LINES TO MARY

OLD BAILEY BALLADS

(At No. 1, Newgate. Favoured by Mr. Wontner.)

O MARY, I believed you true,

And I was blest in so believing;

But till this hour I never knew

That you were taken up for thieving!

Oh! when I snatch'd a tender kiss,
Or some such trifle when I courted,
You said, indeed, that love was bliss,
But never owned you were transported!

But then to gaze on that fair face—

It would have been an unfair feeling To dream that you had pilfered lace— And Flint's had suffered from your stealing!

Or when my suit I first preferred,

To bring your coldness to repentance,

Before I hammer'd out a word,

How could I dream you heard a sentence !

Or when with all the warmth of youth
I strove to prove my love no fiction,
How could I guess I urged a truth
On one already past conviction!

How could I dream that ivory part,

Your hand-where I have look'd and linger'd,

Altho' it stole away my heart,

Had been held up as one light-fingered!

In melting verse your charms I drew,

The charms in which my muse delighted— Alas! the lay I thought was new,

Spoke only what had been indicted!

Oh! when that form, a lovely one,

Hung on the neck its arms had flown to, I little thought that you had run

A chance of hanging on your own too.

You said you pick'd me from the world,
My vanity it now must shock it—
And down at once my pride is hurled,
You've pick'd me-and you've pick'd a pocket!

Oh! when our love had got so far,

The banns were read by Doctor Daly,

Who asked if there was any bar

Why did not some one shout "Old Bailey"?

But when you robed your flesh and bones
In that pure white that angel garb is,
Who could have thought you, Mary Jones,
Among the Joans that link with Darbies?

And when the parson came to say,

My goods were yours, if I had got any, And you should honour and obey,

Who could have thought-"O Bay of Botany!"

slips

But oh!-the worst of all your
I did not till this day discover—
That down in Deptford's prison ships,
O Mary! you've a hulking lover!

THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS

"The Needles have sometimes been fatal to Mariners." Picture of Isle of Wight.

I

ONE close of day-'twas in the Bay
Of Naples, bay of glory!

While light was hanging crowns of gold

On mountains high and hoary,

A gallant bark got under weigh,
And with her sails my story.

II

For Leghorn she was bound direct,
With wine and oil for cargo,
Her crew of men some nine or ten,
The captain's name was Jago;
A good and gallant bark she was,
La Donna (call'd) del Lago.

III

Bronzed mariners were hers to view,
With brown cheeks, clear or muddy,
Dark shining eyes, and coal-black hair,
Meet heads for painter's study;
But midst their tan there stood one man,
Whose cheek was fair and ruddy;

IV

His brow was high, a loftier brow
Ne'er shone in song or sonnet,
His hair, a little scant, and when
He doff'd his cap or bonnet,
One saw that Grey had gone beyond
A premiership upon it!

V

His eye-a passenger was he,

The cabin he had hired it,

His eye was grey, and when he look'd
Around, the prospect fired it,-

A fine poetic light, as if

The Appe-Nine inspir'd it.

·VI

His frame was stout, in height about
Six feet-well made and portly;
Of dress and manner just to give
A sketch, but very shortly,
His order seem'd a composite
Of rustic with the courtly.

VII

He ate and quaff'd, and joked and laughed, And chatted with the seamen,

And often task'd their skill and ask'd, "What weather is't to be, man?" No demonstration there appear'd

That he was any demon.

VIII

No sort of sign there was that he
Could raise a stormy rumpus,
Like Prospero make breezes blow,
And rocks and billows thump us,-

But little we supposed what he
Could with the needle compass !

IX

Soon came a storm-the sea at first
Seem'd lying almost fallow-

When lo! full crash, with billowy dash,

From clouds of black and yellow,

Came such a gale as blows but once
A cent'ry, like the aloe!

X

Our stomachs we had just prepared
To vest a small amount in ;
When, gush! a flood of brine came down
The skylight-quite a fountain,
And right on end the table rear'd
Just like the Table Mountain.

XI

Down rush'd the soup, down gush'd the wine,
Each roll, its rôle repeating,

Roll'd down-the round of beef declar'd
For parting-not for meating!

Off flew the fowls, and all the game
Was "too far gone for eating!"

XII

Down knife and fork-down went the pork,
The lamb too broke its tether;
Down mustard went-each condiment-

Salt-pepper-all together!
Down everything, like craft that seek
The Downs in stormy weather.

XIII

Down plunged the Lady of the Lake,
Her timbers seem'd to sever;
Down, down, a dreary derry down,
Such lurch she had gone never;
She almost seem'd about to take
A bed of down for ever!

XIV

Down dropt the captain's nether jaw,
Thus robb'd of all its uses,
He thought he saw the Evil One
Beside Vesuvian sluices,

Playing at dice for soul and ship,

And throwing Sink and Deuces.