Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE NURSE AND THE NEWSPAPER; AN OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE, by ELIZABETH COBBOLD



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE NURSE AND THE NEWSPAPER; AN OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE, by                    
First Line: Hush! Pretty darling, hush! -- bye, bye, bye, bye
Last Line: And give us safe deliv'ry from our terrors.
Alternate Author Name(s): Knipe, Eliza
Subject(s): Babies; Charity; Newspapers; Nurses; Infants; Philanthropy; Journalism; Journalists


The Scene draws, and discovers an old Nurse rocking a Cradle; a Table near
her, with Bottles, Baskets, and a Newspaper upon it.

Hush! pretty darling, hush!—Bye, bye, bye, bye,
There's a good child. So now it does not cry.
What, shall I sing a song, or story try at,
To keep this little helpless bantling quiet?
It will not, on an honest Nurse's conscience,
Be the first baby that was lull'd with nonsense.

Young Master sleeps; his caps are neatly laid,
His victuals ready, and the caudle made.
What shall I do the minutes to amuse?
Why, though no Scholard, I can read the News:—
But can I understand it?—No; I fear
There's nothing in my way to study there.

Well, let me see:
(Putting on her Spectacles, and taking up the Paper.)
Dear! dear! who could have thought it?
What's here?—All News, as pat as if I'd bought it.
"Labour!" "Deliv'rance!" now, by my discretion,
In ev'ry line a touch at my profession!
(Reads.)
"We hear, from Boulogne, that the num'rous fry
"Of rafts, sloops, brigs, and gun-boats, are laid by:
"The troops, that late were groaning for invasion,
"Are crying out upon a new occasion:
"And they who Britain's valour dar'd disparage,
"Find all their boastings end in—a miscarriage."
Why aye, that's right! but England, free and hearty,
Laugh'd always at their threats, and Bonaparte.
(Reads.)
"Now, big with just revenge, the teeming North
"Collects her forces, brings her myriads forth;
"She finds that France in lawless sway increases;
"That Italy is falling all to pieces:
"Such times give birth to more than common zeal,
"And Austria labours for the public weal,
"To fix a lasting peace on balanc'd pow'r,
And bless all Europe with a happy hour."

My stars! how joyous folks will drink and sing!
I'll take a thimble-full to—"Bless the King!"
(Reads.)
"Vain are the plots the foe to Freedom bred;
"His projects prettily are brought to bed:
"Soon may the hour be pregnant with his doom,
"And the Usurper find his time is come."
Lord! Lord! I think the World is lying-in!
What's next?—O! here advertisements begin;
So, to proceed with decent regularity—
(Reads.)
"The annual Meeting of the Ipswich Charity
"Maintain'd by mod'rate weekly contribution"—

Aye, this I know: a glorious Institution!
That soothes the hour with pain and grief opprest,
And makes, by timely aid, the cottage blest.
What honest heart but would rejoice to say,
This charity is in a thriving way?
Still rich in kind protectors, may it flourish,
And Britain's hardier sons and daughters nourish.
I'm sure I wish it well, and so for certain,
Do all our worthy friends behind the curtain.
(To the Audience.)
Then, since 'tis your applause our pangs beguiles,
Since our delights are cradled in your smiles,
Assist our labours, hush to rest our errors,
And give us safe deliv'ry from our terrors.





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