTO IV. The Chapter of VEXATIONS and DISASTERS

Coop'd up in a waggon, the curtains let down, At three, in the morning, we drove out of town; A morning more dark I ne'er saw in my life, And the fog was so thick—it would cut with a knife; In a morning like this were the Trojans undone, When the HORSE was admitted, that never could run;— It was a fit season for murders and rapes, For drunken adventures, and narrow escapes: So, with something to think of, and little to say, The driver drove on, looking out for the day, 'Till we came to the brow of a damnable hill Six miles on our way, when the cattle stood still: " Are you sure you are right with the waggon?" cry'd Snip— " I am"—said the driver, and crack'd with his whip: Then away ran the horses, but took the wrong road, And down went the waggon, with all its full load; Down, deep in a valley—roll'd over and over, Fell the flying machine, with its curtains and cover; Where shatter'd and wounded—no glimpse, yet, of day; A mass of perdition together we lay!—

THEN howlings were heard that would frighten a stone: "Morbleu!" cry'd the Frenchman, "me quite be undone; "Mon poudre perdu, and my fine eau-de-vie; Diable take him for one bon fricassee!"

NEXT rose from his ruins tall captain O'Keefe; The first thing he thought of was Cynthia's relief, Then felt for his sword, but chanc'd on a cane, And rush'd at the stageman, to smite him in twain.

AS fortune would have it, the stageman had fled, And Snip the whole vengeance receiv'd on his head:— The staff had been aim'd with so hellish a sweep, That Snip in a moment was all in a heap;— We had room to suppose that his senses were hurt, For, in spite of our bruises, he gave us some sport; His head, he conceited, "was made of new cheese;" And ask'd, "if the sexton would give up his fees?" Then rolling away, on the side of the hill With his head in a puddle he lay very still: At last he bawl'd out—"I am sick at my heart! Come hither, Snipinda, and see me depart! I am hasting away from the Delaware streams, To make no more coats, and to sew no more seams, A phantom I see, with a needle and sheers, He clips at my coat, and he threatens my ears! Snipinda, Snipinda! alas! I must leave her! And all for the sake of this rascally weaver, Who never would give me a moment of rest, 'Till I left my dear shop-board—and thus am distrest! But a time will arrive (if I deem not amiss) When Robert, the weaver, shall suffer for this— May his breeches, hereafter, be always too wide, Or so narrow and scant, as to torture his hide; May his jerken be ever too long or too short, And the skirts of his tunic not two of a sort!— And, when from this horrible jaunt you return, Tell Paddy O'Fagen 'tis needless to mourn; Ah, tell him I firmly believ'd I was going Where people no longer are stitching or sewing, Where white linnen stockings will ever be clean, And g'emmen go dress'd in your black bombazeen; Where, with old continental our debts we can pay, And the BUDS OF his BEAUTY—no blossoms display! Where with pretty brass thimbles the streets are all pav'd— And a remnant—at least—I am told—shall be sav'd; Where cloth may be cabbag'd, and that without fear, And journeymen work, thirteen months to the year!"

SNIPINDA was mov'd at so dismal a yell, And groping about, to find where he fell, She cry'd, "I have got a sad bruise on one hip, But matters, I fear, are far worser with Snip."

"YES, yes, (answer'd Snip) I'm preparing to go! Be speedy, Snipinda, my pulse is so low!"—

THEN she came where he lay, and took hold of his head, And whisper'd the Captain—"How much he has bled!" (For she thought, as he lay with his nose in the puddle, The water was blood that had flow'd from his noddle) "Ah, where is the Doctor, to give him a pill, And where is the Lawyer to scribble his will? Ezekiel, Ezekiel—! attend to his words;— If I am his widow—I will have my thirds! But can you (and here she reclin'd on his breast) And can you resolve to forsake me distrest! Is it thus you would quit me, my love, and my joy, And leave me alone with this cursed bad boy? Is it thus you consign me to trouble and woe! When you are departed—ah, where shall I go! I shall then be a widow—forsaken and sad!— And where shall I find such another sweet lad! Who then will provide me a mint-water dram, Gallant me to meeting, and who will flog Sam!"

BY this time the story was currently spread, And most were convinc'd that the taylor was dead: " The taylor is dead, beyond all relief; " The taylor is dead—"—cry'd Captain O'Keefe—

" THE taylor is dead (the lawyer exclaim'd) " God speed him!—'tis better to die than be maim'd;— " For the place where he's gone, may we also prepare, " Where the mind, when admitted, shall rest from her care; " And fiddles—the finest that ever were seen, " Shall play for his comfort a new Bonny Jean."

" THE taylor is dead"—said the company round— " The taylor is dead"—the dark forests resound— " He is dead!"—blubber'd Sam, with a counterfeit sigh, When the sailor bawl'd out—"By the lord, it's a lie— " The fellow is only contriving some fun, " His blood is not cold, and his race is not run—: " If a vessel is crank, and exposes her keel, " Are we frighten'd to death at a parlement-heel? " If he chances to tumble, and bruises his pate. " Is that a good reason to quarrel with fate?— " His head, it is true, may have had a small shock: " I'll bind it:—'twill only be strapping a block— " Here, give us a neckcloth, a napkin, a clout; " Now heave up his noddle, and frap it about: " The symptoms of life are exceedingly plain, " And Paddy O'Fagen shall see him again!"

THE matter turn'd out as he said and he swore, And the taylor threw open his peepers once more.

WHEN the morning appear'd, it is dismal to tell What mischiefs the most of our crew had befel, A bundle lay here, and a budget lay there, The Frenchman was cursing, and pulling his hair: The horses were feeding about on the hill, And Snip, with his head on a hassock, lay still: The driver beseech'd us the fault to excuse, "The night had been dark, and he lost both his shoes."—

THEN, he rais'd up his waggon, rejoicing to find That, by leaving the top, and the curtains behind, We still might proceed; for the body was sound, And the wheels, upon searching, uninjur'd all round.

BUT, dull and dishearten'd, we travell'd along, Our waggon dismantled, our harness all wrong. The Lawyer was vext that we went a snail's pace, And Cynthia complain'd of a scratch in her face; And Billy O'Bluster, who Snip had restor'd, Asserted that Snip was the Jonas on board, And often declar'd to the captain and me, "He would give him a souse if he had him at sea."

SNIPINDA repented not yet of the trip; She said, that she "only was sorry for Snip, " Whose virtues were many; and, if he were dead, " How Sam, the vile varlet, would have his own head."—

AT length, we arriv'd, with the marks of our fall, And halted to dine with the man at Road-Hall; Honest David has always a dish of the best, But Snipinda declar'd there was nothing well drest; " And, Snip (she exclaim'd) I would ask him to eat, " But I know that he never could relish roast meat: " I think it were better to get him some tea, " He always was fond of slop-dinners, like me, " But then—he could never put up with Bohea. " La Madam! is this the best tea that you keep?— " By the taste and the smell, you have purchas'd it cheap: " No Hyson or Congo to give a sick stranger; " Poor Snip, I'm afear'd that his life is in danger!

"LET him die and be d—d (said the sailor) who's he That his lean-looking paunch should be pamper'd with tea?— If I had him at sea, with the rest of our crew, I'd burn out his guts with a bowl of burgoo!"

"FROM what I can gather (cry'd Captain O'Keefe) I am sure he might venture to taste of the beef: Nay, I think I can guess from the cast of his eye, That he longs to have hold of the bak'd mutton pye."

" WHY, captain, (she cry'd) would you kill the poor sinner? " —If he cannot have tea, he shall go without dinner."

AND now to the ferry we soberly came Like beasts in a cage, that blows had made tame; The Frenchman and Snip were confoundedly lame; The corpse of the captain was all in a wreck, And the sailor complain'd of a kink in his neck, He had a contusion, he said, on his thigh, And the balladman talk'd of a bruise on his eye, Then told me, how much he was vext at the heart That no one regarded the song singing art; Yet the world was in love with his music (he said) But never consider'd he liv'd by the trade; That affronts and neglect were forever his lot, And the lovers of music respected him—not; He had sung for the nymphs, and had sung for the swains, But they were unwilling to purchase his strains, When he put up his ballads, and call'd for his pay, The swains turn'd about, and the nymphs ran away."

So, I said what I could to encourage poor Bob, And told him, "the world was no more than a mob; " That reptiles and wretches were all the world o'er, " The wonder was only there were not some more; " He should treat them alike if advanc'd to a crown, " Array'd in a rag, or disguis'd in a gown; " That the time might arrive when we both should rejoice, " And weaving and singing be matters of choice; " That a poet of genius (all history shews) " Ne'er wanted a puppy to bark at his muse; " And, tho' their productions were never twice read, " Yet Bavius and Mevius must also be fed."

THEN, looking across to the city of Perth, " I wonder (said he) if those people love mirth: " A steeple I see, and that's a bad sign, " As I once was inform'd by a cousin of mine; " For the parson holds none to be worthy of grace " If the gloom of December is not in their face; " And a church and a clerk are always together, " And a clerk and myself are not birds of one feather: " While I am reduc'd to depend upon alms " He thrives by retailing his old fashion'd psalms; " And so, my dear comrades, I think 'tis invain " Any longer to meddle with ballads prophane; " A double advantage these fellows possess, " In this wicked world they hold a good place, " And when they go hence, there is room to surmise " To the regions above, with their psalm-books, they rise, " While I, with a load of unsanctify'd rhyme, " In the service of Satan, am spending my time, " If here I'm rewarded with wailing and woe " When dead—to perdition, no doubt, I shall go!"

WHEN supper was over we hurry'd to bed, But I slept not a wink for a bruise on my head, And the balladman's story was fresh in my brain, For I was unhappy that he should complain.

THE waiter was order'd to rouse us at five— When the sailor demanded, if Snip was alive?— " Alive (answer'd Sam) and alive like to be; " He talk'd the whole night about flogging of me."

THEN the skipper came in, with a horrible noise, Exclaiming, "The stage-boat is ready, my boys! " The wind is a-head, and the ebb is a making, " The devil is in you not yet to be waking!"—

NOW, all were embark'd, and the boat under sail With a dark cloudy sky and a stiff blowing gale: The wind at north-east made a hollow head sea, Snip puk'd up his supper on Monsieur Touppee; The Frenchman roar'd out—"Diable! ah peste! " I wish he was dead, in his coffin at rest: " Good capitaine, tell me—ah foutre, morbleu!— " If the wind should blow tempest, den vat vill vee do?"

POOR Cynthia was frighten'd, and pale in the face, And begg'd of O'Keefe to take care of her lace; " For if I should chance to be drownded (said she) " It would be a great loss to my madam and me!"

THE Lawyer replied—"Sweet creature, don't fear; " The skipper has been to New England, my dear, " He knows very well when to take in a reef: " Be quiet, and sit down by master O'Keefe."—

SNIP offer'd the skipper five dollars, and more, And a pair of new trowsers, to run us on shore; " And, if I was there (said the faint-hearted swain) " No devils, or weavers, should tempt me again! " On foot, it were better to trudge the world through, " No shirt to my back, and no soal to my shoe! " I had rather, by far, I had broken both legs, " Been hurried to jail, or been pelted with eggs!"

BUT the mate of the schooner did nothing but laugh, And call'd him a puppy, and fresh-water calf; The worse was the weather, the bolder he grew, And swore at the winds as he swore at his crew; All, all but himself were inclining to fear— But 'tis time that our actors should now disappear.

SNIPINDA was sorry she ever left home: Ezekiel allow'd it was madness to roam: Touppee was alarm'd at the break of the seas, And you, Robert Slender, were not at your ease, Yet couldn't help laughing at Captain O'Keefe, Who shunn'd little Cynthia—and cast up his beef; (And Bruin, she said, I am sick at my heart—! Come hither—and hug me—before I depart!) And Sam, while he own'd what a thief he had been, O'Bluster made love to a bottle of gin: Bob's ballads and poems lay scatter'd about, Himself in the suds, and his music run out: Snip lay with his head by the side of a pot, In doubt if his soul was departing or not!—

AT length, to relieve us, when look'd for the least, The wind came about to the south of south-east; The barque, that was buried in billows before, Now scudded away for the Manhattan shore, And, gaining the port where we wish'd to arrive, Was safe in the bason, precisely at five.