We then shall have a day or two,

Perhaps a week, wherein to try What the best master's hand can do With the most deadly killing fly.

A day with not too bright a beam ; A warm, but not a scorching sun; A southern gale to curl the stream;

And, master, half our work is done.

Then, whilst behind some bush we wait
The scaly people to betray,
We'll prove it just, with treacherous bait,
To make the preying trout our prey;

And think ourselves, in such an hour,

Happier than those, though not so high, Who, like leviathans, devour

Of meaner men the smaller fry.

This, my best friend, at my poor home,
Shall be our pastime and our theme;
But then-should you not deign to come,
You make all this a flattering dream.

Charles Cotton.-Born 1630, Died 1687.

648. THE RETIREMENT. Farewell, thou busy world, and may We never meet again;

Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray, And do more good in one short day Than he who his whole age out-wears Upon the most conspicuous theatres, Where nought but vanity and vice appears. Good God! how sweet are all things here! How beautiful the fields appear! How cleanly do we feed and lie! Lord! what good hours do we keep! How quietly we sleep!

What peace, what unanimity! How innocent from the lewd fashion, Is all our business, all our recreation!

To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own

ease,

And, pleasing a man's self, none other to displease.

O my beloved nymph, fair Dove,
Princess of rivers, how I love

Upon thy flowery banks to lie,
And view thy silver stream,
When gilded by a summer's beam!
And in it all thy wanton fry,
Playing at liberty;

And with my angle, upon them
The all of treachery

I ever learn'd, industriously to try!

Such streams Rome's yellow Tiber cannot show;

The Iberian Tagus, or Ligurian Po,

The Maese, the Danube, and the Rhine,
Are puddle water all compared with thine;
And Loire's pure streams yet too polluted are
With thine, much purer to compare;

The rapid Garonne and the winding Seine
Are both too mean,

Beloved Dove, with thee

To vie priority;

Nay, Tame and Isis, when conjoin'd, submit, And lay their trophies at thy silver feet.

O my beloved rocks, that rise

To awe the earth and brave the skies, From some aspiring mountain's crown,

How dearly do I love,

Giddy with pleasure, to look down;
And, from the vales, to view the noble heights
above!

O my beloved caves! from dog-star's heat,
And all anxieties, my safe retreat;
What safety, privacy, what true delight,
In the artificial night,

Your gloomy entrails make,
Have I taken, do I take!

How oft, when grief has made me fly,
To hide me from society,

E'en of my dearest friends, have I,
In your recesses' friendly shade,
All my sorrows open laid,

And my most secret woes intrusted to your privacy!

Lord! would men let me alone,
What an over-happy one

Should I think myself to be;
Might I in this desert place
(Which most men in discourse disgrace)
Live but undisturb'd and free!
Here, in this despis'd recess,

Would I, maugre winter's cold,
And the summer's worst excess,
Try to live out to sixty full years old;
And, all the while,

Without an envious eye

On any thriving under fortune's smile, Contented live, and then contented die.

Charles Cotton.-Born 1630, Died 1687.

649.-A VOYAGE TO IRELAND IN

BURLESQUE.

CANTO I.

The lives of frail men are compared by the

sages

Or unto short journies, or pilgrimages,

As men to their inns do come sooner or later,

That is, to their ends (to be plain in my matter);

From whence, when one dead is, it currently follows,

He has run his race, though his goal be the gallows;

And this 'tis, I fancy, sets folks so a madding, And makes men and women so eager of gadding;

Truth is, in my youth I was one of these people

Would have gone a great way to have seen an high steeple,

And though I was bred 'mongst the wonders o' th' Peak,

Would have thrown away money, and ventured my neck

To have seen a great hill, a rock, or a cave, And though there was nothing so pleasant and brave:

But at forty years old you may (if you please) Think me wiser than run such errands as these;

Or had the same humour still ran in my toes, A voyage to Ireland I ne'er should have chose;

But to tell you the truth on't, indeed it was neither

Improvement nor pleasure for which I went thither;

I know then you'll presently ask me for what? Why, faith, it was that makes the old woman trot;

And therefore I think I'm not much to be blamed

If I went to the place whereof Nick was ashamed.

O Coryate! thou traveller famed as Ulysses, In such a stupendous labour as this is, Come lend me the aids of thy hands and thy fect,

Though the first be pedantic, the other not sweet,

Yet both are so restless in peregrination, They'll help both my journey, and eke my relation.

