Hark ye, (said he), 'tis an odd story this
About the Crows.-I don't know what it is,
Replied his friend.-No! I'm surpris'd at that!
Where I come from, it is the common chat.
But you shall hear an odd affair indeed!
And that it happen'd they are all agreed.
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A Gentleman that lives not far from Change,
This week, in short, as all the Alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows! ·
Impossible!-Nay, but 'tis really true:
I have it from good hands, and so may you.-
From whose I pray? So having nam'd the man,
Straight to inquire, his curious comrade ran.
Sir, did you tell-relating the affair-
Yes, Sir, I did: and if 'tis worth your care,
Ask Mr Such-a-one, he told it me;
But, by the bye, 'twas two black crows, not three.
Resolv'd to trace so various an event,
Whip to the third the Virtuoso went:
Sir, and so forth-Why, yes, the thing is fact,
Tho' in regard to number, not exact;
It was not two black crows, 'twas only one,
The truth of that you may depend upon :
The gentleman himself told me the case.
Where may I find him?-Why, in such a place.
Away goes he, and having found him out-
Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt-
Then to his last informant he referr'd,
And begg'd to know if true, what he had heard-
Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?—Not I.
Bless me, how people propagate a lie!
Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and
And here I find all comes at last to-none.
Did you say nothing of a crow at all?
Crow! crow!-Perhaps I might; now I recall
The matter over-And pray, Sir, what was't?
Why, I was horrid sick, and at the last
I did throw up, and told my neighbour so,
Something that was-as black as any crow.
WHILE chatting at a neighbour's door,
Paying my little gossip's score,
After my usual summer trip,
And ready charg'd with tongue and lip;
And, what is most a trav'ller's glory,
With willing hearers to my story,
While all were more prepar'd to wonder,
Than to detect the trav'ller's blunder :
Each mouth was open'd more than half,
Just ready at my jokes to laugh,
When, lo! a momentary pause
Alter'd the structure of their jaws;
The eyes, too, look'd a little queer,
And gave a sidelong awkward leer;
My auditors now shrunk away,
Like spectres at the dawn of day.
Alone, I turn'd me half-way round,
And soon the dreaded cause I found.
Reader, we want a simile
That with our purpose will agree.
Suppose, then, that you saw a ghost,
Or what you fear'd or hated most:
Reader, perhaps you've been at school,
And felt the rod, and fear'd the rule,
When, giving way to sudden mirth,
You lent to thought too loud a birth;
And having caught the master's eye,
With double zeal your task you ply,
As if you meant to eat your book,
Scarce daring or to breathe or look.
Or 't may be, you're a jolly fellow,
And take your ale till you are mellow;
And just when you have made a choice
Of what is good, you hear a voice:
I will not, (for I hate all strife,)
Hint, that it might have been your wife,
Or something that is just as sore,
The landlord hop'd you'd pay your score.
But not to lose in metaphor,
The pith, the marrow, and the core,
I tell the reader-though it came
Neither in sulphur, smoke, nor flame;
No sprite from fam'd Fuseli's shop
In paralyzing could o'ertop:
He-that will come as sure as fate;
He-who will never come too late;
'Twas he! whose rigour ne'er relaxes;
Twas he, who gathers in the taxes!
ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BELZONI'S
AND thou hast walk'd about (how strange a story!)
In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago,
When the Memnonium was in all its glory,
And time had not begun to overthrow
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous,
Of which the very ruins are tremendous !
Speak! for thou long enough hast acted Dumby,
Thou hast a tongue, come, let us hear its tune; Thou'rt standing on thy legs above ground, Mummy! Revisiting the glimpses of the moon.
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures,
But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs and features.
Tell us for doubtless thou canst recollect,
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame; Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect
Of either pyramid that bears his name? Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer?
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer?
Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden
By oath to tell the secrets of thy tradeThen say, what secret melody was hidden
In Memnon's statue, which at sun-rise play'd? Perhaps thou wert a Priest-if so, my struggles Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles.
Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat,
Has hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh, glass to glass;
Or dropp'd a halfpenny in Homer's hat,
Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass,
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
A torch at the great Temple's dedication.
I need not ask thee if that hand, when arm'd,
Has any Roman soldier maul'd and knuckled, For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalm'd, Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled:Antiquity appears to have begun
Long after thy primeval race was run.
Thou couldst develop, if that wither'd tongue Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen, How the world look'd when it was fresh and young, And the great Deluge still had left it greenOr was it then so old, that Hist'ry's pages Contain'd no record of its early ages?
Still silent, incommunicative elf?
Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows; But pr'ythee tell us something of thyself, Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house; Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumber'd, What hast thou seen-what strange adventures number'd?
Since first thy form was in this box extended, We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations;
The Roman empire has begun and ended,
New worlds have risen-we have lost old nations, And countless kings have into dust been humbled, Whilst not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head, When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, March'd armies o'er thy tomb with thund'ring tread,
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,
And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder,
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder?
If the tomb's secrets may not be confess'd,
The nature of thy private life unfold :-
A heart has throbb'd beneath that leathern breast,
And tears adown that dusky cheek have roll'd:-
Have children climb'd those knees, and kiss'd that
What was thy name and station, age and race?
Statue of flesh-Immortal of the dead!
Imperishable type of evanescence !
Posthumous man, who quit'st thy narrow bed,
And standest undecay'd within our presence,
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