As round the fire the giglets keckle,
To see me loup;

While, raving mad, I wish a heckle
Were in their doup.

O' a' the num❜rous human dools,
Ill har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,
Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools,
Sad sight to see !

The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,
Thou bear'st the gree.

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell,
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell,
And ranked plagues their numbers tell,
In dreadfu' raw,

Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell,
Amang them a';

O thou grim mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes of discord squeel,
'Till daft mankind aft dance a reel

In gore a shoe-thick ;—

Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal

A towmond's Toothache!

THE PIG.

A COLLOQUIAL POEM.

ROBERT SOUTHEY

JACOB! I do not like to see thy nose
Turn'd up in scornful curve at yonder pig,
It would be well, my friend, if we, like him,
Were perfect in our kind!.. And why despise
The sow-born grunter? . . He is obstinate,
Thou answerest; ugly, and the filthiest beast
That banquets upon offal. . . . Now I pray you
Hear the pig's counsel.

Is he obstinate?
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words;
We must not take them as unheeding hands

Receive base money at the current worth,
But with a just suspicion try their sound,
And in the even balance weigh them well.
See now to what this obstinacy comes:
A poor, mistreated, democratic beast,

He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek
Their profit, and not his. He hath not learned
That pigs were made for man, . . born to be brawn'd
And baconized: that he must please to give
Just what his gracious masters please to take;
Perhaps his tusks, the weapons Nature gave

For self-defense, the general privilege;

Perhaps,.. hark, Jacob! dost thou hear that horn? Woe to the young posterity of Pork!

Their enemy is at hand.

Again. Thou say'st

The pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him!

Those eyes have taught the lover flattery.
His face, . . nay, Jacob! Jacob! were it fair
To judge a lady in her dishabille?

Fancy it dressed, and with saltpeter rouged.
Behold his tail, my friend; with curls like that
The wanton hop marries her stately spouse:
So crisp in beauty Amoretta's hair
Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love.
And what is beauty, but the aptitude
Of parts harmonious? Give thy fancy scope,
And thou wilt find that no imagined change
Can beautify this beast. Place at his end
The starry glories of the peacock's pride,

Give him the swan's white breast; for his horn-hoofs
Shape such a foot and ankle as the waves

Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss

When Venus from the enamor'd sea arose; .

Jacob, thou canst but make a monster of him!
All alteration man could think, would mar
His pig-perfection.

The last charge, I he lives
A dirty life. Here I could shelter him
With noble and right-reverend precedents,
And show by sanction of authority
That 'tis a very honorable thing

To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest
On better ground the unanswerable defense.
The pig is a philosopher, who knows
No prejudice. Dirt?.. Jacob, what is dirt?
If matter, . . why the delicate dish that tempts
An o'ergorged epicure to the last morsel
That stuffs him to the throat-gates, is no more.
If matter be not, but as sages say,

Spirit is all, and all things visible
Are one, the infinitely modified,

Think, Jacob, what that pig is, and the mire
Wherein he stands knee-deep!

And there! the breeze

Pleads with me, and has won thee to a smile
That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossom'd field
Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise.

SNUFF.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

A DELICATE pinch! oh how it tingles up
The titillated nose, and fills the eyes
And breast, till in one comfortable sneeze
The full-collected pleasure bursts at last!
Most rare Columbus! thou shalt be for this
The only Christopher in my calendar.
Why, but for thee the uses of the nose
Were half unknown, and its capacity

Of joy. The summer gale that from the heath,
At midnoon glowing with the golden gorse,
Bears its balsamic odor, but provokes
Not satisfies the sense; and all the flowers,
That with their unsubstantial fragrance tempt
And disappoint, bloom for so short a space,
That half the year the nostrils would keep Lent,
But that the kind tobacconist admits

No winter in his work; when Nature sleeps

His wheels roll on, and still administer

A plenitude of joy, a tangible smell.

What are Peru and those Golcondan mines

To thee, Virginia? miserable realms,

The produce of inhuman toil, they send
Gold for the greedy, jewels for the vain.
But thine are common comforts!.. To omit
Pipe-panegyric and tobacco-praise,

Think what a general joy the snuff-box gives,
Europe, and far above Pizarro's name

Write Raleigh in thy records of renown!
Him let the school-boy bless if he behold
His master's box produced, for when he sees
The thumb and finger of authority

Stuffed up the nostrils: when hat, head, and wig
Shake all; when on the waistcoat black, brown dust,
From the oft-reiterated pinch profuse
Profusely scattered, lodges in its folds,
And part on the magistral table lights,
Part on the open book, soon blown away,
Full surely soon shall then the brow severe
Relax; and from vituperative lips

Words that of birch remind not, sounds of praise,
And jokes that must be laughed at shall proceed.

A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.

MAY the Babylonish curse

CHARLES LAMB.

Straight 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 show,

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 reclaimèd 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 can not find us,

And ill fortune, that would thwart us
Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;

While each man, through 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 show us,
That our best friends do not know us,
And, for those allowèd 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 loved a cloud, Ixion.

Bacchus we know, and we allow His tipsy rites. But what art thou, That but by reflex canst show What his deity can do,

As the false Egyptian spell

Aped the true Hebrew miracle?

Some few vapors thou may'st raise,

The weak brain may serve to amaze,

But to the reins and nobler heart

Canst nor life nor heat impart.