Posts tagged ‘1767’

Wednesday, 22 May 2019

Sonnets, Written in the Highlands of Scotland, in the Year 1767: Sonnet I by Hugh Downman

Hence Sickness, nor about my weary head
Thy languid vapours wrap, and drooping wings
Better would’st thou thy baleful poison shed
In some dark cave where the Night-raven sings,
Where heavy fits the gloom-delighted Owl,
Where Aconite its loathsome juices throws;
Where dwells the Bat, and Serpents hissing foul,
With fell Despair, who never knows repose:
There drag the Caitiff Wretch, who hath betray’d
His trust, hath ruin’d innocence, or spilt
The sacred blood of him who gave him life;
Him torture Stern! nor will the lovely maid,
The sweet-eyed Mercy, conscious of his guilt,
Restrain thy hand, or blunt thy sharpen’d knife.

From: Downman, Hugh, Poems, 2008, University of Michigan Library: Ann Arbor, Michigan, pp. 74-75.
(http://name.umdl.umich.edu/004858359.0001.000)

Date: 1767

By: Hugh Downman (1740-1809)

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Wednesday, 1 August 2018

Lines 175-189 from “The Braggard Captain” by Titus Maccius Plautus

As I hope heav’n’s love,
‘Twere fit the Gods should order and provide,
That all men should not hold their lives alike,
Squar’d by one rule: but as a price is fix’d
On different wares, that so they may be sold
According to their value;—that the bad
Its owner may impoverish by its vileness
So it were just, the Gods in human life
Should make distinction due, and disproportion;
That on the well-disposed they should bestow
A long extent of years; the reprobate
And wicked they should soon deprive of life.
Were this provided, bad men would be fewer,
Less hardily they’d act their wicked deeds
Nor would there be a dearth of honest men.

From: Plautus, Titus Maccius and Thornton, Bonnell (ed. and transl.), The Comedies of Plautus, translated into familiar blank verse, Volume the First, 1772, J. Lister for T. Becket and P. A. de Hondt; R. Baldwin, T. Davies; and R. Davies: London, pp. 183-184.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=jOgIAAAAQAAJ)

Date: c200 BCE (original in Latin); 1767 (translation in English)

By: Titus Maccius Plautus (c254 BCE-184 BCE)

Translated by: Bonnell Thornton (1725-1768)

Friday, 23 March 2018

A Poor Man’s Queries. Addressed to his Friend by George Saville Carey

Our betters seem to make a rout,
To find the cause of famine out,
Pretend the myst’ry is too great,
To tell us why we have no meat;
Nor can our ablest St—s—n’s head,
Find out the cause we have no bread.
The reason’s plain, I tell you why,
I don’t believe they ever try.

But should they want to lay a tax
Upon our heavy-laden backs,
There is not one but knows the way,
To do it for us any day.

Like dog i’the fair they shift about,
To-day in place, to-morrow out,
Nor shall you find the best resign,
Without some motive or design
To wriggle into better bread;—
Then can you think he’ll plague his head
About such things as you or I,
Who were but born to starve and die?

QUERY I.
Were they like you and I to feel
An appetite, without a meal;
Say, would they not soon find the way,
To move this obstacle away?

II.
Would forestallers and regrators
Until now have ‘scap’d their betters,
If some great rogue ‘tween you and I,
Had not giv’n them authority?
Thieves are seldom hang’d for stealing,
Where my Lord’s a fellow feeling.

III.
If one knave should chance to swing,
O that wou’d be a happy thing.
In such a case, ’tis ten to four,
But he’d impeach a hundred more;
And then I’d lay you nine to ten,
That half of them were N—n,
Or such to whom we give the name,
For they by birth assume the claim,
And have not in reality
The smallest claim to quality.
Titles that once were bravely won,
That have thro’ generations run,
May grace at last a worthless fool,
Perhaps some haughty fav’rite’s tool,
In some base office exercis’d,
And by his countrymen despis’d.

From: Carey, George Saville, The Hills of Hybla: being a collection of original poems, 2008, University of Michigan Library: Ann Arbor, Michigan, pp. 30-32.
(http://name.umdl.umich.edu/004786427.0001.000)

Date: 1767

By: George Saville Carey (1743-1807)

Tuesday, 20 February 2018

The Contented Cuckold by George Colman

First printed in the St. JAMES’s CHRONICLE, Saturday, March 28, 1767.

Harry with Johnny’s wife intrigues,
And all the world perceives it:
John forms with Harry such close leagues,
Who’d think that he believes it?

Contented Cuckold! but, alas,
This is poor Johnny’s curse:
If he don’t see it, he’s an Ass;
And if he does, he’s worse.

From: Colman, George, Prose on Several Occasions: Accompanied with Some Pieces in Verse, 2011, University of Michigan Library: Ann Arbor, Michigan, p. 316.
(http://name.umdl.umich.edu/004896414.0001.002)

Date: 1767

By: George Colman (1732-1794)

Sunday, 13 August 2017

A Song on an Old Razor, which, from Time to Time, was Used to Cut Candle; and, being New Ground, Proved an Extraordinary Good One by W. Adkins

Says my mother, why, pray,
Are. you not shav’d to-day?
On which I began for to mutter;
Pray, mother, a-done,
For as I’m your son,
I fear I have lost candle-cutter.

Long time was mislaid,
Which made me afraid
She was lost—I knew not where I put her;
‘Till to-day by good hap,
Just under my cap,
I espy’d my old friend, candle-cutter.

Come hither to me,
And I’ll shave presently;
Look fierce as a crow in a gutter;
Now Scott may be hang’d,
The Black Barber be damn’d,
For I have found my old friend candle-cutter.

No more of my beard,
Dear girls, be afraid,
For my chin is as soft as new butter:
Don’t say I’m uncouth,
For my skin is quite smooth,
By the help of my friend, candle-cutter.

Then tune up your voice,
In praises most choice,
And those that can sing, let them sputter:
Sure never was seen,
A razor so keen,
Or could shave like the brave candle-cutter.

From: Adkins, W., The Hortonian Miscellany: Being a Collection of Original Poems, Tales, &c, 1767, W. Bingley: London, pp. 73-74.
(http://find.galegroup.com.rp.nla.gov.au/ecco/infomark.do?&source=gale&prodId=ECCO&userGroupName=nla&tabID=T001&docId=CW117325772&type=multipage&contentSet=ECCOArticles&version=1.0&docLevel=FASCIMILE)

Date: 1767

By: W. Adkins (fl. 1767)