Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Small Print!

June 19, 2017

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

Small Print

I knew a judge, alas the day!
Death took the honest man away;
He was my true, my steady friend,
And so continued to the end:
Though old, he had a deal of wit,
Whole days we would together sit;
Together sup, together dine,
Sometimes drink arrack, sometimes wine.
Pen, ink, and paper still was by,
For oft we did the rhyming try;
Our lines were from ill-nature free,
This made us never disagree.

One day, when wearied on the bench,
He to the tavern went to quench
His raging thirst; I met him there,
And while he did the bowl prepare,
I from my pocket gravely drew
A verse that was entirely new.
On this he took his glasses out,
And straightway clapped them cross his snout,
But thought it would not be amiss,
Ere he began, to go and p—–,
The careless waiter had forgot
To set down a clean chamber-pot,
So to the door the honest judge
Did, without once complaining trudge,
But thoughtlessly (as I suppose)
Still kept the glasses on his nose.

While thus employed, a maid came by,
And did his dwarfish member spy;
But, much offended with the sight,
Cried out, “Your honor’s in the right,
“With spectacles, perhaps, you’ll see,
“What otherwise would hidden be;
“For me, I vow to God, I’d squint,
“If I were put to read such print.”

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 Raven, Part Two!

May 21, 2017

Here is the finishing part of the poem “The Raven,” generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  Enjoy!

The Raven (Part 2)

Poor Sally trembled for her eyes,
She knew papa would tell no lies,
Yet she was sure she could not keep
(If she sat down) her eyes from sleep;
So to the field she weeping went,
Oppressed with grief and discontent;
But, ere that she had walked a mile,
The changeling thought upon a wile
To save her eyes from all mishap,
Yet get a comfortable nap.

Upon her back she laid her down,
Pulled up her petticoat and gown,
Her milk-white smock and apron blue,
All these quite over her heat she threw,
To guard her eyes (her greatest care)
She left her other members bare.

As thus she lay upon the plain,
Chance brought that way a youthful swain,
Who, quite astonished at the sight,
Viewed Sally’s limbs with great delight;
That it was Sally well he knew,
Both by her gown and apron blue;
He long had loved the charming maid,
But of her folly was afraid,
And could not think to pass his life,
With such a silly simple wife.
Oft he had met the beauteous dame,
As oft had whispered her his flame,
Had leered upon her, squeezed her hand,
Yet could not make her understand
His meaning, other being by,
And wanted opportunity;
Now, seeing how the fair one lay,
He could no longer bear delay,
Nor wait to gaze upon her charms,
But rushed at once into her arms.

The idiot waked with great surprise,
And thought the raven picked her eyes,
But when she found that theyt were safe,
The silly fool began to laugh;
Nor did she in the least complain,
Although he put her to some pain;
But, stammering, said, “You graceless bird,
“And while you nibble at that part,
“You’re welcome to it with all my heart;
“Although you had a longer beak:
“I own it is of monstrous size,
“But yet too short to reach my eyes.”

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 Raven, Part One!

May 20, 2017

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

The Raven (Part 1)

In Wiltshire, where the farmers keep
Upon the downs great flocks of sheep,
There dwelt an honest thrifty swain,
Adjoining to the famous plain
Of Salisbury, and it was there
He grazed and fed his woolly care.

To him his teeming female bore
Eight sons, and daughters have a score;
And if that children blessings be,
None in the shire so blessed ashe:
Whilst he, a foe to idleness,
To make their charge in breeding less,
In something useful did employ
Each prating girl and forward boy:
And thus he lived a happy life,
Pleased with his children and his wife,
Until his wealth made noise, and then
His sons got farms, his daughters men.

Yet Sally, at her father’s stayed,
And though fifteen, was still a maid,
Lovely as what was ever beheld,
And all her sisters far excelled,
In shape and face, but then her mind
Was of a very different kind:
No sort of work could Sally do,
She silly was, an nothing knew.

Her father grieved, but ’twas in vain,
He sent her out upon the plain,
With scrip and bottle by her side,
In hopes that she at least might guide
His fleecy care, his much loved  sheep,
But still the fair one fell asleep:
The flock went wandering here and there,
Sure proof of Sally’s want of care.

The father chid the drowsy dame,
She wept, but next day ’twas the same;
She could not guard her eyes from sleep,
And every week she lost a sheep.
The father fretted, Sally cried,
A thousand different ways he tried,
To make her careful, but in vain,
She slept and slumbered on the plain.
At last he gravely told the maid,
If she slept thus, he was afraid,
The ravens, as they soared about,
Her eyes some day would nibble out.

Continued tomorrow . . .

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.).

At Graduating Time!

May 8, 2017

Tonight marks the evening of our spring semester graduation ceremony.  To honor our graduates, here is a poem that I discovered several years ago.

At Graduating Time

The graduates are going forth —
God bless them every one! —
To run this hard and stubborn world
Just as it should be run;
But much I fear they’ll find that facts
Don’t always track with dreams;
And running this old world is not
As easy as it seems.

The graduate is prone to think
His wisdom is complete.
He’s but to ask — the world will lay
It’s trophies at his feet.
But school day done and work begun,
He learns to his regret
The college of experience
He has not mastered yet.

The world has garlands and applause
At graduating time;
But may forget him the next day
When he attempts to climb.
Life is a battle where each one
Must seek and hold his own.
He who wold rise above the clouds
Must scale the heights alone.

This is the rule of life today,
As it has ever been:
The world bestows its smile on those
Who have the strength to win.
Beneath all outward semblances
It looks for merit true.
It little cares how much you know,
But asks, what can you do?

Unknown

Source: Days and Deeds: a Book Verse for Children’s Reading and Speaking compiled by Burton E. Stevenson and Elizabeth B. Stevenson

Old Reeky!

April 19, 2017

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

Old Reeky

In Edinburgh, famed for oysters and drink,
For noise in the morning, in the evening for stink,
I hear, for, thank Heaven, I was never there,
A dozen families live in one stair:
By this means the stairs are crowded all day.
And ladies and coal-bearers oft in your way:
So sometimes your shins, and sometimes your heart,
As Providence orders, may happen to smart;
But when night comes on, your danger grows great,
The stairs are all winding, they’re steep and they’re strait;
And if you are rash, and not circumspect,
Each step that you take, you venture your neck;
No lantern, no lamp, nor no kind of light,
Is used in that city, to guide you aright.

A comical fellow, who lately was there,
Declared, that, one evening a-climbing  a stair,
His hand held before him, as still he was wont,
Went plump to the knuckles in a lady’s —-
The inside was hot, and the outside was furred,
But yet its dumb owner spoke never a word,
But kicked like a devil: at last she cried out,
“You fumbling blockhead, what are you about?”

“By G-d,” said the fellow, who laughed at the joke,
“I’m glad that your ladyship silence has broke;
“Since you are a woman, I will thrust my —- in,
“But I thought you a cow by your —– and your kicking.”

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.).

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 Adventure, Part One!

December 20, 2016

Here is the next installment of poetry generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  Check back tomorrow for the conclusion to this poem.  Enjoy!

The Adventure

Whoever has at London been,
Must sure have heard of, if not seen,
A strapping maid of quality,
Full five fee and nine inches high,
Whose chiefest pleasures are to vex
The men, and kiss the other sex;
In blooming beauties takes delight,
And passes many a happy night
Within their arms; but, I declare,
I cannot guess what she doth there.

Bur sure she has some hidden charms
To draw the females to her arms,
Else Mistress Jane could never make
A loving wife her spouse forsake;
And from his warm embraces fly,
To run to her’s, and useless lie;
But wherein this, her power consists,
I’ll leave to skilled anatomists.

To prove what I have said is truth,
A lady in the bloom of youth,
By mankind gazed on with surprise,
For shape, for face, for brilliant eyes;
Who in each bosom raised a flame,
And conquered wheresoever she came,
Yet all her lovers sighed in vain;
She viewed their ardors with disdain,
And to her spouse continued true,
Who fonder by enjoyment grew;
Till Mrs. Jane’s prevailing charms
Raised in her soul such strange alarms,
That from her husband she withdrew,
And wedlock joys insipid grew.
She did her loving mate despise,
And looked on men with scornful eyes;
But, soon as Mrs. Jane appeared,
From clouds and frowns her brow was cleared.
Her sparkling eyes were all on fire,
Her bosom heaved with strong desire;
Each look, and all she did, betrayed
Her passion for the man-like maid.
Her husband, without discontent,
Beheld a flame so innocent,
He saw them hug, he saw them kiss,
He heard them talk  of joy and bliss,
Of friendship, and the Lord knows what,
Never dreaming what they would be at;
And, far from doubting any plot,
Was glad his wife a friend had got,
With whom she might employ her time,
Free from suspicion of a crime.

At last the fair, and Mrs. Jane,
Resolved for once to shift the scene,
To leave the hurry of the court,
And to some rural seat resort;
Where they might follow on their loves,
Near purling brooks and shady groves.

The fearless husband gave consent,
And to this seat the lovers went,
Where, uncontrolled, they sport and kiss,
And passed their nights and days in bliss.

One day Miss Jane forsook her bed,
And the half-wearied fair one led,
To view the beauties of the spring,
And hear the birds their carols sing;
And there, beneath a flowery lime,
In songs and kisses passed their time.
The meadows Flora’s livery wore,
And every tree its blossoms bore:
There they did feast their ravished sense,
The flowers their native sweets dispense;
The warbling birds did strain their throats,
To charm their ears with tuneful notes;
Wood strawberries delight their taste,
A delicate, though rural feast:
A charming prospect filled their eyes,
That gave them pleasure and surprise:
And Mrs. Jane knew well the art,
To make the touch delight the heart.

To be continued tomorrow . . .

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.).