Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A HORRID AND BARBAROUS ROBBERY, by JOHN BYROM



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A HORRID AND BARBAROUS ROBBERY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Dear martin folkes, dear scholar, brother, friend
Last Line: From me, your humble servant and grand master.
Subject(s): Crime & Criminals


DEAR Martin Folkes, dear scholar, brother, friend,
And words of like importance without end,
This comes to tell you, how in Epping Hundred
Last Wedn'sday morning I was robb'd and plund'red.
Forgive the Muse who sings what, I suppose,
Fame has already trumpeted in prose.
But Fame's a lying jade, the turn of fate
Let poor Melpomene herself relate:
Spare the sad nymph a vacant hour's relief,
To rhyme away the remnants of her grief.

On Tuesday night, you know with how much sorrow
I briefly told the club—"I go to-morrow"—
To-morrow came, when in due order I
Went to the starting place accordingly;
Bull was the house, and Bishopgate the street;
The coach as full as it could cram; to wit,
Two fellow commoners, De aulâ Trin.
And eke an honest bricklayer of Lynn,
And eke two Norfolk dames, his wife and cousin,
And eke my worship's self made half a dozen.

Now then, as fortune had contriv'd, our way
Thro' the wild brakes of Epping Forest lay:
With travellers and trunks, a cumbrous load,
We crawl'd along the solitary road;
Where nought but thickets within thickets grew,
No house or barn to cheer the wand'ring view;
Nor lab'ring hind, nor shepherd did appear,
Nor sportsman with his dog or gun was there;
A dreary landscape, bushy and forlorn,
Where rogues start up like mushrooms in a morn.

However since such rogues we had not yet
Except within a sessions-paper met,
We jok'd on fear; tho' as we past along,
Robbing was still the burden of the song.
With untry'd courage bravely we repell'd
The rude attacks of dogs not yet beheld.
With val'rous talk still battling, till at last
We thought all danger was as good as past.
Says one, (too soon alas!) "now let him come,
"I'll fell him with this bottle full of rum."

Scarce had he spoken when the brickman's wife
Cry'd out, "good Lord! he's here upon my life!"
Forth from behind the wheels the villain came,
And swore such words as I dare hardly name;
But you'll suppose them not from me to drop,
But from the rogue, "G—d d—n ye, coachman, stop
"Your money, deliver me your money,
"Quick, d—n ye, quick! must I stay waiting on ye?
"Quick, or I'll send"—(and nearer still he rode)
"A brace of balls amongst ye all, by G—d!"

I leave you to conjecture in what plight
We all were put by this ferocious wight.
The trembling females into labour fell;
Big with the sudden fear, they pout, they swell;
And soon deliver'd by his horrid curses,
Brought forth two strange and præternat'ral purses;
Which look'd indeed like purses made of leather,
But let the sweet-tongu'd Maningham say whether
A common purse could possibly conceal
Shillings, half-crowns and half-pence by piece-meal.

The youth who threw the bottle at the knave
Before he came, now thought it best to wave
Such resolution, and preserve the liquor,
Since a round guinea might be thrown much quicker;
So with impetuous haste he flung him that,
Which the sharp rascal parried with his hat.
His right-hand man, a brother of the quill,
Chose prudently to shew his own good will
By the same token, and without much scruple
Made the red-rugg'd collector's income duple.

My heart (for truth I always must confess)
Dropp'd down an inch exactly, more or less.
With fixed eyes I view'd the thief's approach,
And read the case of Pistol versus Coach;
A woful case, which I had oft heard quoted,
But ne'er before in all my practice noted.
So when the lawyers brought in their report,
"Guinea per Christian to be paid in Court,"
"Well off," thought I, "from this son of a whore,
"If he prefer his action for no more.

"No more! why hang him! is it not too much
"To pay a guinea for his vile High Dutch?
"'Tis true his arguments are short and frank,
"His action strong, to which he swears point-blank;
"Yet why resign the yellow One Pound One?
"No, tax his bill and give him silver, John!"
So said so done, when putting fist to fob
I flung, th' apparent value of the job,
An ounce of silver into his receiver,
And mark'd what fine respects he'd pay the giver.

He, like a thankless wretch that's overpaid,
Resents the insult offer'd to his trade,
And treats my kindness with—"Oh! this won't do;
"Look here, good sir, I must have gold from you."
To this demand of the ungrateful cur
Defendant John thought proper to demur.
The bricklayer joining in the white opinion,
Tender'd five shillings to Diana's minion,
Who still kept threat'ning to pervade his buff,
Because the payment was not prompt enough.

Before the women could within his reach
Place what contents were in their purses each,
One of his pieces falling downwards, drew
The rogue's attention hungrily thereto.
Straight he began to damn the charioteer,
"Come down, you dog, reach me that guinea there."
Down jumps the frighted coachman on the sand,
Picks up the gold and puts it in his hand;
Missing a rare occasion, tim'rous dastard!
To seize his pistol and dismount the bastard.

Now while in deep and serious ponderment
I watch'd the motions of his next intent,
He wheel'd about as fully bent to try
Which of the two was strongest, he or I,
And how my silver sentiments would hold
Against that hard dilemma,—balls or gold.
"No help?" said I, "no tachygraphic pow'r
"To interpose in this unequal hour?
"I can't maintain, except by lowly cringing,
"My cause against that murderous fire-engine."

The goddess Short-hand, bright celestial maid!
Just then descended to her champion's aid;
Clad in a letter'd vest of silver hue,
Wrought by her fav'rite Phebe's hand, she flew.
Th' unfolded surface fell exactly neat,
In just proportion o'er her shape complete;
Distinct with lines of purer flaming white,
Transparent work, intelligibly bright;
Form'd to delight the cultivated mind,
To puzzle and confound the stupid hind.

Soon as the wretch the sacred writing spy'd,
"What conjuration-sight is this?" he cry'd.
My eyes meanwhile the heav'nly vision clear'd,
And shew'd me how his hellish looks appear'd.
Heav'n shield all travellers from foul disgrace!
For I saw Tyburn in the ruffian's face;
And if aright I judge of human mein,
His face ere long in Tyburn will be seen.
The hostile blaze soon seiz'd his miscreant blood;
He star'd, turn'd short, and fled into the wood.

Danger dismiss'd, the gentle goddess smil'd
Like a fond parent o'er her fearful child;
And thus began to drive the dire surprise,
Forth from my anxious breast in jocund wise;—
"My son," said she, "this fellow is no Weston,
"No adversary, child, to make a jest on;
"With ink sulphureous upon human skin
"He writes, indenting horrid marks therein;
"But thou hast read his fate, the halter'd slave
"Shall quickly sing his penitential stave.

"Pursue thy route, and when thou tak'st another,
"Bestride some gen'rous quadruped or other.
"Let this enchanted vehicle confine
"From this time forth no votaries of mine!
"Let me no more see honest short-hand men
"Coop'd up in wood, like poultry in a pen.
"And at Trin. Coll. whene'er thou art enlarging
"On this adventure, note within the margin,—
"Let Cambridge scholars who are not quite bare,
"Shun Epping Forest's track and ride through Ware.

"Adieu! my son; resume thy wonted jokes,
"And write account of this to Martin Folkes."
This said, she mounts; the characters divine
Through the bright path immensely brilliant shine.
Safely arriv'd, first for my boots I wrote;
I tell the story, and subjoin the note.
And lastly, to fulfil the dread commands,
These hasty lines presume to kiss your hands.
Excuse the tedious tale of a disaster
From me, your humble servant and Grand Master.





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