Elimination of a Picture & its Subject—called The Fellers' Master Stroke

Half twelve, that’s six, ’tis more Perhaps, exact that’s gone before Behoves not here to say, How many years away Have welled up and flowed on Slow passing till they’re gone. But some such time has fled Since regular business led To where a canvas glowed With fays, a leafy node Encircling wild about. Their differences they let out About an Indian boy, Whom for a toy, To while the time Or teach to mime Or verse in fairy tricks, A mighty King his eyes did fix Upon with covetous regard; When met upon the sward, Near Athen’s learned seat His Queen had set her feet Thrice happy green ——business Led, an official person to this sight Who with the picture pleased As ’t’were a jewel bright, His mind of burden eased, To have the like Of which did strike, At fancy’s shrine well meant. If ’t’was not so, then I may say ’T’was this perhaps, that west away Some friend he had, who wrote in verse About the fairies, sense as terse As poets jam into a measured line And gives such extra value I opine To Heliconian jet so of his rhymes Possessed, he wished to see A little sketch, slight as may be To illustrate the same — Some stanzas shewed as game Or point from which to throw

Sees nothing clearly, as his has Blackly impositive and soon Makes it as clear as sunny noon That he has not – Waiting this heavenly gift I thought on nought – a shift As good perhaps as thinking hard. Fancy was not to be evoked From her etherial realms Or if so, then her purpose cloaked And nuzzling the cloth, on which The cloudy shades not rich, Indefinite almost unseen Lay vacant entities of chance, Lent forms unto my careless glance Without intent, pure fancy ’tis I mean Design and composition thus – Now minus and just here perhaps – plus - Grew in this way – and so – or thus, That fairly wrought they stand in view. A fairy band, much as I say, just so ’tis true. Part from the shades designed Part a vain fancy, all inclined A common end to gain Of nothing something still To stand before, the sight to fill Something we have, having, we Yet have not Be it so or nay, why care a jot? But there they are – and now They stand a theme – a field to plough And silent reap what any choose Judiciously or not to lose. All, the significance may give They surely think in this doth live. As Nature’s Pages open spread By erudite or fools are read, To this one seems the world a den While that a paradise in it doth ken In the same place, ’tis lore Preacquisite, the wise man’s store Gives off a value rich & full To that sprung from a sense so dull It does not half appreciate Upon that which it doth dilate

Dilatory, dull, absorbing, rapt In the sort of a kind of a – something mapped While struggling reason roams away Nor will in such dull fetters stay But leaves the author out of himself To make his fame or gain his pelf If so he may or can – But to the common mind The meaning thus, let’s find – For idle pastime hither led Fays, gnomes, and elves and suchlike fled To fix some dubious point to fairies only Known to exist, or to the lonely Thoughtful man recluse Of power a potent spell to loose Which binds the better slave to worse Swindles soul, body, goods & purse T’unlock the secret cells of dark abyss The power which never doth its victim miss But may egorge when truth appears When fail or guns or swords or spears For some such end we may suppose They’ve met since day hath made its close Night’s noon time haply extra bright By fairie power made all so light Doubtful if night or day might reign To certain be in mind revolve again And say that common nature is not true. Precisely to what fairie opes to view Comme ça for the effect, if you should doubt. If you’ve not been there, perhaps you mought Make a fresh bend; we’ll now advance These folk displayed as in a trance Have not the dexter object here But the same might be sinister For saintly doubtless it is rare To call a goblin elf, the lair He loves, or any thing or sprite That in the name of fairy doth delight Or e’en the land itself Laden with unimpossible wealth To the mutton says Monsieur Crapaud This meet unto the Patriarch owed Say its conclave – and here to shew His triple crown of subtle might Weird in its form & shining bright An arch magician whose large little club

Of some hard heavy wood is but a stubb And might be loaded in its larger butt Force to add when to use ’tis put But even without no fairy skull Resist it might however thick or dull A little bit of wood just a mere twig For which a plodding mortal less than a fig Cares - but to an elf it has A power as fatal as the Upas. If on a sudden it descends On fairy sconce, its revel ends And then you know poor little fart Unto another private realm he will depart. “Don’t want to hurt poor little fa-er-ee” Appeals the rogue unto the powers that be The arch-fiend sees no dodge illicit ’Bout younker caught – is not explicit Or he might say “Don't let me catch You here again Or perhaps you'll meet with far too Much sharp pain And stunning effects the same to Follow – which will not leave you time to holloa!” –––––––– Beneath his wide spread crown He casts a glance adown Dim vistãs of the pregnant coming bustle To note if there is aught to stay or hustle The incident peculiar here Inciding edge incising clear Or so to do. His right hand raised, seems to declare “Except I tell you when, strike if you dare – For all the powers of skill or chance Fairies can use before my glance – are bare” ’Tis so – no doubt, but even Almighty Power Suffers defeat each day & every hour As unforeseen some little trifling thing Cheats of a stave another song we sing His glance means likely too If t’other is not much ado He with one blow, another turn will serve If from the aim’s intent it doth not swerve Left to its time & how to do To split, for Mab perchance a chariot new. ’Tis all the skill there is for such a deed Happen, happening in faerie for fairy’s need. See – ’tis fay woodman holds aloft the axe Whose double edge virtue now they tax To do it single & make single double Teatly and neatly – equal without trouble ’Tis not yet done – yet there he stands

