Read Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) Online
Authors: Homer,William Shakespeare
Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (122 page)
Allan Ramsay (1686–1758)
MY Peggy is a young thing,
Just enter’d in her teens,
Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
Fair as the day, and always gay;
My Peggy is a young thing,
5
And I’m not very auld,
Yet well I like to meet her at
The wawking of the fauld.
My Peggy speaks sae sweetly
Whene’er we meet alane,
10
I wish nae mair to lay my care,
I wish nae mair of a’ that’s rare;
My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
To a’ the lave I’m cauld,
But she gars a’ my spirits glow
15
At wawking of the fauld.
My Peggy smiles sae kindly
Whene’er I whisper love,
That I look down on a’ the town,
That I look down upon a crown;
20
My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
It makes me blyth and bauld,
And naething gives me sic delight
As wawking of the fauld.
My Peggy sings sae saftly
25
When on my pipe I play,
By a’ the rest it is confest,
By a’ the rest, that she sings best;
My Peggy sings sae saftly,
And in her sangs are tauld
30
With innocence the wale of sense,
At wawking of the fauld.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
John Gay (1685–1732)
LOVE in her eyes sits playing,
And sheds delicious death;
Love in her lips is straying,
And warbling in her breath;
Love on her breast sits panting,
5
And swells with soft desire:
Nor grace, nor charm, is wanting
To set the heart on fire.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
John Gay (1685–1732)
ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor’d,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard;
‘O! where shall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true
5
If my sweet William sails among the crew.’
William, who high upon the yard
Rock’d with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard
He sigh’d, and cast his eyes below:
10
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.
So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast
If chance his mate’s shrill call he hear,
15
And drops at once into her nest: —
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William’s lip those kisses sweet.
‘O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
My vows shall ever true remain;
20
Let me kiss off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
‘Believe not what the landmen say
25
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind:
They’ll tell thee, sailors, when away,
In every port a mistress find:
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For Thou art present wheresoe’er I go.
30
‘If to fair India’s coast we sail,
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
Thy breath is Afric’s spicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory so white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view
35
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
‘Though battle call me from thy arms
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms
William shall to his Dear return.
40
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan’s eye:
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread,
No longer must she stay aboard;
45
They kiss’d, she sigh’d, he hung his head.
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land;
‘Adieu!’ she cries; and waved her lily hand.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Henry Carey (d. 1743)
OF all the girls that are so smart
There’s none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land
5
Is half so sweet as Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Her father he makes cabbage-nets
And through the streets does cry ‘em;
10
Her mother she sells laces long
To such as please to buy ‘em:
But sure such folks could ne’er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,
15
And she lives in our alley.
When she is by, I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely;
My master comes like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely —
20
But let him bang his bellyfull,
I’ll bear it all for Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that’s in the week
25
I dearly love but one day —
And that’s the day that comes betwixt
A Saturday and Monday;
For then I’m drest all in my best
To walk abroad with Sally;
30
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master carries me to church,
And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch
35
As soon as text is named;
I leave the church in sermon-time
And slink away to Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
40
When Christmas comes about again
O then I shall have money;
I’ll hoard it up, and box it all,
I’ll give it to my honey;
I would it were ten thousand pound,
45
I’d give it all to Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master and the neighbours all
Make game of me and Sally,
50
And, but for her, I’d better be
A slave and row a galley;
But when my seven long years are out
O then I’ll marry Sally, —
O then we’ll wed, and then we’ll bed,
55
But not in our alley!
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Alexander Pope (1688–1744)
(THREE BOOK DUNCIAD)
BOOKS and the man I sing, the first who brings
The Smithfield muses to the ears of kings.
Say great Patricians! (since yourselves inspire
These wond’rous works; so Jove and fate require!)
Say from what cause, in vain decry’d and curst,
Still
Dunce the second reigns like Dunce the first?
In eldest time, e’er mortals writ or read,
E’er Pallas issued from the Thund’rer’s head,
Dulness o’er all possess’d her antient right,
Daughter of Chaos and eternal Night:
Fate in their dotage this fair idiot gave,
Gross as her, sire, and as her mother grave,
Laborious, heavy, busy, bold, and blind,
She rul’d, in native anarchy, the mind.
Still her old empire to confirm, she tries,
For born a Goddess, Dulness never dies.
Where wave the tatter’d ensigns of Rag-Fair,
A yawning ruin hangs and nods in air;
Keen, hollow winds howl thro’ the bleak recess,
Emblem of music caus’d by emptiness:
Here in one bed two shiv’ring sisters lye,
The cave of Poverty and Poetry.
This, the Great Mother dearer held than all
The clubs of Quidnunc’s, or her own Guild-hall:
Here stood her Opium, here she nurs’d her Owls,
And destin’d here th’ imperial seat of fools.
Hence springs each weekly muse, the living boast
Of C…l’s chaste press, and L…t’s rubric post;
Hence hymning Tyburn’s elegiac lay,
Hence the soft sing-song on Cecilia’s day,
Sepulchral lyes our holy walls to grace,
And New-year-Odes, and all the Grubstreet race.
’Twas here in clouded majesty she shone;
Four guardian Virtues, round, support her throne;
Fierce champion Fortitude, that knows no fears
Of hisses, blows, or want, or loss of ears:
Calm Temperance, whose blessings those partake
Who hunger, and who thirst for scribling sake:
Prudence, whose glass presents th’ approaching jayl;
Poetic Justice, with her lifted scale;
Where in nice balance, truth with gold she weighs,
And solid pudding against empty praise.
Here she beholds the Chaos dark and deep,
Where nameless somethings in their causes sleep,
‘Till genial Jacob, or a warm third-day
Calls forth each mass, a poem or a play.
How hints, like spawn, scarce quick in embryo lie;
How new-born nonsense first is taught to cry;
Maggots half-form’d, in rhyme exactly meet,
And learn to crawl upon poetic feet.
Here one poor Word a hundred clenches makes,
And ductile dulness new meanders takes;
There motley Images her fancy strike,
Figures ill-pair’d, and Similes unlike.
She sees a mob of Metaphors advance,
Pleas’d with the madness of the mazy dance:
How Tragedy and Comedy embrace;
How Farce and Epic get a jumbled race;
How Time himself stands still at her command,
Realms shift their place, and Ocean turns to land.
Here gay Description Aegypt glads with showers,
Or gives to Zembla fruits, to Barca flowers;
Glitt’ring with ice here hoary hills are seen,
Fast by, fair vallies of eternal green,
On cold December fragrant chaplets blow,
And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.
All these and more, the cloud-compelling Queen
Beholds thro’ fogs, that magnify the scene;
She, tinfel’d o’er in robes of varying hues,
With self-applause her wild creation views,
Sees momentary monsters rise and fall,
And with her own fools-colours gilds them all.
’Twas on the day, when
Tho…d, rich and grave,
Like
Cimon triumph’d both on land and wave,
(Pomps without guilt, of bloodless swords and maces,
Glad chains, warm furs, broad banners, and broadfaces)
Now night descending, the proud scene was o’er,
Yet liv’d, in Settle’s numbers, one day more.
Now May’rs and Shrieves in pleasing flumbers lay,
And eat in dreams the custard of the day:
But pensive poets painful vigils keep;
Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.
Much to her mind the solemn feast recalls,
What city-Swans once sung within the walls,
Much she revolves their arts, their antient praise,
And sure succession down from
Heywood’s days.
She saw with joy the line immortal run,
Each sire imprest and glaring in his son;
So watchful Bruin forms with plastic care
Each growing lump, and brings it to a Bear.
She saw in N…n all his father shine,
And E…n eke out Bl…’s endless line;
She saw slow P…s creep like T…te’s poor page,
And furious D…n foam in Wh…’s rage.
In each, she marks her image full exprest,
But chief, in Tibbald’s monster-breeding breast,
Sees Gods with Daemons in strange league ingage,
And
earth, and heav’n, and hell, her battels wage!
She ey’d the Bard where supperless he fate,
And pin’d, unconscious of his rising fate;
Studious he sate, with all his books around,
Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound?
Plung’d for his sense, but found no bottom there:
Then writ, and flounder’d on, in mere despair.
He roll’d his eyes that witness’d huge dismay,
Where yet unpawn’d, much learned lumber lay,
Volumes, whose size the space exactly fill’d;
Or which fond authors were so good to gild;
Or where, by Sculpture made for ever known,
The page admires new beauties, not its own.
Here swells the shelf with Ogleby the great,
There, stamp’d with arms, Newcastle shines compleat,
Here all his suff’ring brotherhood retire,
And ‘scape the martyrdom of jakes and fire;
A Gothic Vatican! of Greece and Rome
Well-purg’d, and worthy W…y, W…s, and Bl…
But high above, more solid Learning shone,
The Classicks of an age that heard of none;
There Caxton slept, with Wynkin at his side,
One clasp’d in wood, and one in strong cow-hide:
There sav’d by spice, like mummies, many a year,
Old Bodies of philosophy appear:
De Lyra there a dreadful front extends,
And there, the groaning Shelves Philemon bends.
Of these twelve volumes, twelve of amplest size,
Redeem’d from tapers and defrauded pyes,
Inspir’d he seizes: These an altar raise:
An hecatomb of pure, unsully’d lays
That altar crowns; a folio Common-place
Founds the whole pyle, of all his works the base:
Quarto’s, octavo’s, shape the lessening pyre,
And last, a
little Ajax tips the spire.
Then heª Great Tamer of all human art!
First in my care, and nearest at my heart!
Dulness! whose good old cause I yet defend,
With whom my muse began, with whom shall end!
Oh thou! of business the directing soul,
To human heads like byass to the bowl,
Which as more pond’rous makes their aim more true,
Obliquely wadling to the mark in view.
O ever gracious to perplex’d mankind!
