"Much danger is lurking in thy petition, Nor will it be easy to gain admission;Thou dost not come with an angel's salute;For I see thou wearest a cloven foot."
The wild man paused, and then answer'd he:
"What doth my goat's foot matter to thee?
Full many I've known into heaven to pass Straight and with ease, with the head of an ass!"1815.
AUTHORS.
OVER the meadows, and down the stream,And through the garden-walks straying, He plucks the flowers that fairest seem;His throbbing heart brooks no delaying.
His maiden then comes--oh, what ecstasy!
Thy flowers thou giv'st for one glance of her eye!
The gard'ner next door o'er the hedge sees the youth:
"I'm not such a fool as that, in good truth;My pleasure is ever to cherish each flower, And see that no birds my fruit e'er devour.
But when 'tis ripe, your money, good neighbour!
'Twas not for nothing I took all this labour!"And such, methinks, are the author-tribe.
The one his pleasures around him strews,That his friends, the public, may reap, if they choose;The other would fain make them all subscribe,1776.
THE CRITIC.
I HAD a fellow as my guest, Not knowing he was such a pest, And gave him just my usual fare;He ate his fill of what was there,And for desert my best things swallow'd, Soon as his meal was o'er, what follow'd?
Led by the Deuce, to a neighbour he went, And talk'd of my food to his heart's content:
"The soup might surely have had more spice, The meat was ill-brown'd, and the wine wasn't nice."A thousand curses alight on his head!
'Tis a critic, I vow! Let the dog be struck dead!
1776.
THE DILETTANTE AND THE CRITIC.
A BOY a pigeon once possess'd, In gay and brilliant plumage dress'd;He loved it well, and in boyish sport Its food to take from his mouth he taught, And in his pigeon he took such pride, That his joy to others he needs must confide.
An aged fox near the place chanc'd to dwell, Talkative, clever, and learned as well;The boy his society used to prize, Hearing with pleasure his wonders and lies.
"My friend the fox my pigeon must see He ran, and stretch'd 'mongst the bushes lay he "Look, fox, at my pigeon, my pigeon so fair!
His equal I'm sure thou hast look'd upon ne'er!""Let's see!"--The boy gave it.--"'Tis really not bad;And yet, it is far from complete, I must add.
The feathers, for, instance, how short! 'Tis absurd!"So he set to work straightway to pluck the poor bird.
The boy screamed.--"Thou must now stronger pinions supply, Or else 'twill be ugly, unable to fly."--Soon 'twas stripp'd--oh, the villain!--and torn all to pieces.
The boy was heart-broken,--and so my tale ceases.
He who sees in the boy shadow'd forth his own case, Should be on his guard 'gainst the fox's whole race.
1776.
THE WRANGLER.
ONE day a shameless and impudent wight Went into a shop full of steel wares bright, Arranged with art upon ev'ry shelf.
He fancied they were all meant for himself;And so, while the patient owner stood by, The shining goods needs must handle and try, And valued,--for how should a fool better know?--The bad things high, and the good ones low, And all with an easy self-satisfied face;Then, having bought nothing, he left the place.
The tradesman now felt sorely vex'd, So when the fellow went there next, A lock of steel made quite red hot.
The other cried upon the spot:
"Such wares as these, who'd ever buy?
the steel is tarnish'd shamefully,"--Then pull'd it, like a fool about, But soon set up a piteous shout.
"Pray what's the matter?" the shopman spoke;The other scream'd: "Faith, a very cool joke!"1815.
THE YELPERS.
OUR rides in all directions bend,For business or for pleasure, Yet yelpings on our steps attend,And barkings without measure.
The dog that in our stable dwells,After our heels is striding, And all the while his noisy yellsBut show that we are riding.
1815.
THE STORK'S VOCATION.
THE stork who worms and frogs devoursThat in our ponds reside, Why should he dwell on high church-towers,With which he's not allied?
Incessantly he chatters there,And gives our ears no rest;But neither old nor young can dareTo drive him from his nest.
I humbly ask it,--how can heGive of his title proof, Save by his happy tendencyTo soil the church's roof?
CELEBRITY.
[A satire on his own Sorrows of Werther.]
ON bridges small and bridges great Stands Nepomucks in ev'ry state, Of bronze, wood, painted, or of stone, Some small as dolls, some giants grown;Each passer must worship before Nepomuck, Who to die on a bridge chanced to have the ill luck, When once a man with head and ears A saint in people's eyes appears, Or has been sentenced piteously Beneath the hangman's hand to die, He's as a noted person prized, In portrait is immortalized.
Engravings, woodcuts, are supplied, And through the world spread far and wide.
Upon them all is seen his name, And ev'ry one admits his claim;Even the image of the Lord Is not with greater zeal ador'd.
Strange fancy of the human race!
Half sinner frail, half child of grace We see HERR WERTHER of the story In all the pomp of woodcut glory.
His worth is first made duly known, By having his sad features shown At ev'ry fair the country round;In ev'ry alehouse too they're found.
His stick is pointed by each dunce "The ball would reach his brain at once!"And each says, o'er his beer and bread:
"Thank Heav'n that 'tis not we are dead!"1815.
PLAYING AT PRIESTS.
WITHIN a town where parity According to old form we see,--That is to say, where Catholic And Protestant no quarrels pick, And where, as in his father's day, Each worships God in his own way, We Luth'ran children used to dwell, By songs and sermons taught as well.
The Catholic clingclang in truth Sounded more pleasing to our youth, For all that we encounter'd there, To us seem'd varied, joyous, fair.
As children, monkeys, and mankind To ape each other are inclin'd, We soon, the time to while away, A game at priests resolved to play.