Try if he’ll do it – for your own commands He knows the axe to use on fairy trees And fairy common sense embodies if you please If that your fancy – you can strain so far. As to suppose the same & yet not mar Your mental method and decorum Where all things shew them quasi coram He’s clothed in leather note from top to toe. All of one colour you may mark also. The colour of his money you might say. Good or bad adding lack-a-day. How can I tell? – Splitting is either good or bad For not so the same terms are had. And that’s his money so to speak Merely tho’ ’tis about a freak. As to the colour this we’ll add ’Tis warm enough for fairy mad But fairy leather comes from Victims small. Tho’ if they’re cattle fed in field or stall, I know not – or bat’s wings dyed to suit the taste But to the next one let us haste. The ostler from the fairy inn Knowing his air, the curate of the trim Hands to his knees and body bent

On the nuts so tiny is all intent With well spurred heel can ride amain Stirrup or saddle seeks not to maintain His seat the which so well he knows Secure the menage that around him grows That is a look of mastery as t’were to say There is no dodge to me doth lay Concealed where asses dogs or warmint be, I am a doctor veterinaree They call me night or morn as’t eve Tom – price – I know full well of beasts & in a trice Your servant Sir your ass I’ll groom And shew you to the fairy inn’s best room. What are you at there? Steady ho!!! – Do you think his gaze will help the blow. – Next a dwarf monk with shaven crown On the bank’s brink hath cast adown His wide sleeved arms & rests his chin Partly his face his hands conceal – I put him in – For why? because I may reply Monk’s beatific mount they say on high.

But as historians do over About their manners some demur Checks the free access unto Heaven And then, of that to speak with leaven Of circumspection, unto a nether Region they adhere. Not holding on to it very tight I fear. And where there is but little wine or beer. Far wandering habits also ’tis well known Led the same blades about from town to town And this with inns & sotlers too Familiarly acquainted grew. Says he’s a rogue & to the next, ’Tis varhma’s ploughman claims the text. He has a twinkle in his eye Bespeaks good humour you’ll descry Of cows & sheep & crops can talk Quite wonderful & see him walk With lounging stride across the fields Just turned afresh to raise the crop that yields. Ample return for all his labour That wants no sound of pipe & tabour. His doubtful speech he hath addressed. To Waggoner Will beside him lest. The sage remark quite lost should be. But how indifferent Will is – see! Come hither! Woah is more to him. Than such a speculative whim Above Clod-hopper sits and like the sod – He’s brown in colour, also he’s well shod. A satyr’s head has, buckles in his shoes. Nurses one foot upon his knee amuse with him Yourself he’s modern fay. So gives his garb & decent sylvan he. Is not stark naked & so proud might be A foot and not a hoof to own. But can he put a hat upon his crown? His horns forbid – say that it slid From off his pate & fell Where! he nor I can tell! There let it lie – The Politician next, with senatorial pipe. For argument or his opinion ripe. A first chop Englishman at that sort of chaff. To hear him talk, Lord! How ’t’would make you laugh. For fairy politics differ so very wide

From human governments complete divide. He’s pondering matters now as if his vote Ought to be given ere ’tis smote. The nut – I mean – Next him observe one clad in green. An unknown character some fairy dandy. Making a break as sweet as candy To faery nymph like him so quaint. They are poor ones clearly and attaint. The present case, because ’tis queer, And like themselves – yet no small beer. They deem of their own station. Behind them elves quite wide awake Notes of the doings here to take And to their fellows bye and bye Tell all without a word of a lie. Below a pedagogue appears. A Critic up to sneers & jeers. And by his faun-like ears he’s wild Untamed himself, each fairy child He tames with many a look severe But if his glance is there or here ’Tis hard to say. He squints to note

You may. But he’ll not meddle With a work so sharp. Waits in suspense and doth not carp. His business is to teach to do. Do it himself? Oh no! t’is you. Next come two wenches rather smart. From lady’s chamber where each art Of fairy Luxury they the care, At madam's need can well prepare. This holds a mirror in her hand so tiny. A magic surface polished bright & shiny. While that a broom to sweep away. The fairy rubbish lack-a-day Holds in her left hand on her right A favourite hawk moth doth alight. They’ve got good legs and feet so small. Bavaria Flanders Germany and all. Can shew no more fantastic limb. Critics are severe ’tis therefore that I beg. You’ll not inform that fay, that under the leg Of one of those maids, behind his back. A satyr peeps; at what, it doth not lack, An explanation.

