Archive for the ‘Poem’ Category

Foul Play!

March 19, 2017

Here is the next installment of poetry generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  Enjoy!

Foul Play

 

Walking through Fleet-street on a time,
I saw a prentice, in his prime,
Come running from a house in haste,
As if by twenty devils chased:
His face with blood was all besmeared.
And on his head a wound appeared.
This sight about him quickly drew
Of gazing fools and idle crew;
Till some one wiser than therest,
Called Lovell, thus the youth addressed:

“Dear cousin, I am quite confounded
“To see your head thus sadly wounded;
“Pray, tell me, Will, who did this deed?”
“For I am vexed to see you bleed.”

William replied, “I’ll here declare:
“My master’s wife is very fair,m
“But he’s an old and fumbling beast,
“And jealousy disturbs his breast:
“For, wanting youth, and wanting vigor,
“He’s angry at my handsome figure,
“And thinks, in spite of our concealing,
“His wife and I have private dealing.
“This put him to a deal of pain,
“And has at last quite turned his brain:
“And now he lurked within the house,
“On purpose to surprise his spouse;
“Who, being from suspicion free,
“Had sat her down upon my knee;
“And, kissing me, as she was wont,
“I kindly took her by the —–;
“On this the wretch (good Master Lovell)
“Came in with a cursed paring shovel.
“And, like a villain knocked me down,
“Making this gash across my crown:
“Again he did his blow repeat,
“Till I was fain to make retreat:
“This is the reason why I bleed.”
“Your case is very hard indeed,”
Said Lovell: “let me understand,
“Had you got nothing in your hand,
“To save you from the cuckold’s stroked?”
Will, frowning, said, “None of your jokes;
“I had his wife’s —–, Master Lovell,
“But what’s a —– to a paring shovel?”

Note: printed on the page following the title page was the following: “from a collection of poems that have been generally ascribed to Thomas, sixth Earl of Harrington. He was the son of Charles, the fifth Earl, and Margaret Lesslie, Countess of Rothes; and fought on the Royal side at the battle of Shirreffmuir, along with his brother John Lesslie, Earl of Rothes, and his own son, Lord Binning. These poems, according to Pinkerton, were printed about 1730, and have been reprinted in 1753, 1765, 1767, and 1777. He was also the author of Mia treatise on forest trees, which has gone through several editions. He died in 1735.” However, if these dates are correct (and I am by no means an expert historian in such matters), these poems could only have been written by either the first or second Earl of Harrington (William Stanhope and W.S. Jr.).

The Sutler!

February 19, 2017

Here is the next installment of poetry generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  Enjoy!

The Sutler

It happened in Flanders, when Louis le Grand
Beat the allies each year under William’s command.
The confederates seeing they fought but in vain
Did wisely  resolve to break up the campaign;
The weather was cold, to quarters they went,
But whether to Brusssels, to Bruges, or Ghent,
Or Bergen-op-zoom, it doth not avail
A groat to the public, far less to my tale;
But, as I was saying, the tents were all struck,
Amongst them a sutler’s, who had the good luck
To have a large purse to the strings full of gold,
In return for the meat and the wine he had sold,
A large covered wagon he had of his own,
And four as good horses as ever were known:
In this he enclosed his wife and his pelf,
And, for saving expenses, he drove it himself.

I often have heard it, and I think it is right,
A purse very heavy makes a heart very light;
‘Twas so with the sutler, who whistled all day,
Till he met with a party of French by the way,
That seized on his wagon, searched him and his wife,
And put him in bodily fear of his life:
He cursed his hard fortune, and his cruel stars,
And railed at the men who delighted in wars:
His goods taken from him and stripped to the skin,
In sorrowful pickle he went to an inn,
Where he sighed and he grieved, and complained of his fate.
At last he was cheered by his kind loving mate,
Who said to him, “Robin, pray be not cast down
“In a pint of Geneva our sorrow we’ll drown.”
“Alas!” said the man, “you’re distracted, I think
“I have not a farthing to pay for the drink.”
“No matter,” she said, and looked with a smile,
“I did the damned party, in some sort, beguile;”
Then drew out a purse, twice as big as your fist,
“Thought they searched me,” said she, “this treasure they missed;”
“then, prithee, be cheerful.”  This gave him new life,
He wept, and he laughed, and he ogled his wife,
And leering upon her, said, “Tell me, my dear,
“Where was it you hid the purse I see here?”
She smiled on her spouse, then laughed in his face,
“I hit it,” said she, “in a certain place,
“With which you’re acquainted.”  He said, — “My dear life,
“I see you’re a careful and provident wife;
“You’ve done very well, but you’d had more to brag on,
“If you there had disposed of the horses and wagon.”

Note: printed on the page following the title page was the following: “from a collection of poems that have been generally ascribed to Thomas, sixth Earl of Harrington. He was the son of Charles, the fifth Earl, and Margaret Lesslie, Countess of Rothes; and fought on the Royal side at the battle of Shirreffmuir, along with his brother John Lesslie, Earl of Rothes, and his own son, Lord Binning. These poems, according to Pinkerton, were printed about 1730, and have been reprinted in 1753, 1765, 1767, and 1777. He was also the author of Mia treatise on forest trees, which has gone through several editions. He died in 1735.” However, if these dates are correct (and I am by no means an expert historian in such matters), these poems could only have been written by either the first or second Earl of Harrington (William Stanhope and W.S. Jr.).

The Gray Mare the Better Horse!

January 21, 2017

Here is the next installment of poetry generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  Enjoy!

The Gray Mare the Better Horse

 

Some men I’ve known by indiscretion
Of parents in their education,
Who feared their sons would never do good
If anything they understood,
And kept them back, with mighty care<
From conversation with the fair;
Lest they should taste the joys of life,
Ere tied for ever to a wife.
I’ve known such men as these, I say,
Transported on their wedding day,
In hopes to taste the longed-for bliss,
And freely toy, and freely kiss;
But, knowing  nothing of the joy,
Fondly believed they would destroy
The tender females; well they knew
That they their rapture could renew
whene’er they pleased! ’twas thus they thought
But soon their schemes fell all to nought:
For when they joined in amorous fight,
In spite of all their boasted might,
The women always won the day,
And wearied them with wanton play:
They in the pastime took delightm,
Whether at morning, noon, or night;
Whene’er the men that way were bent,
They ever found their wives content.

Not long ago, a friend of mine,
An able, clever, young divine.
Told me, upon his wedding day,
He feared he night his Nanny slay,
She seemed so young, and looked so slender,
That sure his something would offend her;
For I might see it by his figure,
He had too much of love and vigor.

I, smiling, told him that his wife
Was in no danger of her life,
For I have often heard it saidm,
‘Twas folly to believe a maid
Would suffer in an amorous quarrel,
If she was once as high’s a barrel;
For, let her be however young
Something will be as wide as the bung.

The doctor at my fancy smiled,
Yet was in terror for the child.
Next day I to his levee came,
And gravely asked him if his dame
Was still alive? He, sighing, said,
“There is no killing of a maid;
“I thought she would have cried or child,
“But Nancy smiled at all I did,
“She hugged me closely to her breast,
“And no uneasiness expressed;
“My utmost vigor I employed,
“In hopes the fair one would be cloyed;”
“But she, transported with delight,
“Till I (my friend) was soundly tired;
“And getting up, the bride did say,
” ‘You rise, my dear, before ’tis day;’ ”
Then added, with a leering smile,
” ‘Lie down my dear and rest a while.’ ”
“Lie down!” said I, “nay, now you jest me;
“No, no, my dear, I’ll rise to rest me.”

Note: printed on the page following the title page was the following: “from a collection of poems that have been generally ascribed to Thomas, sixth Earl of Harrington. He was the son of Charles, the fifth Earl, and Margaret Lesslie, Countess of Rothes; and fought on the Royal side at the battle of Shirreffmuir, along with his brother John Lesslie, Earl of Rothes, and his own son, Lord Binning. These poems, according to Pinkerton, were printed about 1730, and have been reprinted in 1753, 1765, 1767, and 1777. He was also the author of Mia treatise on forest trees, which has gone through several editions. He died in 1735.” However, if these dates are correct (and I am by no means an expert historian in such matters), these poems could only have been written by either the first or second Earl of Harrington (William Stanhope and W.S. Jr.).

The Adventure, Part Two!

December 21, 2016

And now, the conclusion to the poem generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).   Enjoy!

The Adventure

Thrice happy pair, who could employ
Their hours in such transporting joy!
But when the sun with glowing heat,
Did on their wanton bosoms beat,
To shun the scorching of his beams,
They went to bathe in crystal streams.

Scarce had they to the river got,
Ere Mrs. Jane beheld a boat,
By osiers to the margin tied;
“Abroad, my dear, abroad,” she cried,
“Let’s row the galley for a while.”
The fair obeyed her with a smile;
Each took an oar, they shove from land,
But neither could an oar command;
The boat went down the rapid tiede,
In vain they tried to reach the side:
Their rashness they repent in vain,
And, trembling, hurry to the main.
Miss Jane cried out with all her might,
Till two young farmers came in sight,
Who, seeing them in such distress,
Soon laid aside their useless dress;
And hastened by the ladies’ screams,
With brawny arms divide the streams;
They reached the boat, each took an oar,
And brought her quickly to the shore.

But yet the landing place was steep,
The bank was high, the water deep:
The fair one plunged into the flood,
And to the ankles stood in mud:
The youngest farmer jumped to land,
And to her gave his helping hand:
He pulled her safe upon the green,
Then ran to succour Mrs. Jane;
Who trembling stood half-dead with fear,
Nor for herself, but for her dear:
But seeing she had got to land,
In haste let go the farmer’s hand,
And falling headlong in the stream,
The charmer gave a dreadful scream:
The fellow gave her timely aid,
And from the water dragged the maid.

A drowning wretch, as people say,
Will grasp at whatever’s in his way;
And Mrs. Jane, as I am told,
Upon a certain place laid hold,
That she had thought the greatest crime,
To look on at another time;
But danger made her lay aside
Her silly prudery, and her pride,
And keep the member in her hand:
Until she safe arrived at land;
Then to the fair one ran in haste,
And pressed her closely to her breast,
Who, smiling, whispered in her ear,
“I did not think that you, my dear,
“Your spotless fingers would defile,
“By touching any thing so vile.”
To this the man-like maid replied,
“What I have done can’t be denied:”
Then with her hand her blushes hid:
“I reason had for what I did;
“My feet stuck fast within the mud,
“I feared to perish in the flood.
“I hate mankind with all my heart,
“Yet I did choose to grasp that part;
“Because, I’ve heard my mother teach,
“It never can the bottom reach.”

 

Note: printed on the page following the title page was the following: “from a collection of poems that have been generally ascribed to Thomas, sixth Earl of Harrington. He was the son of Charles, the fifth Earl, and Margaret Lesslie, Countess of Rothes; and fought on the Royal side at the battle of Shirreffmuir, along with his brother John Lesslie, Earl of Rothes, and his own son, Lord Binning. These poems, according to Pinkerton, were printed about 1730, and have been reprinted in 1753, 1765, 1767, and 1777. He was also the author of Mia treatise on forest trees, which has gone through several editions. He died in 1735.” However, if these dates are correct (and I am by no means an expert historian in such matters), these poems could only have been written by either the first or second Earl of Harrington (William Stanhope and W.S. Jr.).

The Excuse!

November 23, 2016

Here is the next installment of poetry generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  Enjoy!