'Twas now the most beautiful time of the year,

The days were now long, and the sky was now clear,

And May, that fair lady of splendid renown, Had dress'd herself fine, in her flower'd tabby gown,

When about some two hours and a half after

noon,

When it grew something late, though I thought it too soon.

With a pitiful voice, and a most heavy heart, I tuned up my pipes to sing "loth to depart ;" The ditty concluded, I call'd for my horse, And with a good pack did the jument endorse,

Till he groan'd and he f―d under the burden, For sorrow had made me a cumbersome lurden :

And now farewell Dove, where I've caught such brave dishes

Of over-grown, golden, and silver-scaled fishes; Thy trout and thy grailing may now feed securely,

I've left none behind me can take 'em so surely;

Feed on then, and breed on, until the next year, But if I return I expect my arrear.

By pacing and trotting betimes in the

even,

Ere the sun had forsaken one half of the Heaven,

We all at fair Congerton took up our inn, Where the sign of a king kept a king and his

queen:

But who do you think came to welcome me there?

No worse a man, marry, than good master

mayor,

With his staff of command, yet the man was not lame,

But he needed it more when he went, than he

came;

After three or four hours of friendly potation We took leave each of other in courteous fashion,

When each one, to keep his brains fast in his head,

Put on a good nightcap, and straightway to bed.

Next morn, having paid for boil'd, roasted, and bacon,

And of sovereign hostess our leaves kindly taken,

(For her king (as 'twas rumour'd) by late pouring down,

This morning had got a foul flaw in his crown,)

We mounted again, and full soberly riding, Three miles we had rid ere we met with a biding;

But there (having over-night plied the tap well)

We now must needs water at place call'd Holmes Chapel :

"A hay "" quoth the foremost, "ho! who keeps the house?"

Which said, out an host comes as brisk as a louse:

His hair comb'd as sleek as a barber he'd been,

A cravat with black ribbon tied under his chin;

Though by what I saw in him, I straight 'gan to fear

That knot would be one day slipp'd under his

car.

Quoth he (with low congé) "What lack you, my lord?

"The best liquor," quoth I, "that the house will afford."

"You shall straight," quoth he; and then calls out, "Mary,

Come quickly, and bring us a quart of Canary." "Hold, hold, my spruce host! for 'i th' morn

ing so early

I never drink liquor but what's made of barley."

Which words were scarce out, but, which made me admire,

My lordship was presently turn'd into 'squire:

66

Ale, 'squire, you mean?" quoth he nimbly again,

"What, must it be purl'd ?"-"No, I love it best plain."

"Why, if you'll drink ale, sir, pray take my advice,

Here's the best ale i' th' land, if you'll go to the price;

Better, I sure am, ne'er blew out a stopple ; But then, in plain truth, it is sixpence a bottle."

"Why, faith," quoth I, "friend, if your liquor be such,

For the best ale in England it is not too much :

Let's have it, and quickly."-" O sir! you may stay;

A pot in your pate is a mile in your way: Come, bring out a bottle here presently, wife, Of the best Cheshire hum he e'er drank in his life."

Straight out comes the mistress in waistcoat

Bounce, quoth the bottle, the work being done,

It roar'd, and it smoked, like a new-fired gun;

But the shot miss'd us all, or else we'd been routed,

Which yet was a wonder, we were so about it.

Mine host pour'd and fill'd, till he could fill no fuller:

"Look here, sir," quoth he, "both for nap and for colour,

Sans bragging, I hate it, nor will I e'er do 't:

I defy Leek, and Lambhith, and Sandwich to boot."

By my troth, he said true, for I speak it with tears,

Though I have been a toss-pot these twenty good years,

And have drank so much liquor as made me a debtor,

In my days, that I know of, I never drank better:

We found it so good, and we drank so profoundly,

That four good round shillings were whipt away roundly;

And then I conceived it was time to be jogging,

For our work had been done, had we stay'd

t'other noggin.

From thence we set forth with more mettle

and spright,

Our horses were empty, our coxcombs were light;

O'er Dellamore forest we, tantivy, posted, Till our horses were basted as if they were

roasted:

In truth, we pursued might have been by our haste,

And I think Sir George Booth did not gallop so fast,

Till about two o'clock after noon, God be blest,

We came, safe and sound, all to Chester i' th' west.

