Part 3

"I suppose they'll be wanting us to change our language as well as our habits. Our years will have to be dated A.C., in the year of cremation; and 'from creation to cremation' will serve instead of 'from the cradle to the grave.' We may expect also some lovely elegies in the future--something in the following style perhaps, for, of course, when gravediggers are succeeded by pyre-lighters, the grave laments of yore will be replaced by lighter melodies":

"Above your mantel, in the new screen's shade, Where smokes the coal in one dull, smouldering heap, Each in his patent urn for ever laid, The baked residue of our fathers sleep.

The wheezy call of muffins in the morn, The milkman tottering from his rushy sled, The help's shrill clarion, or the fishman's horn, No more shall rouse them from their lofty bed.

For them no more the blazing fire-grate burns, Or busy housewife fries her savoury soles, Though children run to clasp their sires' red urns, And roll them in a family game of bowls.

Perhaps in this deserted pot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire, Hands that the rod paternal may have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living liar."

The well-known lady traveller, Mrs. Burton, in one of her volumes gives the following amusing verses:

"What is the black man saying, Brother, the whole day long? Methinks I hear him praying Ever the self-same song-- _Sa'b meri bakshish do_!

Brother, they are not praying, They are not doing so; The only thing they're saying Is _sa'b meri bakshish do_. (Gi'e me a 'alfpenny do.)"

To give specimens of all the kinds of parody were impossible, and we can only refer to the prose parodies of Thackeray's "Novels by Eminent Hands," and Bret Harte's "Condensed Novels."[6] Renderings of popular ballads in this way are common enough in our comic periodicals, as _Punch_, _Fun_, &c. Indeed, one appeared in _Punch_ a number of years ago, called "Ozokerit," a travesty of Tennyson's "In Memoriam," which has been considered one of the finest ever written. They are to be found, too, in many of those Burlesques and Extravaganzas which are put upon the stage now, and these the late Mr. Planchè had a delightful faculty of writing, the happiness and ring of which have rarely been equalled. Take, for instance, one verse of a parody in "Jason" on a well-known air in the "Waterman:"

"Now farewell my trim-built Argo, Greece and Fleece and all, farewell, Never more as supercargo Shall poor Jason cut a swell."

And here is the opening verse of another song by the same author:

"When other lips and other eyes Their tales of love shall tell, Which means the usual sort of lies You've heard from many a swell; When, bored with what you feel is bosh, You'd give the world to see A friend whose love you know will wash, Oh, then, remember me!"

Another very popular song has been parodied in this way by Mr. Carroll:

"Beautiful soup, so rich and green, Waiting in a big tureen! Who for such dainties would not stoop! Soup of the evening, beautiful soup! Soup of the evening, beautiful soup!"

American papers put in circulation many little verses, such as this--

"The melancholy days have come, The saddest of the year; Too warm, alas! for whiskey punch, Too cold for lager beer."

And this, in reference to the Centennial Exhibition:

"Breathes there a Yank, so mean, so small, Who never says, 'Wall, now, by Gaul, I reckon since old Adam's fall There's never growed on this 'ere ball A nation so all-fired tall As we centennial Yankees."

A number of periodicals nowadays make parody and other out-of-the-way styles of literary composition a feature in their issues by way of competition for prizes, and one of these is given here. The author signs himself "Hermon," and the poem was selected by the editor of "Truth" (November 25, 1880) for a prize in a competition of parodies upon "Excelsior." It is called "That Thirty-four!" having reference, it is perhaps hardly necessary to state, to the American puzzle of that name which has proved so perplexing an affair to some people.

THAT THIRTY-FOUR.

"Chill August's storms were piping loud, When through a gaping London crowd, There passed a youth, who still was heard To mutter the perplexing word, 'That Thirty-four!'

His eyes were wild; his brow above Was crumpled like an old kid-glove; And like some hoarse crow's grating note That word still quivered in his throat, 'That Thirty-four!'

'Oh, give it up!' his comrades said; 'It only muddles your poor head; It is not worth your finding out.' He answered with a wailing shout, 'That Thirty-four!'

