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　　A BALLAD:

　　Noting the Difference of Rich and Poor, in the Ways of a Rich Noble's Palace and a Poor Workhouse

　　To the tune of the "Old and Young Courtier"

　　(August, 1800. Text of 1818)

　　In a costly palace Youth goes clad in gold;

　　In a wretched workhouse Age's limbs are cold:

　　There they sit, the old men by a shivering fire,

　　Still close and closer cowering, warmth is their desire.

　　In a costly palace, when the brave gallants dine,

　　They have store of good venison, with old canary wine,

　　With singing and music to heighten the cheer;

　　Coarse bits, with grudging, are the pauper's best fare.

　　In a costly palace Youth is still carest

　　By a train of attendants which laugh at my young Lord's jest;

　　In a wretched workhouse the contrary prevails:

　　Does Age begin to prattle?—no man heark'neth to his tales.

　　In a costly palace if the child with a pin

　　Do but chance to prick a finger, strait the doctor is called in;

　　In a wretched workhouse men are left to perish

　　For want of proper cordials, which their old age might cherish,

　　In a costly palace Youth enjoys his lust;

　　In a wretched workhouse Age, in corners thrust,

　　Thinks upon the former days, when he was well to do,

　　Had children to stand by him, both friends and kinsmen too.

　　In a costly palace Youth his temples hides

　　With a new devised peruke that reaches to his sides;

　　In a wretched workhouse Age's crown is bare,

　　With a few thin locks just to fence out the cold air.

　　In peace, as in war, 'tis our young gallants' pride,

　　To walk, each one i' the streets, with a rapier by his side,

　　That none to do them injury may have pretence;

　　Wretched Age, in poverty, must brook offence.

　　POEMS IN CHARLES LAMB'S WORKS 1818, NOT PREVIOUSLY PRINTED IN THE PRESENT VOLUME; TOGETHER WITH REFERENCES TO THOSE POEMS THAT HAVE BEEN PREVIOUSLY PRINTED

　　HESTER

　　(February, 1803)

　　When maidens such as Hester die,

　　Their place ye may not well supply,

　　Though ye among a thousand try,

　　With vain endeavour.

　　A month or more hath she been dead,

　　Yet cannot I by force be led

　　To think upon the wormy bed,

　　And her together.

　　A springy motion in her gait,

　　A rising step, did indicate

　　Of pride and joy no common rate,

　　That flush'd her spirit.

　　I know not by what name beside

　　I shall it call:—if 'twas not pride,

　　It was a joy to that allied,

　　She did inherit.

　　Her parents held the Quaker rule,

　　Which doth the human feeling cool,

　　But she was train'd in Nature's school,

　　Nature had blest her.

　　A waking eye, a prying mind,

　　A heart that stirs, is hard to bind,

　　A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,

　　Ye could not Hester.

　　My sprightly neighbour, gone before

　　To that unknown and silent shore,

　　Shall we not meet, as heretofore,

　　Some summer morning,

　　When from thy cheerful eyes a ray

　　Hath struck a bliss upon the day,

　　A bliss that would not go away,

　　A sweet fore-warning?

　　_Here came "To Charles Lloyd" See page 12.

　　Here came "The Three Friends" followed by "To a River in which a Child was drowned," first printed in "Poetry for Children" 1809. See vol. iii. of this edition, page 416.

　　Here came "The Old Familiar Faces." See page 25.

　　Here came "Helen" by Mary Lamb. See page 28.

　　Here came "A Vision of Repentance." See page 13._

　　DIALOGUE BETWEEN A MOTHER AND CHILD

　　(By Mary Lamb. 1804)

　　CHILD

　　"O Lady, lay your costly robes aside,

　　No longer may you glory in your pride."

　　MOTHER

　　"Wherefore to-day art singing in mine ear

　　Sad songs, were made so long ago, my dear;

　　This day I am to be a bride, you know,

　　Why sing sad songs, were made so long ago?"

　　CHILD

　　"O, mother, lay your costly robes aside,

　　For you may never be another's bride.

　　That line I learn'd not in the old sad song."

　　MOTHER

　　"I pray thee, pretty one, now hold thy tongue,

　　Play with the bride-maids, and be glad, my boy,

　　For thou shall be a second father's joy."

　　CHILD

　　"One father fondled me upon his knee.

　　One father is enough, alone, for me."

　　_Here came "Queen Oriana's Dream" from "Poetry for Children" See vol. iii. page 480.

　　Here came "A Ballad Noting the Difference of Rich and Poor." See page 30.

　　Here came "Hypochondriacus." See page 29._

　　A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO

　　(1805)

　　May the Babylonish curse

　　Strait confound my stammering verse,

　　If I can a passage see

　　In this word-perplexity,

　　Or a fit expression find,

　　Or a language to my mind,

　　(Still the phrase is wide or scant)

　　To take leave of thee, GREAT PLANT!

