Posts Tagged ‘Sixth Earl of Harrington’

A Ridiculous Discovery, Part One!

October 18, 2017

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

A Ridiculous Discovery (Part 1)

I’m far from thinking women bad,
Yet whores for certain may be had;
And since no man may be secure,
The wife he takes is chaste and pure,
Until he tries her, and even then
Tricks may be played to cunning men;
Since this is very oft the way,
Men should be cautious what they say,
Nor make a bustle, nor a noise,
Of maidenheads and wedlock joys;
Lest, talking to an idle strain,
They something hear may give them pain:
Especially if it is not known
The dame they talk of is their own:
For men when overpowered with wine,
To tell adventures oft incline,
And to a husband may discover,
He was his wife’s successful lover.

This happened to a man I knew,
(What I’m to tell is really true)
A silly fellow, black and tall,
Whom I, for sound, shall captain call:
Although that a lieutenant’s post
Was all this man of war could boast:
Who, though he was almost a sot,
Yet had good store of money got;
But wearied with a single life,
Wisely resolved to take a wife.

The major’s daughter, young and gay,
Had stole his booby heart away:
Of all her sex she was his choice,
She seemed to him a mine of joys,
And that he would be surely blessed,
If she would grant him his request;
While she, who never had man denied,
As soon as asked, with joy complied.

. . .  to be continued with Part 2 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.).

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The Rebuke!

September 18, 2017

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

 

The Rebuke

I always thought it want of sense,
And the worst kind of impudence,
In men who are for love unfit,
Yet ever are attempting it;
Since women, when they find the cheat,
Can never pardon the deceit;
And whatever face they put upon’t,
Will soon or late revenge the affront.

Not long ago a well-known rake,
Who still was lewd for lewdness’ sake:
One evening, when ’twas wearing dark,
Went out a-strolling to the park:
Where he did meet a harlot gay,
Who soared  about in hopes of prey:
The rake, well versed in such affairs,
Soon guessed her meaning by her airs,
And, going briskly up, began,
“Nor farther look, for I’m your man.”

“My man,” said she, “I know you not;
“What do you mean, you drunken sot?”
“Not know me,” said the foremost spark,
“Faith, Madam, though the night grows dark,
“Yet you may know me by this mark:”
Then in her hand he something laid,
At which the strumpet seemed afraid.

“What’s that,” said she, ‘you wicked beast?”
The fellow , tickled with the jest,
Applied his lips close to her ear,
and said “it is my p—–k, my dear.”

“Thy p——k,” she cried, in great surprise,
“A p——k, and of so small a size!
“It either is your little finger,
“Or you’re a vile Italian singer.”

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.).

 

Marion’s Dream!

August 19, 2017

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

Marion’s Dream

How foolish is’t in them who say,
That what we think on all the day
Whether it gives us pain or joy,
Doth still our nightly thoughts employ;
Since priests will in their thoughts blaspheme,
And holy nuns of lewdness dream;
Although their thoughts, from morn to even,
Are fixed on nothing else but heaven.
Nay Protestants, who pass their time
Without once thinking on a crime,
And are of every sin afraid,
By wanton dreams may be betrayed.

For proof of this, a man I knew
In Edinburgh, named honest Hugh,
Who, though his drink he kindly took,
Put on a sanctified look!
For which some wicked men, in spite,
Would call him Hugh the hypocrite.

This man had got a zealous wife,
For virtue famed and holy life:
Who loved her spouse, with all her heart,
Nor from her duty did depart.

One night (What I’m to tell is true),
The dame with laughing wakened Hugh:
Who, vexed to have his slumbers broke,
Thus to his wife half-yawning, spoke: —
“My dear, I wish you would delay
“Your ill-timed mirth till break of day.”
“Alas!” she cried, “My dream’s so droll,
“I can’t forbear it for my soul;
“I dreamed that I and Lucky Keith
“Were standing on the shore of Leith
“As is our custom every year,
“When a fine ship comes to the pier:
“But judge, my dear, with what surprise
“We looked, when just before our eyes,
“We saw the captain on the deck,
“Who sold still p—–les by the peck,
“Some large, some small, some middle-sized,
“But I, who still the greatest prized,
“Picked out a bushel of the best,
“And threw to green-sick girls at rest.”
” ‘Twas wisely done, indeed,” said Hugh,
“But pray, good Marion, tell me true,
“Did you see any p——k so fine,
“So large, so long, so stiff as mine?”

“As yours,” replied the laughing wife,
“I swear to you, my dearest life,
“In choosing mine I threw a peck
“Of better p—–ks quite over deck.”

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 Boots, Part Two!

July 20, 2017

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 Boots (Part 2)

 

‘Twas thus he told his amorous pain,
But all he said was spoke in vain;
For Judith, without frown or smle,
Stood listening to him all the while;
But when she saw that he was done,
She laughed aloud, and thus begun.

“Indeed, my friend, thou art deceived,
“If thou hast foolishly believed,
“Because that I was young and gay,
“And passed the time in mirth away;
“That therefore I was lewdly given,
“And did not fear the wrath of Heaven:
“My friend, thou art mistaken quite,
“For though in laughing I delight,
“I am not that abandoned fool,
“As ever to swerve from Virtue’s rule:
“I still shall laugh, and still be gay,
“And spite of all that thou can’st say,
“Shall lead an honest virtuous life,
“And be Ezekiel’s faithful wife:
“Although he is long past his youth,
“Believe me, friend, I speak the truth.”

The captain sighed at what she spoke,
Yet hoped the fair one was in joke;
But, to his grief, he found it true,
She never more complaisant grew;
And, though a thousand ways he tried,
Her virtue, was as oft denied:
‘Till, quite overcome with discontent,
One day he to the country went,
And with him took dog, gun, and net,
In hopes he might his love forget;
But while that Judith was unkind,
He could no sport or pleasure find;
so gave his tackle to his groom,
And straight returned to his room;
Where being come, he saw a sight,
That filled his soul with great delight;
‘Twas lovely Judith all alone,
Who, for a frolic, had put on
His winter boots; when this he spied,
The happy youth in raptures cried,
“You’re mine;” and, without more ado,
Upon the bed the charmer threw,
The lucky minute now was come,
Surprise had struck poor Judith dumb;
Upon the bed she speechless lay,
And let the captain take his way;
But what he did I do not know,
Ezekiel, who was set below,
Hearing the noise upon the floor,
Ran up, and, peeping through the door,
Beheld four legs upon the bed,
One pair in boots, and one in red,
Away he ran down stairs in haste,
As if by twenty devils chased:
The loving couple heard the noise,
And Judith knew her cuckold’s voice;
Away the fatal boots she threw,
Kissed the dear captain, and withdrew.
She found Ezekiel in the hall,
And feared he had discovered all.
Poor man, he shook from head to foot,
And muttered something of a boot;
While Judith trembled at his look,
Yet happily the cause mistook.

The captain too, came down the stair,
To see an end of this affair:
But old Ezekiel cried — “Avant!
“Out of my house, vile miscreant!
“You spoke of whoredom with despite,
“Yet arty thyself a Sodomite,
“And did that deed with a dragoon,
“That brought down fire on Sodom town:
“I saw the boots, too much I saw,
“Thy life if forfeit by the law;
“but if thou’lt leave this house to-day,
“Of what I’ve seen I’ll nothing say.”
The captain swore ’twas a mistake,
“I’m not,” said he, “so great a rake,
“I had a swimming in my head,
“That made me lie upon the bed;
:And, if you will go up the stair,
“You’ll find the boots still lying there.”

Away the wife and Ezekiel went,
He found the boots, and was content.

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 Boots, Part One!

July 19, 2017

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 Boots (Part 1)

Think not, my friend, you love in vain,
Though Chloe treats you with disdain;
Nay, though she frowns at all you say,
And, scornful, turns her head away:
Yet let not that disturb your mind,
The fair one may at least be kind:
For there’s in love one happy hour,
In which few women have the power
To cross a wanton inclination,
Or struggle with the strong temptation:
But if the lucky minute’s lost,
You never can a conquest boast.

I know the truth of what I say,
I’ve let that minute slip away;
Long time I waited, but in vain,
It never more came back again:
But I in love affairs was raw,
And of the fair one stood in awe:
I thought her chaste as turtle-dove,
For I confess I was in love;
And freely own it, to my shame,
That it was I who was to blame;
As she has oftentimes confessed,
And of my folly made a jest.
But men are wiser grown of late,
And real love is gone out of date;
Few know the soft respectful passion,
While lewdness is become the fashion;
Seducing widows, maidens, wives,
Is all the pleasure of the lives;
And though they find the fair one shy,
And what they ask with scorn deny;
Yet they do not their suit give over,
Resistance but inflames them more:
And though at first their projects fail,
They think with patience to prevail:
The lucky minute watch with care,
And hoe at last to gain the fair.

Such men as these, I just confess,
Both meet with and deserve success:That perseverance will prevail,
I shall illustrate by a tale.

A handsome captain, young and gay,
With some dragoons at Limerick lay,
And with a quaker quartered there,
whose wife was to a wonder fair:
The captain viewed her with surprise,
Admired her features, shape, and eyes:
She seemed so formed to give delight,
That, quite transported with the sight,
He scarcely could conceal the flame,
Raised in his bosom by the dame.

The quaker knew his wife was fair,
And did not far advance in years,
He was not free from jealous fears;
Since Judith, spite of all her dress,
Was full of love and wantonness:
Was ever smiling, always gay,
Yet she had never gone astray;
But what she had not done, she might, —
This kept Ezekiel in a fright.

The captain, though exceeding young,
Had wit and a deluding tongue;
whenever he with Ezekiel sat,
He still complained of this and that,
And seemed to be so very nice,
He scarce could pardon any vice;
Regretting all the crying crimes,
That were so frequent in our times:
At drunkenness he loudly railed,
And swearing that too much prevailed,
Against uncleanness much inveighed
And gravely said he was a maid.
Thus did he talk, in hopes to gain
Ezekiel’s favor, but in vain;
The quaker was not apt to bite,
But thought him a young hypocrite,
And always was upon his guard,
Nor for his cant a farthing cared.

But, when with Judith left alone,
The youthful captain changed his tone;
He talked of love, of flames, and darts,
Of killing eyes, and wounded hearts:
And, falling down upon his knees,
Did on her slender fingers seize;”
And swore that he would die of grief,
If she denied him kind relief.

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.).

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.).

The Tooth-Drawer, Part Two!

April 14, 2016

Here is the continuation of “The Tooth-Drawer” generally attributed to Thomas, the sixth Earl of Harrington (circa 1730).  The first part of this poem poem was posted yesterday.  Enjoy!

The Tooth-Drawer (Part 2)

. . . continued from Part 1 one which was posted yesterday.

Though Kitty was overjoyed at this,
She took his coldness much amiss;
She thought her beauty might inspire
Old age itself with strong desire;
But since he had her charms despoised,
And that a single kiss sufficed,
She meant no more to lose her time,
But use her beauty in her prime;
The surgeon should her wants supply,
And rifle her virginity.
“No more,” said she, “shall Dick complain,
“That he has loved me but in vain;
“To-morrow shall his triumph see,
“When he may take revenge on me;”
This resolution eased her breast,
And she sunk down to quiet rest.

The aged person rose by day,
He kissed his fair one, and away,
Who for her much-loved Richard sent,
He came and gave her great content;
Her virgin fort with vigor stormed,
And, lover-like, his part performed:
Nor did he stay to toy and kiss,
But sought for more substantial bliss;
While Kitty did his love commend,
And wished the rapture never might end.

But short, alas! are all our joys,
Our greatest pleasure soonest cloys;
As, to her grief, poor Kitty knew,
Her rampant lover weary grew,
He kissed, but could no farther go;
This filler her loving breast with woe,
And, deeply sighing, looked with sorrow:
“Dear Dick,” said she, “come back to-morrow.”

Next day, and Richard with it, came,
And gave great pleasure to the dame.

While thus they did their time employ,
And pass their hours in love and joy,
The husband in his closet stayed,
Never dreaming of the pranks they played,
But was overjoyed to find his wife,
So easy in her state of life,
She showed no heat nor youthful fire,
But, free from lust and loose desire,
Slept well at night, and in the day
Was never vexed, but always gay:
This made him lead a happy life,
And in his soul admire his wife.