'Art not content,' the maiden said, 'To solve the "Fifteen"-one instead?' He paused--his tearful eyes he dried-- Gulped down a sob, then sadly sighed, 'That Thirty-four!'

At midnight, on their high resort, The cats were startled at their sport To hear, beneath one roof, a tone Gasp out, betwixt a snore and groan, 'That Thirty-four!'"

_CHAIN VERSE._

This ingenious style of versification, where the last word or phrase in each line is taken for the beginning of the next, is sometimes also called "Concatenation" verse. The invention of this mode of composition is claimed by M. Lasphrise, a French poet, who wrote the following:

"Falloit-il que le ciel me rendit amoreux, Amoreux, jouissant d'une beauté craintive, Craintive à recevoir la douceur excessive, Excessive au plaisir que rend l'amant heureux? Heureux si nous avions quelques paisibles lieux, Lieux où plus surement l'ami fidèle arrive, Arrive sans soupçon de quelque ami attentive, Attentive à vouloir nous surprendre tous deux."

The poem which follows is from a manuscript furnished by an American gentleman, who states that he has never seen it in print, and knows not the author's name. The "rhythm somewhat resembles the ticking of a clock," from whence the poem derives its name of

THE MUSICAL CLOCK.

"Wing the course of time with music, Music of the grand old days-- Days when hearts were brave and noble, Noble in their simple ways. Ways, however rough, yet earnest, Earnest to promote the truth-- Truth that teaches us a lesson, Lesson worthy age and youth. Youth and age alike may listen-- Listen, meditate, improve-- Improve in happiness and glory, Glory that shall Heavenward move. Move, as music moves, in pathos, Pathos sweet, and power sublime, Sublime to raise the spirit drooping, Drooping with the toils of time. Time reveals, amid its grandeur, Grandeur purer, prouder still-- Still revealing dreams of beauty, Beauty that inspires the will-- Will a constant sighing sorrow, Sorrow full of tears restore, Restore but for a moment, pleasure? Pleasure dead can live no more. No more, then, languish for the buried, Buried calmly let it be. Be the star of promise Heaven, Heaven has sweeter joys for thee. For thee perchance, though dark the seeming, Seeming dark, may yet prove bright, Bright through mortal cares, shall softly, Softly dissipate the night. Night shall not endure for ever,-- Ever! no, the laws of Earth, Earth inconstant, shall forbid it-- Bid it change from gloom to mirth. Mirth and grief, are light and shadow-- Shadows light to us are dear. Dear the scene becomes by contrast-- Contrast there, in beauty here. Here, through sun and tempest many, Many shall thy being pass-- Pass without a sigh of sorrow, Sorrow wins not by alas! Alas! we pardon in a maiden, Maiden when her heart is young, Young and timid, but in manhood, Manhood should be sterner strung, Strung as though his nerves were iron, Iron tempered well to bend-- Bend, mayhap, but yielding never, Never, when despair would rend-- Rend the pillars from the temple, Temple in the human breast, Breast that lonely grief has chosen, Chosen for her place of rest-- Rest unto thy spirit, only, Only torment will she bring. Bring, oh man! the lyre of gladness, Gladness frights the harpy's wing!"

The following two pieces are similar in style to some of our seventeenth-century poets:

AD MORTEM.

"The longer life, the more offence; The more offence, the greater pain; The greater pain, the less defence; The less defence, the greater gain-- Wherefore, come death, and let me die!

The shorter life, less care I find, Less care I take, the sooner over; The sooner o'er, the merrier mind; The merrier mind, the better lover-- Wherefore, come death, and let me die!

Come, gentle death, the ebb of care; The ebb of care, the flood of life; The flood of life, I'm sooner there; I'm sooner there--the end of strife-- The end of strife, that thing wish I-- Wherefore, come death, and let me die!"

TRUTH.