The Excuse

An honest man, in wane of life,
Had got a young and wanton wife,
Who, though she never gave offence,
Was given to benevolence.
Her husband played a husband’s part,
And loved his wife with all his heart:
But yet she made demands that he
Had little power to gratify.

One night, as in their bed they lay,
The wife became exceeding gay,
She kissed, she tickled, and she toyed,
And wantonly her hands employed;
Betwixt his lips her tongue she thrust,
And showed a deal of lawful lust;
But spouse was unprepared quite,
And sleep preferred to soft delight.
But, by his wife’s endearments, guessed
It was in vain to hope for rest:
He found himself for love unfit.
Yest saved his credit by his wit;
For, giving her a close embrace,
He with his finger touched the place,
And smelling at it, sighing, said,
“You are not well, I am afraid:”
Then whispered softly in her ear,
“Your marigold doth stink, my dear.”

“Lord help your head,” replied the wife,
“I was never better in my life!

” ‘Tis fresh and sweet indeed it is;”
Then gave her spouse a glowing kiss;
Who answered, to the fair one’s sorrow,
“If sweet, let’s keep it till to-morrow.”

Note: printed on the page following the title page was the following: “from a collection of poems that have been generally ascribed to Thomas, sixth Earl of Harrington. He was the son of Charles, the fifth Earl, and Margaret Lesslie, Countess of Rothes; and fought on the Royal side at the battle of Shirreffmuir, along with his brother John Lesslie, Earl of Rothes, and his own son, Lord Binning. These poems, according to Pinkerton, were printed about 1730, and have been reprinted in 1753, 1765, 1767, and 1777. He was also the author of Mia treatise on forest trees, which has gone through several editions. He died in 1735.” However, if these dates are correct (and I am by no means an expert historian in such matters), these poems could only have been written by either the first or second Earl of Harrington (William Stanhope and W.S. Jr.).

Fifty Pounds Saved!

October 20, 2016

Here is the next installment of poetry generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  Enjoy!

Fifty Pounds Saved

A peer, some more than six foot high,
The soldier trade resolved to try:
He fondly fancied that his size,
Would make him in the army rise:
He of his valor much did boast,
And by his friends obtained a post.

My lord, with what was given, content,
Packed up his awls, to Flanders went:
Nor would my lady stay behind,
But, spite of wintry seas and wind,
Did with her husband risk her life,
To show her duty as a wife.
The voyage ended with content,
Her ladyship did stay at Ghent:
My lord stayed out a whole campaign,
Then to his wife returned again.

My lady was young, fresh, and gay,
And, while her husband was away,
Had passed her time in soft delights,
Mirth blessed her days, love crowned her nights.
Lovers she had, at least a dozen,
Amongst the rest his lordship’s cousin,
A gallant man, and handsome too,
Who never did successless woo;
Each day he to the fair one came,
And gave great pleasure to the dame.
But now her husband was returned,
For want of joy my  lady mourned:
They could not meet oft as they would,
Yet met as often as they could.

One night my lord came flustered home,
And sent in haste for cousin Tom:
He joyful came, as was desired;
They supped; the servants all retired.
My lady stayed, as may be guessed,
His lordship toasted to the best:
Tom on my lady stared, and smiled,
While she looked harmless as a child.

My lord a rantling speech began,
And over his perfections ran;
He praised himself for this and that,
And said, “Dear Tom, my, you know what,
“Is larger, nay, is longer too,
“Than what can be produced by you.”

The well-bred colonel, blushing sat,
Andm smiling, said, “How know you that?
“But ’tis not fit discourse, I think.”
My lord, who was overpowered with drink,
Believing this a great affront,
Said, “I’ll lay fifty pounds upon’t.”
The colonel said, “I’ll wager none,”
And begged he’d let the theme alone.
My lord insisted more and more,
And scarce from showing it forbore.

The dame could scarce from laughing hold,
Yet said, “My life, put up your gold.
“For such a bet some other choose,
“For were’t a million  you would lose.”