Who spread a healing mist before the mind,
And, lest we err by wit’s wild, dancing light,
Secure us kindly in our native night.
Ah! still o’er Britain stretch that peaceful wand,
Which lulls th’ Helvetian and Batavian land,
Where ‘gainst thy throne if rebel Science rise,
She does but show her coward face and dies:
There, thy good scholiasts with unweary’d pains
Make Horace flat, and humble Maro’s strains;
Here studious I unlucky Moderns save,
Nor sleeps one error in its father’s grave,
Old puns restore, lost blunders nicely seek,
And crucify poor Shakespear once a week.
For thee I dim these eyes, and stuff this head,
With all such reading as was never read;
For thee supplying, in the worst of days,
Notes to dull books, and Prologues to dull plays;
For thee explain a thing ‘till all men doubt it,
And write about it, Goddess, and about it;
So spins the silkworm small its slender store,
And labours, ‘till it clouds itself all o’er.
Not that my pen to criticks was confin’d,
My verse gave ampler lessons to mankind;
So written precepts may successless prove,
But sad examples never fail to move.
As forc’d from wind-guns, lead it self can fly,
And pond’rous slugs cut swiftly thro’ the sky;
As clocks to weight their nimble motion owe,
The wheels above urg’d by the load below;
Me, Emptiness and Dulness could inspire,
And were my Elasticity, and Fire.
Had heav’n decreed such works a longer date,
Heav’n had decreed to spare the Grubstreet-state.
But see
great Settle to the dust descend,
And all thy cause and empire at an end!
Cou’d Troy be sav’d by any single hand,
His gray-goose-weapon must have made her stand.
But what can I•my Flaccus cast aside,
Take up th’ Attorney’s (once my better) guide?
Or rob the Roman geese of all their glories,
And save the state by cackling to the Tories?
Yes, to my country I my pen consign,
Yes, from this moment, mighty Mist! am thine,
And rival, Curtius! of thy fame and zeal,
O’er head and ears plunge for the public weal.
Adieu my children! better thus expire
Un-stall’d, unsold; thus glorious mount in fire
Fair without spot; than greas’d by grocer’s hands,
Or shipp’d with W… to ape and monkey lands,
Or wafting ginger, round the streets to go,
And visit alehouse where ye first did grow.
With that, he lifted thrice the sparkling brand,
And thrice he dropt it from his quiv’ring hand:
Then lights the structure, with averted eyes;
The rowling smokes involve the sacrifice.
The opening clouds disclose each work by turns,
Now flames old
Memnon, now Rodrigo burns,
In one quick slash see Proserpine expire,
And last, his own cold Aeschylus took fire.
Then gush’d the tears, as from the Trojan’s eyes
When the last blaze sent Ilion to the skies.
Rowz’d by the light, old Dulness heav’d the head,
Then snatch’d a sheet of Thulè from her Bed,
Sudden she flies, and whelms it o’er the pyre;
Down sink the flames, and with a hiss expire.
Her ample presence fills up all the place;
A veil of fogs dilates her awful face,
Great in her charms! as when on Shrieves and May’rs
She looks, and breathes herself into their airs.
She bids him wait her to the sacred Dome;
Well-pleas’d he enter’d, and confess’d his home:
So spirits, ending their terrestrial race,
Ascend, and recognize their native place:
Raptur’d, he gazes round the dear retreat,
And
in sweet numbers celebrates the seat.
Here to her Chosen all her works she shows;
Prose swell’d to verse, Verse loitring into prose:
How random thoughts now meaning chance to find,
Now leave all memory of sense behind;
How Prologues into Prefaces decay,
And those to Notes are fritter’d quite away:
How Index-learning turns no student pale,
Yet holds the eel of science by the Tail:
How, with less reading than makes felons ‘scape;
Less human genius than God gives an ape,
Small thanks to France, and none to Rome or Greece,
A past, vamp’d, future, old, reviv’d, new piece,
‘Twixt Plautus, Fletcher, Congreve, and Corneille,
Can make a C…r, Jo…n, or O…ll.
The Goddess then, o’er his anointed head,
With mystic words the sacred Opium shed;
And lo! her Bird (a monster of a fowl!
Something betwixt a H… and Owl)
Perch’d on his crown. All hail! and hail again
My son! the promis’d land expects thy reign.
Know Settle, cloy’d with custard and with praise,
Is gather’d to the Dull of antient days,
Safe, where no criticks damn, no duns molest,
Where G…n, B…, and high-born H… rest!
I see a King! who leads my chosen sons
To lands that flow with clenches and with puns:
‘Till each fam’d theatre my empire own,
Till Albion, as Hibernia, bless my throne.
I see! I see! — Then rapt, she spoke no more.
God save King Tibbald! Grubstreet alleys roar.
So when Jove’s block descended from on high,
(As sings thy great fore-father, Ogilby,)
Hoarse thunder to its bottom shook the bog,
And the loud nation croak’d, God save King Log!
End of the first Book.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