"Nerve thy soul with doctrines noble, Noble in the walks of time, Time that leads to an eternal An eternal life sublime; Life sublime in moral beauty, Beauty that shall ever be; Ever be to lure thee onward, Onward to the fountain free-- Free to every earnest seeker, Seeker for the Fount of Youth-- Youth exultant in its beauty, Beauty of the living truth."

The following hymn appears in the Irish Church Hymnal, and is by Mr. J. Byrom:

"My spirit longs for Thee Within my troubled breast, Though I unworthy be Of so Divine a Guest.

Of so Divine a Guest Unworthy though I be, Yet has my heart no rest, Unless it come from Thee.

Unless it come from Thee, In vain I look around; In all that I can see No rest is to be found.

No rest is to be found. But in Thy blessèd love; Oh, let my wish be crowned And send it from above."

Dr., as he was commonly called, Byrom, seems to have been an amiable and excellent man, and his friends after his death in September 1763 collected and published all the verses of his they could lay hands on, in 2 vols. 12mo, at Manchester in 1773. A more complete edition was issued in 1814. Many of Byrom's poems evince talent, but a great part are only calculated for private perusal: his "Diary" and "Remains" were published by the Chetham Society (1854-57). Byrom was the inventor of a successful system of shorthand. He was a decided Jacobite, and his mode of defending his sentiments on this point are still remembered and quoted:

"God bless the King! I mean the Faith's defender; God bless--no harm in blessing--the Pretender! But who Pretender is, or who the King, God bless us all--that's quite another thing!"

_MACARONIC VERSE._

Macaronic verse is properly a system of Latin inflections joined to words of a modern vernacular, such as English, French, German, &c.; some writers, however, choose to disregard the strictness of this definition, and consider everything macaronic which is written with the aid of more than one language or dialect. Dr. Geddes (born 1737; died 1802), considered one of the greatest of English macaronic writers, says: "It is the characteristic of a Macaronic poem to be written in Latin hexameters; but so as to admit occasionally vernacular words, either in their native form, or with a Latin inflection--other licenses, too, are allowed in the measure of the lines, contrary to the strict rules of prosody." Broad enough reservations these, of which Dr. Geddes in his own works was not slow in availing himself, and as will be seen in the specimens given, his example has been well followed, for the strict rule that an English macaronic should consist of the vernacular made classical with Latin terminations has been as much honoured in the breach as in the observance. Another characteristic in macaronics is that these poems recognise no law in orthography, etymology, syntax, or prosody. The examples which here follow are confined exclusively to those which have their basis, so to speak, in the English language, and, with the exception of a few of the earlier ones, the majority of the selections in this volume have their origin in our own times.

"The earliest collection of English Christmas carols supposed to have been published," says Hone's "Every Day Book," "is only known from the last leaf of a volume printed by Wynkyn Worde in 1521. There are two carols upon it: 'A Carol of Huntynge' is reprinted in the last edition of Juliana Berners' 'Boke of St. Alban's;' the other, 'A carol of bringing in the Bore's Head,' is in Dibdin's edition of 'Ames,' with a copy of the carol as it is now sung in Queen's College, Oxford, every Christmas Day." Dr. Bliss of Oxford printed a few copies of this for private circulation, together with Anthony Wood's version of it. The version subjoined is from a collection imprinted at London, "in the Poultry, by Richard Kele, dwelling at the long shop vnder Saynt Myldrede's Chyrche," about 1546:

A CAROL BRINGING IN THE BORE'S HEAD.

"Caput apri defero Reddens laudes Domino. The bore's heed in hande bring I, With garlands gay and rosemary, I pray you all synge merelye Qui estis in convivio.

The bore's heed I understande Is the thefte service in this lande, Take wherever it be fande, Servite cum cantico. Be gladde lordes both more and lasse, For this hath ordeyned our stewarde, To cheere you all this Christmasse, The bore's heed with mustarde. Caput apri defero Reddens laudes Domino."

Another version of the last verse is:

"Our steward hath provided this In honour of the King of Bliss: Which on this clay to be served is, In Regimensi Atrio. Caput apri defero Reddens laudes Domino."

