For monumental pillar, that A collar of the brawn. He sent his shade to shades below, In Stygian mud to wallow; And eke the stout St. George eftsoon, He made the dragon follow. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Achilles of old Chiron learnt The great horse for to ride; H' was taught by th' Centaur's rational part, The hinnible to bestride. Bright silver feet, and shining face Had that stout hero's mother; As rapier's silver'd at one end, And wounds you at the other. Her feet were bright, his feet were swift, Of Braburn's silver arrow. Commits her dearest boy; To be the scourge of Troy : But ere he lasht the Trojans, h' was * Braburn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln College, gave a silver arrow to be shot for by the archers of the University of Oxford. Thro' stubborn rump of beef. As dancing louts from humid toes To blinking Hyatt,+ when on vile crowd The tawny surface of his phiz Did serve instead of vizzard: But George he made the dragon have A grumbling in his gizzard. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; 'Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. * Hannibal had but one eye. † A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fiddles as well as play on them, well known at that time in Oxford. The valour of Domitian, It must not be forgotten; Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies, Protected veal and mutton. A squadron of flies errant, Against the foe appears; And swarms of volunteers: And the loud brazen hornet next, Did him most sorely pester, A bee whipt thro' his button-hole, As thro' key-hole a witch, And stabb'd him with her little tuck Drawn out of scabbard breech: And bravely quell'd seditious buz, And maggots too at Cæsar : And Askelon* was his razor. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. John Grubb, the facetious writer of the foregoing song, makes a distinguished figure among the Oxford wits so humorously enumerated in the following distich: "Alma novem genuit célebres Rhedycina poetas Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, These were Bub Dodington (the late lord Melcombe), Dr. Stubbes, our poet Grubb, Mr. Crabb, Dr. Trapp the poetryprofessor, Dr. Edw. Young the author of Night-Thoughts, Walter Carey, Thomas Tickle, Esq., and Dr. Evans the epigrammatist. XVI.-MARGARET'S GHOST. THIS ballad, which appeared in some of the public newspapers in or before the year 1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, Esq., who informs us that the plan was suggested by the four verses quoted in the introductory remarks to Fair Margaret and Sweet William, which he supposed to be the beginning of some ballad now lost. "These lines," says he, "naked of ornament and simple as they are, struck my fancy, and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much talked of formerly, gave birth to the following poem, which was written many years ago." 'TWAS at the silent solemn hour, Her face was like an April morn, So shall the fairest face appear, When youth and years are flown: Her bloom was like the springing flower, * The name of St. George's sword. XVII.-LUCY AND COLIN WAS written by Thomas Tickell, Esq., the celebrated friend of Mr. Addison, and editor of his works. It is a tradition in Ireland, that this song was written at Castletown, in the county of Kildare, at the request of the then Mrs. Conolly-probably on some event recent in that neighbourhood. OF Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair, Bright Lucy was the grace; Nor e'er did Liffy's limped stream Reflect so fair a face. Till luckless love and pining care Impair'd her rosy hue, Her coral lip, and damask cheek, Oh! have you seen a lily pale, When beating rains descend? So droop'd the slow-consuming maid; By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains Three times, all in the dead of night, A bell was heard to ring; Too well the love-lorn maiden knew "I hear a voice you cannot hear, Which beckons me away. "By a false heart, and broken vows, In early youth I die. Am I to blame, because his bride "Ah, Colin! give her not thy vows; Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, "To-morrow in the church to wed, But know, fond maid, and know, false man, That Lucy will be there. "Then, bear my corse, ye comrades, bear, The bridegroom blithe to meet ; He in his wedding-trim so gay, I in my winding-sheet." She spoke, she died;-her corse was borne, The bridegroom blithe to meet ; He in his wedding trim so gay, She in her winding-sheet. Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts? Confusion, shame, remorse, despaire, At once his bosom swell : The damps of death bedew'd his brow, From the vain bride (ah, bride no more!) When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, Oft at their grave the constant hind And plighted maid are seen; But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, XVIII. THE BOY AND THE MANTLE, AS REVISED AND ALTERED BY A MODERN HAND. In the Fabliaux ou Contes, 1781, 5 tom. 12mo, of M. Le Grand (tom. I. p. 54), is printed a modern version of the old tale Le Court Mantel, under a new title, Le Manteau maltaillé, which contains the story of this ballad much enlarged, so far as regards the mantle, but without any mention of the knife or the horn. |