Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MY LETTERS, by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM

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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MY LETTERS, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Another mizzling, drizzling day!
Last Line: I'm off-a plumper for st. Peter!
Alternate Author Name(s): Ingoldsby, Thomas
Subject(s): Letters

'Litera scripta manet'--Old Sam.

ANOTHER mizzling, drizzling day!
Of clearing up there's no appearance;
So I'll sit down without delay,
And here, at least, I'll make a clearance.

Oh, ne'er 'on such a day as this',
Would Dido with her woes oppressed
Have wooed Aeneas back to bliss,
Or Troilus gone to hunt for Cressid!

No, they'd have stayed at home, like me,
And popped their toes up on the fender,
And drunk a quiet cup of tea:--
On days like this one can't be tender.

So, Molly, draw that basket nigher,
And put my desk upon the table--
Bring that Portfolio--stir the fire--
Now off as fast as you are able!

First, here 's a card from Mrs. Grimes,
'A ball!'--she knows that I'm no dancer--
That woman 's asked me fifty times,
And yet I never send an answer.

'DEAP JACK,--Just lend me twenty pounds
Till Monday next, when I'll return it.
Yours truly, HENRY GIBBS.' Why, Z--ds!
I've seen the man but twice--here, burn it.

One from my Cousin Sophy Daw--
Full of Aunt Margery's distresses;
'The Cat has kittened in "the draw",
And ruined two bran-new silk dresses,'

From Sam, 'The Chancellor's motto,'--nay,
Confound his puns, he knows I hate 'em;
'Pro Rege, Lege, Grege,'--Aye,
'For King read Mob!' Brougham's old erratum.

From Seraphina Price--'At two'--
'Till then I can't, my dearest John, stir';
Two more because I did not go,
Beginning 'Wretch' and 'Faithless Monster!'

'DEAR SIR,--This morning Mrs. P-- --,
Who 's doing quite as well as may be,
Presented me at half-past three,
Precisely, with another baby.

'We'll name it John, and know with pleasure
You'll stand'--Five guineas more, confound it!--
I wish they'd called it Nebuchadnezzar,
Or thrown it in the Thames and drowned it.

What have we next? A civil Dun:
'John Brown would take it as a favour'--
Another, and a surlier one,
'I can't put up with sich behaviour.'

'Bill so long standing,'--'quite tired out,'--
'Must sit down to insist on payment,'
'Called ten times.'--Here 's a fuss about
A few coats, waistcoats, and small raiment!

For once I'll send an answer, and inform
Mr. Snip he needn't 'call' so;
But when his bill 's as 'tired of standing'
As he is, beg 'twill 'sit down also'.

This from my rich old Uncle Ned,
Thanking me for my annual present;
And saying he last Tuesday wed
His cook-maid, Molly--vastly pleasant!

An ill-spelt note from Tom at school,
Begging I'll let him learn the fiddle;
Another from that precious fool,
Miss Pyefinch, with this stupid riddle.

'D'ye give it up?' Indeed I do!
Confound these antiquated minxes;
I won't play 'Billy Black' to a 'Blue'
Or Oedipus to such old sphinxes.

A note sent up from Kent to show me,
Left with my bailiff, Peter King;
'I'll burn them precious stacks down, blow me!
'Yours most sincerely, CAPTAIN SWING.'

Four begging letters with petitions,
One from my sister Jane, to pray
I'll 'execute a few commissions'
In Bond Street, 'when I go that way.'

'And buy at Pearsal's in the city
Twelve skeins of silk for netting purses;
Colour no matter, so it 's pretty;--
Two hundred pens'--two hundred curses!

From Mistress Jones: 'My little Billy
Goes up his schooling to begin,
Will you just step to Piccadilly,
And meet him when the coach comes in?

'And then, perhaps, you will as well see
The poor dear fellow safe to school
At Dr. Smith's in Little Chelsea!'
Heaven send he flog the little fool!

From Lady Snooks: 'Dear Sir, you know
You promised me last week a Rebus;
A something smart and apropos,
For my new Album?'--Aid me, Phoebus!

'My first is followed by my second;
Yet should my first my second see,
A dire mishap it would be reckoned,
And sadly shocked my first would be.

'Were I but what my whole implies,
And passed by chance across your portal,
You'd cry, "Can I believe my eyes?
I never saw so queer a mortal!"

'For then my head would not be on,
My arms their shoulders must abandon;
My very body would be gone,
I should not have a leg to stand on.'

Come, that 's dispatched--what follows?--Stay,
'Reform demanded by the nation--
Vote for Tagrag and Bobtail!' Aye,
By Jove, a blessed Reformation!

Jack, clap the saddle upon Rose--
Or, no!--the filly--she 's the fleeter;
The devil take the rain--here goes,
I'm off-a plumper for St. Peter!

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