Skelton, who was the poet-laureate about the end of the fifteenth century, has in his "Boke of Colin Clout," and also in that of "Philip Sparrow," much macaronic verse, as in "Colin Clout," when he is speaking of the priests of those days, he says:

"Of suche vagabundus Speaking totus mundus, How some syng let abundus, At euerye ale stake With welcome hake and make, By the bread that God brake, I am sory for your sake. I speake not of the god wife But of their apostles lyfe, Cum ipsis vel illis Qui manent in villis Est uxor vel ancilla, Welcome Jacke and Gilla, My prety Petronylla, An you wil be stilla You shall haue your willa, Of such pater noster pekes All the world speakes," &c.

In Harsnett's "Detection" are some curious lines, being a curse for "the miller's eeles that were stolne":

"All you that stolne the miller's eeles, Laudate dominum de coelis, And all they that have consented thereto, Benedicamus domino."

In "Literary Frivolities" there was a notice of and quotation from Ruggles' _jeu d'esprit_ of "Ignoramus," and here follows a short scene from this play, containing a humorous burlesque of the old Norman Law-Latin, in which the elder brethren of the legal profession used to plead, and in which the old Reporters come down to the Bar of to-day--if, indeed, that venerable absurdity can be caricatured. It would be rather difficult to burlesque a system that provided for a writ _de pipâ vini carriandâ_--that is, "for negligently carrying a pipe of wine!"

IGNORAMUS.

ACTUS I.--SCENA III.

ARGUMENTUM.

IGNORAMUS, clericis suis vocatis DULMAN & PECUS, amorem suum erga ROSABELLAM narrat, irredetque MUSÆUM quasi hominem academicum.

_Intrant_ IGNORAMUS, DULMAN, PECUS, MUSÆUS.

_Igno._ Phi, phi: tanta pressa, tantum croudum, ut fui pene trusus ad mortem. Habebo actionem de intrusione contra omnes et singulos. Aha Mounsieurs, voulez voz intruder par joint tenant? il est playne case, il est point droite de le bien seance. O valde caleor: O chaud, chaud, chaud: precor Deum non meltavi meum pingue. Phi, phi. In nomine Dei, ubi sunt clerici mei jam? Dulman, Dulman.

_Dul._ Hìc, Magister Ignoramus, vous avez Dulman.

_Igno._ Meltor, Dulman, meltor. Rubba me cum towallio, rubba. Ubi est Pecus?

_Pec._ Hìc, Sir.

_Igno._ Fac ventum, Pecus. Ita, sic, sic. Ubi est Fledwit?

_Dul._ Non est inventus.

_Igno._ Ponite nunc chlamydes vestras super me, ne capiam frigus. Sic, sic. Ainsi, bien faict. Inter omnes poenas meas, valde lætor, et gaudeo nunc, quod feci bonum aggreamentum, inter Anglos nostros: aggreamentum, quasi aggregatio mentium. Super inde cras hoysabimus vela, et retornabimus iterum erga Londinum: tempus est, nam huc venimus Octabis Hillarii, et nunc fere est Quindena Pasche.

_Dul._ Juro, magister, titillasti punctum legis hodie.

_Igno._ Ha, ha, he! Puto titillabam. Si le nom del granteur, ou granté soit rased, ou interlined en faict pol, le faict est grandement suspicious.

_Dul._ Et nient obstant, si faict pol, &c., &c. Oh illud etiam in Covin.

_Igno._ Ha, ha, he!

_Pec._ At id, de un faict pendu en le smoak, nunquam audivi titillatum melius.

_Igno._ Ha, ha, he! Quid tu dicis, Musæe?

_Mus._ Equidem ego parum intellexi.

_Igno._ Tu es gallicrista, vocatus a coxcomb; nunquam faciam te Legistam.

_Dul._ Nunquam, nunquam; nam ille fuit Universitans.

_Igno._ Sunt magni idiotæ, et clerici nihilorum, isti Universitantes: miror quomodo spendisti tuum tempus inter eos.

_Mus._ Ut plurimum versatus sum in Logicâ.