At such a book, His right to look, I care not to dispute. Such secrets surely some must know. All are not saints on earth below. Or if they are they know the same. Or are shut out from nature's game. Banished from nature's book of life, Because some angel in the strife Had got the worser fate. And they close their eyes, that gate – By which reminders enter. And in a paradise of fools contented live. Fays also are not saints, so I must believe That this and similar frolics they achieve. The truth is not for all you’ll say. But that eternal seal it bear, One might say nay. Who are the victims of that cruel fate False secrecy, that sometimes ’tis too late To find – lost to their race for ever they In other spheres can understand the light of day – Next Lubin bending o’er his flame. Chloe or Phyllis hard to tame. With wooden sabots round about she’ll clatter. Churn fairy butter or some such matter. As to the dairy doth belong. Whiling and charming time with song. They’re rustic Lovers rustic in manner. And Lubin happen is a fairy tanner, Tanned woodman’s leather coat and cap, His leggins, all their boots mayhap. Except his sweethearts they are of wood. He’d do them too to oblige her if he could. They are curious in this business you see plainly – See also next below, two dwarfs – ungainly? No for the sake of rhyme it fits so well – We’ll write it down – and after tell That ’tis deformity approaches near The truth about this couple here. A fairy conjuror he who knows a trick Or two at cards and in the nick – Of time, can well deceive. Thus, of your reason you take leave. Then ’tis that he will do the clever dodge. Which puzzles many a clownish varhma Hodge. You think perhaps you don’t do so. The prayer book so affirms I know – Just now he offers out to let – ’T’will or ’t’will not be surely split. Some odds perhaps will give What fairy coin is – true as I live. I can’t inform – nor if they betted

And if they did, the profits netted The spider near. His web hath left. Drops down upon them from some cleft Where he spread his wide snare for game One that detains yet doth not maim Perhaps he’s an offer when they have done. To supply with gossamer wells all, every one. A master weaver he in whose employ The lesser spinners may enjoy Profits & learn to make account Of those who wish aloft to mount. And sail away upon the wind From Europe p’raps to furthest Ind. They’ve only wind to ask for – ’tis the weather That in this case saves the expense of leather And pilgrimages – let’s make one To the opposite side – That is, objection If you’ve none – Two braves we see – In gallantry – Who by their wits can live – Can sing or play – Fight, run away, Or entertainment give. Your fairy man upon the town. That can clean out a swell or clown. And if there’s need can let you down – A peg or two – so high they fly. Hawking while talking all my eye – Next to the Patriarch’s Crown attend. And mark the motes

That there descend. Dancing and singing there they go With their fal lal the rah and huy gee wohe. The dress is Spanish ’tis in use, At present time If I abuse, Not memory of the source From which I borrowed them of course Call cottagers, no bloods are, these; As on a tight rope they to please. I represented – when in the play One is dressed like to Duvernay. Balancing these on the other side Queen Mab in Car of state doth ride. Some atomies the poet says did draw A gnat gives to them coachman’s law I never saw the famed Queen Mab or might. Had it been so contributed delight. The atomies are, no doubt, a dubious theme. Like tiny female centaurs here do seem. Half beast & half a woman yoked are. With wings to soar away in regions far. Under the coachman standing nigh Two little pages you may spy. Cupid & Psyche they enact, Fairies no doubt possess the tact To imitate like mortal players

I know not if at theatres or fairs. It needs must be so – Fairies ’tis said shun all display And most affect the pale moon’s ray Sol’s potent ray soon drives them off He’d instant find whereat to spurn and scoff – Just so it was with folk in olden time, Whose practices were held to be a crime. They fled the powers that held despotic sway – Poor little fairies! why not also they? Fancy this pair aught else ’t’will do, But male and female they are plain to view Next to the Queen you here behind may count, Some strapping fairy footmen mount And garde chemin no doubt they well do serve. Tiny in size but lusty in the nerve, As every footman should be – Above in attitude of fondest love King Oberon & his Queen approve The sport else why should they repair To this sequestered spot the same to share Merely perhaps to note the way things went. And how many chops were useless made anent. Pulling of straws out from a stack of wheat. Is for a pastime not more meet.

And such the Old Lady in the Scarlet Cloak, Might non-be fancying true – no joke. Is it true for me or even you – True if you care not – this is true. Her nose and chin will never crack The monster nuts & many a whack From club or shining axe will want Ere the chance fatal lights upon’t Above the harridan some whose names Serve schoolboys turn when at their games They of the future calling prophecy With boisterous laugh and ecstasy Of childish mirth, nor want they Perhaps a forced imposed belief. In soldier and sailor, tinker or tailor Ploughboy, apothecary, thief. Counting their buttons down the vest. A name to each – the last doth rest The faded rade – soon from the thoughts ’tis laid Aside and fairy prophecy forgot. Here let me say my let of this same lot – The ragged soldier sure is mad. Made so by wounds, debauch and glad But hard earned victory Being fay, I’ve not the history. I made it so but not from spite, Else he’d find reason to requite But ragamuffins to enlist. He’s a brave spirit to assist.

Knows when he does he’ll be Commander The chief one or a Salamander. A real fire eater like the Sun By his own bravery surely won. The sailor keeps a pleasure yacht Has nought to do but live on what The smiling elements that never frown Freely disclose as up and down For pleasure merely roam about The fleets of vessels of which he’ll take Entire command for the nation’s sake, Nor cares he where to move or swim. ’Till death commands to dowse the glim. Some other oceans then he’ll try, Rolling eternal in the sky – The tinker next with barrow trig Knows every wandering gypsy rig Where does he lodge? ’tis hard to say Whether a house or stack of hay Serves the poor outcast for his rest He’s butt howe’er for many a jest Lives in a world of nether pose Mysterious obscure, your senses lose Or cast aside as nothing worth Nor length it has nor breadth or girth Just now he marks the filbert big Stript of its natural russet wig How would he here his skill to prove?

He’d grind it p’raps? Not so by Jove Clumsily skilful though he be He knows too much for that d’ye see Around the fairy villages he’ll stray Knives scissors to grind might bawl each day. Knows well the tailor reg’lar grinds his shears. Ah! That’s a tailor brave that knows no fears. Nine fairy tailors would not make a man Tho’ they might queer him, you know well they can. But this one seems disposed to queer, The plough-boy that is standing to him near Shews him a coat neat made and very strong ’T’would last the lad his fairy life time long. But while he doubts the same to buy, The Thief his craft on him doth try. Loosens his handkerchief so gay. Too artful he to snatch away. The doctor in his thoughts reserved. The trick below hath not observed But with his sounding pestle beats, The drugs that he to fairy metes. His mortar would not hold the nut. But holds enough for fairy gut. A nostrum or a panacea At any price we’ll say not dear. Next to the Soldier on his right, a Dragon Fly exerts his skill & might

Sounds the long notes ’long the long tube that wind And in the fairy hollows echoes find. To assist this gaudy long legged trumpeter A tatteredemalion & a junketer Holiday folk that tends upon, Like a Postilion if you con Each blows his brazen tube no doubt in tune With Dragon Fly that rests his leg abune The jutting stone on which they sit Expecting company that soon will flit Slanting along the Lunar ray Like boys & girls come out to play – Alow behind these last-named two An elfin takes a peeping view – Not at the nut but the spectator Happen to mark if arbitrator He in this remarkable fudge Or humbug gives the fatal nudge. Peeper is wildest of the crew Cares nought for them or I or you. You from his cap with me perchance agree Of the Chinese small Foot Societee, He’s a small member. But if Confucius sent him Now I can’t remember.

Turn to the Patriarch & behold Long pendents from his crown are rolled, In winding figures circle round The grass and such upon the mound, They represent vagary wild And mental aberration styled. Now unto nature clinging close Now wildly out away they toss, Like a cyclone uncontroll’d Sweeping around with chance-born fold Unto the picture brings a grace Which else was wanting to its face But tied at length unto a stem Shews or should do finitam rem – The size the nuts do here display Forgive nor make me forfeit pay Having the benefit of doubt Of what the fairies grow without The reach of human ken or will And needs not now that I instil Into your mind. What here I’ve said from fancy’s wing A sense supporting of my need You may deny – say – no such thing ’Tis all wrong every bit indeed. Well! to your judgment I must bow Freely it’s exercise allow You perhaps to such are more inured. Your notions may be more endured But whether it be or be not so You can afford to let this go For nought as nothing it explains And nothing from nothing nothing gains.