One day the doctor did intend
To ride some miles to see a friend:
Kitty complained that she had got
An inflammation in her throat,
And that she meant to draw a tooth
That gave her pain, and spoiled her mouth,
And that the torture would undo her
Unless she sent the surgeon to her.
Away he went, the surgeon came,
And in his arms he took the dame:
Down on the bed the lovers lie,
Never thinking that a child was by;
To love they fell with all their might,
And in the pastime took delight:
Oft he was vanquished in her arms;
But Kitty had so many charms,
That, with a long tongue-touching kiss,
She roused him to renew the bliss.
Thus, winged with joy, their moments flew,
Till love almost insipid grew:
Away the languid lover went,
And she was for that time content.

Back to the house the parson came,
To see his poor afflicted dame:
The first he met with was his boy,
His favorite and greatest joy!
“Twas he who in the room was hid,
And saw what Kate and Richard did.
“Tell me,” said he, “my little life,
“How is it with my dearest wife?”
“Did Richard come and pull her tooth?”
“Yes,” said the boy, “and on my truth.
“It was both long, and large, and white:
“I vow it put me in a fright:
“I wish it do mamma no harm,
“For ’twas almost as long as my arm.”

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 Tooth-Drawer, Part One!

April 13, 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 final part tomorrow.  Enjoy!

The Tooth-Drawer (Part 1)

 

A parson’s wife, young, fair, and gay,
Soon wearied of her husband’s way;
For all night by her side he snored,
And all day on his volumes pored;
He did not relish wedlock joys,
He had already girls and boys,
That his first wife, good woman, bore,
And thrifty man, he wished no more;
His present wife some money brought,
And that was all the parson sought.

The doctor was a saving man,
And, ere he married last, began
To think he little had to spare,
And children would increase his care
And his expenses; but he thought,
If that a fair one could be brought
To live in quiet, day and night,
And never ask conjugal delight,
Her portion would his wealth increase,
And he might all night sleep in peace.
Full well he knew that he was old,
Yet he had heard some maids were cold,
Who passed their days with great discretion,
Nor cared for love nor copulation.
If so, he’d be in happy case,
Thus, full of faith, heaven-pleasing grace,
He ventured on the charming maid,
And was not of her youth afraid;
While she, reluctant to his suit,
With horror viewed the feeble brute;
She loathed his age, abhorred his figure,
And in his looks read want of vigor,
Her beauty now was in its bud,
And she foresaw her youthful blood
An abler doctor would require,
To cool its heat and quench its fire;
Add to all this that long ere now,
She in her heart had made a vow,
To wed a surgeon, who in truth,
Was handsome, and a clever youth.
But parents, upon lucre bent,
Do seldom mind their child’s content;
And, careless of their future ease,
Even make them wed whom ever they please.

The truth of this fair Kitty tried,
She sighed, she kneeled, she prayed, she cried;
And begged they would their Kitty save
From age, diseases, and the grave;
For surely they would be her fate,
If married to that horrid mate,
Who was made up of ails and years;
Then backed her speech with floods of tears.
But all was vain that Kitty said,
Her parents’ needs would be obeyed;
They knew full well the priest was rich,
And wealth their senses did bewitch.
Thus to their cursed avarice,
Poor Kitty fell a sacrifice.

The wedding-night arrived at last,
The red-faced curate made them fast;
To bed the mourning fair one went,
Overwhelmed with grief and discontent:
The doctor laid him by her side,
(Unequal match for such a bride),
The wedded pair were left alone,
While Kitty did her fate bemoan.
Crossed in her love, and, what was worse,
Condemned for life to be a nurse
To one she hated.  Wretched maid!
But, most of all, she was afraid
Lest he should take her in his arms,
And try to rifle all her charms:
This dreadful thought she could not bear,
But  vain in this was Kitty’s fear;
The bridegroom was not so disposed,
He kissed the bride, and then composed
His aged limbs to wished-for rest,
And for no other favor pressed . . .

. . .  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.).