_Igno._ Logica? Quæ villa, quod burgum est Logica?

_Mus._ Est una artium liberalium.

_Igno._ Liberalium? Sic putabam. In nomine Dei, stude artes parcas et lucrosas: non est mundus pro artibus liberalibus jam.

_Mus._ Deditus etiam fui amori Philosophiæ.

_Igno._ Amori? Quid! Es pro bagaschiis et strumpetis? Si custodis malam regulam, non es pro me, sursum reddam te in manus parentum iterum.

_Mus._ Dii faxint.

_Igno._ Quota est clocka nunc?

_Dul._ Est inter octo et nina.

_Igno._ Inter octo et nina? Ite igitur ad mansorium nostrum cum baggis et rotulis.--Quid id est? videam hoc instrumentum; mane petit, dum calceo spectacula super nasum. O ho, ho, scio jam. Hæc indentura, facta, &c., inter Rogerum Rattledoke de Caxton in comitatu Brecknocke, &c. O ho, Richard Fen, John Den. O ho, Proud Buzzard, plaintiff, adversus Peakegoose, defendant. O ho, vide hic est defalta literæ; emenda, emenda; nam in nostra lege una comma evertit totum Placitum. Ite jam, copiato tu hoc, tu hoc ingrossa, tu Universitans trussato sumptoriam pro jorneâ.

[_Exeunt Clerici._

IGNORAMUS _solus_.

Hi, ho! Rosabella, hi ho! Ego nunc eo ad Veneris curiam letam, tentam hic apud Torcol: Vicecomes ejus Cupido nunquam cessavit, donec invenit me in balivâ suâ: Primum cum amabam Rosabellam nisi parvum, misit parvum Cape, tum magnum Cape, et post, alias Capias et pluries Capias, & Capias infinitas; & sic misit tot Capias, ut tandem capavit me ut legatum ex omni sensu et ratione meâ. Ita sum sicut musca sine caput; buzzo & turno circumcirca, et nescio quid facio. Cum scribo instrumentum, si femina nominatur, scribo Rosabellam; pro Corpus cum causâ, corpus cum caudâ; pro Noverint universi, Amaverint universi; pro habere ad rectum, habere ad lectum; et sic vasto totum instrumentum. Hei, ho! ho, hei, ho!

The following song by O'Keefe, is a mixture of English, Latin, and nonsense:

"Amo, amas, I love a lass, As cedar tall and slender; Sweet cowslip's grace Is her nominative case, And she's of the feminine gender.

_Chorus._

Rorum, corum, sunt di-vorum, Harum, scarum, divo; Tag-rag, merry-derry, periwig and hatband, Hic, hoc, horum genitivo.

Can I decline a nymph so divine? Her voice like a flute is dulcis; Her oculus bright, her manus white And soft, when I tacto her pulse is. _Chorus._

O how bella, my puella I'll kiss in secula seculorum; If I've luck, sir, she's my uxor, O dies benedictorum." _Chorus._

Of the many specimens written by the witty and versatile Dr. Maginn we select this one

THE SECOND EPODE OF HORACE.