Note: printed on the page following the title page was the following: “from a collection of poems that have been generally ascribed to Thomas, sixth Earl of Harrington. He was the son of Charles, the fifth Earl, and Margaret Lesslie, Countess of Rothes; and fought on the Royal side at the battle of Shirreffmuir, along with his brother John Lesslie, Earl of Rothes, and his own son, Lord Binning. These poems, according to Pinkerton, were printed about 1730, and have been reprinted in 1753, 1765, 1767, and 1777. He was also the author of Mia treatise on forest trees, which has gone through several editions. He died in 1735.” However, if these dates are correct (and I am by no means an expert historian in such matters), these poems could only have been written by either the first or second Earl of Harrington (William Stanhope and W.S. Jr.).

Good Advice!

September 22, 2016

Here is the next installment of poetry generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  Enjoy!

Good Advice

Some years ago, a charming dame
In Paris to the regent came.
She was so vexed she scarce could speak,
She trembled, and her voice was weak:
But rage, however closely pent
In a woman’s breast, will find a vent.
Three times she sighed, and thus begun:
“Great Orleans, I am undone;
“Just now the cardinal I saw,
“Told him I had a suit for law,
“That I’d be baffled at the court,
“Unless he did my cause support,m
“Then to him kneeled; as God shall save me,
“The wicked wretch an answer gave me,
“With which I was quite thunder-struck:
“Madam,” said he, “go home and f___.”
“What could the lewd, the rotten brute
“Say to a common prostitute?
“Was this fit language to a maid?”
To this his Highness, smiling said,
“What though Dubois’s a slave to vice,
“Yet, faith, he gave you good advice.”

Note: printed on the page following the title page was the following: “from a collection of poems that have been generally ascribed to Thomas, sixth Earl of Harrington. He was the son of Charles, the fifth Earl, and Margaret Lesslie, Countess of Rothes; and fought on the Royal side at the battle of Shirreffmuir, along with his brother John Lesslie, Earl of Rothes, and his own son, Lord Binning. These poems, according to Pinkerton, were printed about 1730, and have been reprinted in 1753, 1765, 1767, and 1777. He was also the author of Mia treatise on forest trees, which has gone through several editions. He died in 1735.” However, if these dates are correct (and I am by no means an expert historian in such matters), these poems could only have been written by either the first or second Earl of Harrington (William Stanhope and W.S. Jr.).

The Doctor’s Answer!

August 21, 2016

Here is the next installment of poetry generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  This particular poem will be continued with the second and third parts over the next couple of days.  Enjoy!

The Doctor’s Answer

 

Good Sir, as for your natural question,
(A thing too true to make a jest on)
At present I decline the task,
‘Tis you should answer, I should ask:
Some things there are, if I might quote ’em,
Which man can never search to bottom,
Too ticklish to be nearly touched,
Yet may in simile be couched.

Two fiddles lay, in size and frame
Alike, their wood and strings the same;
Them both by turns a minstrel tried,
And with the stick their bellies plied;
A clown stood by astonished much,
How, by the same apparent touch,
One sounded with melodious voice,
Whilst t’other made a jarring noise.
To him the minstrel — “Dunderhead,
“Wish as just cause thou might have wondered.
“At winter’s frost, or heat in June,
“This fiddle here is out of tune.
“Fiddles alone are not to blame,
“The sticks must often take the shame;
“Too feeble, short, or limber chosen,
“And often fail for want of rosin.”

Note: printed on the page following the title page was the following: “from a collection of poems that have been generally ascribed to Thomas, sixth Earl of Harrington. He was the son of Charles, the fifth Earl, and Margaret Lesslie, Countess of Rothes; and fought on the Royal side at the battle of Shirreffmuir, along with his brother John Lesslie, Earl of Rothes, and his own son, Lord Binning. These poems, according to Pinkerton, were printed about 1730, and have been reprinted in 1753, 1765, 1767, and 1777. He was also the author of Mia treatise on forest trees, which has gone through several editions. He died in 1735.” However, if these dates are correct (and I am by no means an expert historian in such matters), these poems could only have been written by either the first or second Earl of Harrington (William Stanhope and W.S. Jr.).

The Question, to Dr. A–!

July 21, 2016

Here is the next installment of poetry generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  This particular poem will be continued with the second and third parts over the next couple of days.  Enjoy!

The Question, to Dr. A–

Tell me, good doctor, what’s the cause,
(You who have studied Nature’s laws)
Why women, of one shape and feature,
So far should differ in their nature.
By nature here I do not mean
A tempter eaten with the spleen,
Nor one whose happy soul’s at ease,
And has no thought  but how to please;
But what i mean is only this,
Why one delights in amorous bliss,
While t’other, who has equal charms,
A stranger is to Love’s alarms.
And talks of love with great despite,
In which her sister takes delight.

To vouch the truth of what I say,
Two men I knew, both young and gay,
Who, wearied of a single life,
Took each of them a lovely wife,
The daughters of a certain knight,
Alike is features, shape, and height:
I saw them married, put to bed,
Each husband got a maidenhead;
Next day the bridegrooms were content,
And I down to the country went:
Within a week I came to town,
And found my friends were both cast down
I could not bear to see them so,
And to the one did frankly go;
And asked the reason of his grief,
He said, “I’m ruined past relief.
“You see, my wife’s a lovely sight,
“And formed to give a man delight;
“Her eyes and face to love entice,
“But, ah! my friend, she’s cold as ice;
“No joy she gives, no joy can feel,
“Nor meets my love with equal zeal;
“And, spite of all her outward charms,
“Like marble lies within my arms:
“No calenture can warm her blood,
“Nor thaw the dull and stagnant flood.
“Thus I am made to slave for life,
“Tied to a fair, but joyless wife.”

I left this friend in discontent,
And to the other straightway went;
I saw he was but ill at ease,
And kindly asked him his disease: —
“My friend,” said he, then made a pause,
“You see me sad, and ask the cause;
“From such a friend I’ll nothing hide,
“Cursed be the day I got a bride;
“For though she is made up of charms,
“And came a virgin to my arms,
“Yet I am wearied of my life,
“And wish I never had got a wife;
“She is so full of wanton play,
“I get no rest by night or day;
“Her youthful blood is still on fire,
“She is all love and hot desire:
“Her pulse beats high, her bosom heaves,
“The more I do the more she craves:
“But when, by her resistless charms,
“She draws me to her eager arms;
“She’s with the joy transported quite,
“And dies away in vast delight.
“Last night I like a parson toiled:
“But was, in spite of vigor, foiled:
“I laid me down, and would have slept,
“When to my breast she fondly crept:
“And, giving me a burning kiss,
“Begged that I would renew the blissI
“I asked her how she could support
“The violence of amorous sport?
“My life,” said she, and squeezed my finger,
“The more I’m thinged I’m still the thinger.”

Note: printed on the page following the title page was the following: “from a collection of poems that have been generally ascribed to Thomas, sixth Earl of Harrington. He was the son of Charles, the fifth Earl, and Margaret Lesslie, Countess of Rothes; and fought on the Royal side at the battle of Shirreffmuir, along with his brother John Lesslie, Earl of Rothes, and his own son, Lord Binning. These poems, according to Pinkerton, were printed about 1730, and have been reprinted in 1753, 1765, 1767, and 1777. He was also the author of Mia treatise on forest trees, which has gone through several editions. He died in 1735.” However, if these dates are correct (and I am by no means an expert historian in such matters), these poems could only have been written by either the first or second Earl of Harrington (William Stanhope and W.S. Jr.).

A True Story!

June 23, 2016

Here is the next installment of poetry generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  Enjoy!