And now in high time 'twas to call for some meat,

Though drinking does well, yet some time we must eat;

And i' faith we had victuals both plenty and good,

Where we all laid about us as if we were

wood:

Go thy ways, mistress Anderton, for a good

woman,

Thy guests shall by thee ne'er be turn'd to a

common;

And whoever of thy entertainment complains, Let him lie with a drab, and be pox'd for his pains.

And here I must stop the career of my Muse,

The poor jade is weary, 'las! how should she choose ?

After seven hours' sleep, to commute for pains taken,

A man of himself, one would think, might awaken;

But riding, and drinking hard, were two such spells,

I doubt I'd slept on, but for jangling of bells, Which, ringing to matins all over the town, Made me leap out of bed, and put on my gown,

With intent (so God mend me) I have gone to the choir,

When straight I perceived myself all on a fire; For the two fore-named things had so heated my blood,

That a little phlebotomy would do me good:
I sent for chirurgion, who came in a trice,
And swift to shed blood, needed not be called
twice,

But tilted stiletto quite thorough the vein,
From whence issued out the ill humours

And, therefore, to take a fine nap thought it best,

For when belly full is, bones would be at rest :

I tumbled me down on my bed like a swad, Where, O! the delicious dream that I had! Till the bells, that had been my morning molesters,

Now waked me again, chiming all in to

vespers;

With that starting up, for my man I did whistle,

And comb'd out and powder'd my locks that were grizzle ;

Had my clothes neatly brush'd, and then put on my sword;

Resolved now to go and attend on the word.

Thus trick'd, and thus trim, to set forth I begin,

Neat and cleanly without, but scarce cleanly within ;

For why, Heaven knows it, I long time had

been

A most humble obedient servant to sin :
And now in devotion was even so proud,

I scorned (forsooth) to join pray'r with the crowd;

For though courted by all the bells as I went,
I was deaf, and regarded not the compliment,
But to the cathedral still held on my pace,
As 'twere, scorning to kneel but in the best
place.

I there made myself sure of good music at least,

But was something deceived, for 'twas none of the best;

But however, I stay'd at the church's commanding

Till we came to the "Peace passes all understanding,"

Which no sooner was ended, but whir and away,

Like boys in a school when they've leave got to play,

By which, though thick-skull'd, he must understand this,

That I was a most humble servant of his; Which also so wonderful kindly he took, (As I well perceived both b' his gesture and look,)

That to have me dogg'd home he straightway appointed,

Resolving, it seems, to be better acquainted. I was scarce in my quarters, and set down on crupper,

But his man was there too, to invite me to

supper:

I start up, and after most respective fashion Gave his worship much thanks for his kind invitation;

But begg'd his excuse, for my stomach was small,

And I never did eat any supper at all;

But that after supper I would kiss his hands, And would come to receive his worship's commands,

Sure no one will say, but a patron of slander, That this was not pretty well for a Moorlander:

And since on such reasons to sup I refused,
I nothing did doubt to be holden excused;
But my quaint repartee had his worship
possess'd

With so wonderful good a conceit of the rest,

That with mere impatience he hop'd in his breeches

To see the fine fellow that made such fine speeches :

"Go, sirrah!" quoth he, "get you to him again,

And will and require, in his Majesty's name, That he come; and tell him, obey he were best, or

I'll teach him to know that he's now in West Chester."

The man, upon this, comes me running again, But yet minced his message, and was not so

plain;

That as his chair at one end o' th' table had station,

So sweet mistress may'ress, in just such another,

Like the fair queen of hearts, sat in state at the other;

By which I perceived, though it seemed a riddle,

The lower end of this must be just in the middle:

But perhaps 'tis a rule there, and one that would mind it

Amongst the town-statutes 'tis likely might find it.

But now into th' pottage each deep his spoon claps,

As in truth one might safely for burning one's chaps,

When straight, with the look and the tone of a scold,

Mistress may'ress complain'd that the pottage was cold;

"And all long of your fiddle-faddle," quoth

she.

"Why, what then, Goody Two-Shoes, what if it be?

Hold you, if you can, your tittle-tattle," quoth he.

I was glad she was snapp'd thus, and guess'd by th' discourse,

The may'r, not the gray mare, was the better horse,

And yet for all that, there is reason to fear, She submitted but out of respect to his year: