Playful Poems | Page 4

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, and also none displease?Of all here riding in this company,?And mine host grant it, I would pass thee by,?Till thou art better, and so tell MY tale;?For in good faith thy visage is full pale;?Thine eyes grow dull, methinks; and sure I am,?Thy breath resembleth not sweet marjoram,?Which showeth thou canst utter no good matter:?Nay, thou mayst frown forsooth, but I'll not flatter.?See,