"Blest man, who far from busy hum, Ut prisca gens mortalium, Whistles his team afield with glee Solutus omni fenore; He lives in peace, from battles free, Neq' horret irratúm mare; And shuns the forum, and the gay Potentiorum limina, Therefore to vines of purple gloss Atlas maritat populos. Or pruning off the boughs unfit Feliciores inserit; Or, in a distant vale at ease Prospectat errantes greges; Or honey into jars conveys Aut tondet infirmas oves. When his head decked with apples sweet Auctumnus agris extulit, At plucking pears he's quite _au fait_ Certant, et uvam purpuræ. Some for Priapus, for thee some Sylvare, tutor finium! Beneath an oak 'tis sweet to be Mod' in tenaci gramine: The streamlet winds in flowing maze Queruntur in silvis aves; The fount in dulcet murmur plays Somnos quod invitet leves. But when winter comes, (and that Imbres nivesque comparat,) With dogs he forces oft to pass Apros in obstantes plagas; Or spreads his nets so thick and close Turdis edacibus dolos; Or hares, or cranes, from far away Jucunda captat præmia: The wooer, love's unhappy stir, Hæc inter obliviscitur, His wife can manage without loss Domum et parvos liberos; (Suppose her Sabine, or the dry Pernicis uxor Appali,) Who piles the sacred hearthstone high Lassi sub adventúm viri, And from his ewes, penned lest they stray, Distenta siccet ubera; And this year's wine disposed to get Dapes inemtas apparet. Oysters to me no joys supply, Magisve rhombus, aut scari, (If when the east winds boisterous be Hiems ad hoc vertat mare;) Your Turkey pout is not to us, Non attagen Ionicus, So sweet as what we pick at home Oliva ramis arborum! Or sorrel, which the meads supply, Malvæ salubres corpori-- Or lamb, slain at a festal show Vel hædus ereptus lupo. Feasting, 'tis sweet the creature's dumb, Videre prop'rantes domum, Or oxen with the ploughshare go, Collo trahentes languido; And all the slaves stretched out at ease, Circum renidentes Lares! Alphius the usurer, babbled thus, Jam jam futurus rusticus, Called in his cast on th' Ides--but he Quærit Kalendis ponere!"

There is a little bit by Barham ("Ingoldsby Legends") which is worthy of insertion:

"What Horace says is Eheu fugaces Anni labuntur, Postume! Postume! Years glide away and are lost to me--lost to me! Now when the folks in the dance sport their merry toes, Taglionis and Ellslers, Duvernays and Ceritos, Sighing, I murmured, 'O mihi pretæritos!'"

The following bright _carmen Macaronicum_ appeared in an American periodical in 1873:

REX MIDAS.

"Vivit a rex in Persia land, A potens rex was he; Suum imperium did extend O'er terra and o'er sea.

Rex Midas habuit multum gold, Tamen he wanted plus; 'Non satis est,' his constant cry-- Ergo introit fuss.

Silenus was inebrius,-- Id est, was slightly tight, As he went vagus through the urbs, It was a tristis sight.

Rex Midas equitavit past On suum dromedary, Vidit Silenus on his spree, Sic lætus et sic merry.

His costume was a wreath of leaves, And those were multum battered; Urchins had stoned him, and the ground Cum lachrymis was scattered.

Rex Midas picked hunc senem up, And put him on his pony, Et bore him ad castellum grand Quod cost him multum money.

Dedit Silenum mollem care: Cum Bacchus found his ubi Promisit Midas quod he asked. Rex Midas fuit--booby.

For aurum was his gaudium, Rogavit he the favour Ut quid he touched might turn to gold; Ab this he'd nunquam never.

Carpsit arose to try the charm, Et in eodem minute It mutat into flavum gold, Ridet as spectat in it.

His filia rushed to meet her sire, He osculavit kindly; She lente stiffened into gold-- Vidit he'd acted blindly.

Spectavit on her golden form, And in his brachia caught her: 'Heu me! sed tamen breakfast waits, My daughter, oh! my daughter!'

Venit ad suum dining-hall, Et coffeam gustavit, Liquatum gold his fauces burned,-- Loud he vociferavit:

'Triste erat amittere My solam filiam true, Pejus to lose my pabulam. Eheu! Eheu!! Eheu!!!'

Big lachrymæ bedewed his cheeks-- 'O potens Bacchus lazy, Prende ab me the power you gave, Futurum, ut I'll praise thee.'

Benignus Bacchus audiens groans, Misertus est our hero; Dixit ut the Pactolian waves Ab hoc would cleanse him--vero.

Infelix rex was felix then, Et cum hilarious grin, Ruit unto the river's bank, Et fortis plunged in.

The nefas power was washed away; Sed even at this hour Pactolus' sands are tinged with gold, Testes of Bacchus' power.

A tristis sed a sapiens vir Rex Midas fuit then; Et gratus to good Bacchus said, 'Non feram sic again.'