　　Or in any terms relate

　　Half my love, or half my hate:

　　For I hate, yet love, thee so,

　　That, whichever thing I shew,

　　The plain truth will seem to be

　　A constrain'd hyperbole,

　　And the passion to proceed

　　More from a mistress than a weed.

　　Sooty retainer to the vine,

　　Bacchus' black servant, negro fine;

　　Sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon

　　Thy begrimed complexion,

　　And, for thy pernicious sake,

　　More and greater oaths to break

　　Than reclaimed lovers take

　　'Gainst women: thou thy siege dost lay

　　Much too in the female way,

　　While thou suck'st the lab'ring breath

　　Faster than kisses or than death.

　　Thou in such a cloud dost bind us,

　　That our worst foes cannot find us,

　　And ill fortune, that would thwart us,

　　Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;

　　While each man, thro' thy height'ning steam,

　　Does like a smoking Etna seem,

　　And all about us does express

　　(Fancy and wit in richest dress)

　　A Sicilian fruitfulness.

　　Thou through such a mist dost shew us,

　　That our best friends do not know us,

　　And, for those allowed features,

　　Due to reasonable creatures,

　　Liken'st us to fell Chimeras,

　　Monsters that, who see us, fear us;

　　Worse than Cerberus or Geryon,

　　Or, who first lov'd a cloud, Ixion.

　　Bacchus we know, and we allow

　　His tipsy rites. But what art thou,

　　That but by reflex can'st shew

　　What his deity can do,

　　As the false Egyptian spell

　　Aped the true Hebrew miracle?

　　Some few vapours thou may'st raise,

　　The weak brain may serve to amaze,

　　But to the reigns and nobler heart

　　Can'st nor life nor heat impart.

　　Brother of Bacchus, later born,

　　The old world was sure forlorn,

　　Wanting thee, that aidest more

　　The god's victories than before

　　All his panthers, and the brawls

　　Of his piping Bacchanals.

　　These, as stale, we disallow,

　　Or judge of thee meant; only thou

　　His true Indian conquest art;

　　And, for ivy round his dart,

　　The reformed god now weaves

　　A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.

　　Scent to match thy rich perfume

　　Chemic art did ne'er presume

　　Through her quaint alembic strain,

　　None so sov'reign to the brain.

　　Nature, that did in thee excel,

　　Fram'd again no second smell.

　　Roses, violets, but toys

　　For the smaller sort of boys,

　　Or for greener damsels meant;

　　Thou art the only manly scent.

　　Stinking'st of the stinking kind,

　　Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind,

　　Africa, that brags her foyson,

　　Breeds no such prodigious poison,

　　Henbane, nightshade, both together,

　　Hemlock, aconite———

　　Nay, rather,

　　Plant divine, of rarest virtue;

　　Blisters on the tongue would hurt you.

　　'Twas but in a sort I blam'd thee;

　　None e'er prosper'd who defam'd thee;

　　Irony all, and feign'd abuse,

　　Such as perplext lovers use,

　　At a need, when, in despair

　　To paint forth their fairest fair,

　　Or in part but to express

　　That exceeding comeliness

　　Which their fancies doth so strike,

　　They borrow language of dislike;

　　And, instead of Dearest Miss,

　　Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss,

　　And those forms of old admiring,

　　Call her Cockatrice and Siren,

　　Basilisk, and all that's evil,

　　Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil,

　　Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor,

　　Monkey, Ape, and twenty more;

　　Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe,—

　　Not that she is truly so,

　　But no other way they know

　　A contentment to express,

　　Borders so upon excess,

　　That they do not rightly wot

　　Whether it be pain or not.

　　Or, as men, constrain'd to part

　　With what's nearest to their heart,

　　While their sorrow's at the height,

　　Lose discrimination quite,

　　And their hasty wrath let fall,

　　To appease their frantic gall,

　　On the darling thing whatever

　　Whence they feel it death to sever,

　　Though it be, as they, perforce,

　　Guiltless of the sad divorce.

　　For I must (nor let it grieve thee,

　　Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee.

　　For thy sake, TOBACCO, I

　　Would do any thing but die,

　　And but seek to extend my days

　　Long enough to sing thy praise.

　　But, as she, who once hath been

　　A king's consort, is a queen

　　Ever after, nor will bate

　　Any tittle of her state,

　　Though a widow, or divorced,

　　So I, from thy converse forced,

　　The old name and style retain,

　　A right Katherine of Spain;

　　And a seat, too,'mongst the joys

　　Of the blest Tobacco Boys;

　　Where, though I, by sour physician,

　　Am debarr'd the full fruition

　　Of thy favours, I may catch

　　Some collateral sweets, and snatch

　　Sidelong odours, that give life

　　Like glances from a neighbour's wife;

　　And still live in the by-places

　　And the suburbs of thy graces;

　　And in thy borders take delight,

　　An unconquer'd Canaanite. The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb — Volume 4