A True Story

 

One day a tell-tale, waiting maid,
In tears thus to her lady said:
“The cook has vexed me to the heart,
“And if you do not take my part,
“I never can hold up my face,
“Without dishonor and disgrace.”

My lady said,  — “Pray tell your meaning,
“If there is reason for complaining,
“I’ll take your part, you may be certain,
“And give you full revenge on Martin.”

“Madam,” said she, and then she blushed,
“For me, I wish the thing were hushed,
“But I’m afraid it can’t be hid,
“The servants saw what Martin did;
“As by the kitchen fire I stood,
“Thinking, God knows, on nought but good,
“The cook did slyly by me stand,
“And clapped his something in my hand:
“The like I never saw nor felt,
“I’ll have the wicked fellow gelt.”
My lady said, “Run down in haste,
“And send to me the lustful beast.”

The cook came gravely up the stairs,
The lady put on all her airs:
“You saucy villain,” madam said,
“How dare you thus affront my maid?”

Martin with modesty, began,
“Pray tell me madam, what I’ve done?
“Your maids can never complain of me;
“Like lambs your maids and I agree.”

My lady did in wrath reply,
“Can you your wicked deeds deny?
“My meaning you won’t understand,
“What was it you clapped in Betty’s hand?”

“And is this all?” replied the cook;
“Do I for this deserve rebuke?
“I’ll tell the truth, as I’m a sinner,
“I’ve got some partridges for dinner:
“I was in a hurry, yet your maid
“A thousand wanton frolics play’d;
“And since she in my way would stand
“I clapped a partridge in her hand.”

“A likely tale,” my lady said,
“As if  you thought I’d keep a maid,
“So void of wit and common sense,
“As not to know the difference,
” ‘Twixt partridges and standing p——,
“Pray, Martin, leave your foolish tricks,
“Else I shall show you, to your sorrow,
“I’ll make you quit ere to-morrow.”

Although the dame in anger spoke,
Her eyes declared she was in joke:
She was not cruel in her nature,
But was a most obliging creature;
She had a large extensive mind,
And bore good-will to all mankind,
This made her wish she had surveyed
That something mentioned by her maid;
And thought the cook deserved a bribe,
If ’twas as Betty did describe;
And from her soul she longed to know,
If that the thing was really so;
At last resolved to satisfy
Her female curiosity:
The cook was handsome, young and clean,
And though his birth was low and mean,
Yet he might as much love afford,
As any duke or quartered lord;
Away she let all scruples fly,
And was determined she would try.

She smiled, and thus to Martin said,
“Show me, young man, (be not afraid)
“That partridge that you showed my maid.”

The fellow heard her with surprise,
With joy he viewed her wishing eyes,
Her orders readily obeyed;
Transported she the thing surveyed:
She saw her maid had told the truth,
And hugged the ample-gifted youth;
Upon the bed they panting fell,
What more they did I cannot tell.
The dame was young, the fellow strong,
Their pastime did continue long:
Young Martin all his vigor tried,
My lady in all thing complied:
At last he was disabled quite,
And could not give or take delight.

My lady clasped him round the waist,
And smiling, said, “I never did taste,
“though I have been three years a wife,
“So sweet a partridge in my life.
“Farewell dear Martin, Heaven restore you,
“I think I’ve plumed your partridge for you.”

Note: printed on the page following the title page was the following: “from a collection of poems that have been generally ascribed to Thomas, sixth Earl of Harrington. He was the son of Charles, the fifth Earl, and Margaret Lesslie, Countess of Rothes; and fought on the Royal side at the battle of Shirreffmuir, along with his brother John Lesslie, Earl of Rothes, and his own son, Lord Binning. These poems, according to Pinkerton, were printed about 1730, and have been reprinted in 1753, 1765, 1767, and 1777. He was also the author of Mia treatise on forest trees, which has gone through several editions. He died in 1735.” However, if these dates are correct (and I am by no means an expert historian in such matters), these poems could only have been written by either the first or second Earl of Harrington (William Stanhope and W.S. Jr.).