Playful Poems | Page 4

as it was current among the people in his part of the country, its
scene laid almost on the spot where he was born. Captain Grose, the
antiquary, who was collecting materials for his "Antiquities of
Scotland," published in 1789-91, got Burns to versify it and give it to
him. The poem made its first appearance, therefore, in Captain Grose's
book. Mrs. Burns told of it that it was the work of a day. Burns was
most of the day on his favourite walk by the river, where his wife and
some of the children joined him in the afternoon. Mrs. Burns saw that
her husband was busily engaged "crooning to himsell," and she loitered
behind with the little ones among the broom. Presently she was
attracted by the poet's strange and wild gesticulations; he seemed
agonised with an ungovernable joy. He was reciting very loud. Every
circumstance suggested to heighten the impression of fear in the lines
following,
"By this time he was 'cross the ford
Where in the snaw the chapman
smoored," etc.,
was taken from local tradition. Shanter was the real name of a farm
near Kirkoswald, then occupied by a Douglas Grahame, who was much
of Tam's character, and was well content to be called by his country
neighbours Tam o' Shanter for the rest of his life, after Burns had made
the name of the farm immortal.
Our selection ends with two pieces by Thomas Hood, whose "Tale of a
Trumpet" is luxuriant with play of wit that has its earnest side. Hood
died in 1845.
A Note upon the Game of Ombre is added, which is founded upon the
description of the game in a little book--"The Court Gamester"-- which
instructed card-players in the reigns of the first Georges. In the "Rape
of the Lock" there is a game of ombre played through to the last trick.

That note will enable any reader to follow Belinda's play. It will also
enable any one who may care to do so to restore to a place among our
home amusements a game which carried all before it in Queen Anne's
day, and which is really, when cleared of its gambling details, as good a
domestic game for three players as cribbage or piquet is for two. My
"Court Gamester," which was in its fifth edition in 1728, after devoting
its best energies to ombre, contented its readers in fewer pages with the
addition only of piquet and chess.
Obsolete words and words of Scottish dialect, with a few more as to the
meaning of which some readers might be uncertain, will be found
explained in the Glossary that ends this volume.
CHAUCER'S MANCIPLE'S TALE OF PHOEBUS AND THE
CROW
MODERNISED BY LEIGH HUNT.
NOTE.
The reader is to understand, that all the persons previously described in
the "Prologue to the Canterbury Tales" are now riding on their way to
that city, and each of them telling his tale respectively, which is
preceded by some little bit of incident or conversation on the road. The
agreement, suggested by the Host of the Tabard, was, first, that each
pilgrim should tell a couple of tales while going to Canterbury, and
another couple during the return to London; secondly, that the narrator
of the best one of all should sup at the expense of the whole party; and
thirdly, that the Host himself should be gratuitous guide on the journey,
and arbiter of all differences by the way, with power to inflict the
payment of travelling expenses upon any one who should gainsay his
judgment. During the intervals of the stories he is accordingly the most
prominent person.--LEIGH HUNT.
PROLOGUE TO THE MANCIPLE'S TALE.
Wottest thou, reader, of a little town, {17}
Which thereabouts they
call Bob-up-and-down,
Under the Blee, in Canterbury way?
Well,
there our host began to jest and play,
And said, "Hush, hush now:

Dun is in the mire.
What, sirs? will nobody, for prayer or hire,

Wake our good gossip, sleeping here behind?
Here were a bundle for
a thief to find.
See, how he noddeth! by St. Peter, see!
He'll tumble
off his saddle presently.
Is that a cook of London, red flames take him!

He knoweth the agreement--wake him, wake him:
We'll have his
tale, to keep him from his nap,
Although the drink turn out not worth
the tap.
Awake, thou cook," quoth he; "God say thee nay;
What
aileth thee to sleep thus in the day?
Hast thou had fleas all night? or
art thou drunk?
Or didst thou sup with my good lord the monk,
And
hast a jolly surfeit in thine head?"
This cook that was full pale, and nothing red,
Stared up, and said unto
the host, "God bless
My soul, I feel such wondrous heaviness,
I
know not why, that I would rather sleep
Than drink of the best
gallon-wine in Cheap."
"Well," quoth the Manciple, "if it might ease
Thine head, Sir Cook,