Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/489
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FRANK HAYMAN.
471
With grief sincere I pity those
Who've drawn themselves this scrape in;
Since from his gripe, and dreadful woes,
Alas! there's no escaping!
Who've drawn themselves this scrape in;
Since from his gripe, and dreadful woes,
Alas! there's no escaping!
This one advice, my friends, pursue,
Whilst yet ye've life and breath,
Ne'er pledge your host; for if you do,
You'll surely drink to Death!
Whilst yet ye've life and breath,
Ne'er pledge your host; for if you do,
You'll surely drink to Death!
Frank Hayman.
Frank Hayman once, a brother of the brush,
Had talents much distinguished in his day,
But for his art he hardly cared a rush,
If some odd mischief stumbled in his way.
Had talents much distinguished in his day,
But for his art he hardly cared a rush,
If some odd mischief stumbled in his way.
This wag was deemed by all the social tribe
A jovial, easy, careless, pleasant fellow,
Fond of a frolic, ready at a gibe,
And sometimes in his cups a little mellow.
A jovial, easy, careless, pleasant fellow,
Fond of a frolic, ready at a gibe,
And sometimes in his cups a little mellow.
There was a famous place, yclept Vauxhall,
Where cits, good folks, regaled with merry hearts,
And oft to busy waiters eager bawl
For fresh supplies of ham, and beef, and tarts.
Where cits, good folks, regaled with merry hearts,
And oft to busy waiters eager bawl
For fresh supplies of ham, and beef, and tarts.
There might you see of boxes many a row,
For such as like to sup in state designed,
With pictures decked, that made a goodly show;
Now in these pictures Hayman's skill we find.
For such as like to sup in state designed,
With pictures decked, that made a goodly show;
Now in these pictures Hayman's skill we find.
Frank Hayman, tempted by a pleasant day,
After a long contention with the gout,
A foe that oft besieged him, sallied out,
To breathe fresh air, and while an hour away;
It chanced as he was strolling, void of care,
A drunken porter passed him with a hare.
After a long contention with the gout,
A foe that oft besieged him, sallied out,
To breathe fresh air, and while an hour away;
It chanced as he was strolling, void of care,
A drunken porter passed him with a hare.
The hare was o'er- his shoulder flung,
Dangling behind in piteous plight,
And as he crept, in zig-zag style,
Making the most of every mile,
From side to side poor pussy swung,
As if each moment taking flight.
Dangling behind in piteous plight,
And as he crept, in zig-zag style,
Making the most of every mile,
From side to side poor pussy swung,
As if each moment taking flight.