Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/528
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THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPLES.
His wig cocked forward in his eye,
As if it there the cause would spy.
Had his wife been there,
I do declare,
It would have shocked her.
As if it there the cause would spy.
Had his wife been there,
I do declare,
It would have shocked her.
After long buffeting in mental storm,
His brain's thermometer fell from hot to warm:
At many plans by turns he grapples,
To save his (minces, pears, and apples:
When, luckily, into his noddle,
His recollection chanced to toddle.
This sage informant told poor Larrup,
If he'd convey his fruit so far up,
That on his house's top there stood,
A room, well-floored, I think—with wood.
'Twas what some folks a loft would call;
The entrance through a trap-door small,
Fixed in the ceiling of his chamber;
To which he up a rope must clamber;
Unless a ladder was prepared,
And then the rope's end might be spared;
But he'd a long, well-practised knack,
Of sparing neither rope nor back.
Ye who in proper titles glory,
Will think, I hope, as I have oft,
That, as this Story's of a Loft,
It should be called a "Lofty Story."
Well, Larrup, without more disputing,
Fixed on this loft to put his fruit in,
And quickly had it thither moved,
How far securely, must be proved.
From one apartment so erected
That with the very trifling risk
Of dislocating neck or shoulder,
Which boys ne'er think of in a frisk
(Nay, oft it makes the urchins bolder).
Adventurous spirits might contrive
To reach the Doctor's apple-hive.
In this room rested four or five
Of these young pilferers, undetected.
His brain's thermometer fell from hot to warm:
At many plans by turns he grapples,
To save his (minces, pears, and apples:
When, luckily, into his noddle,
His recollection chanced to toddle.
This sage informant told poor Larrup,
If he'd convey his fruit so far up,
That on his house's top there stood,
A room, well-floored, I think—with wood.
'Twas what some folks a loft would call;
The entrance through a trap-door small,
Fixed in the ceiling of his chamber;
To which he up a rope must clamber;
Unless a ladder was prepared,
And then the rope's end might be spared;
But he'd a long, well-practised knack,
Of sparing neither rope nor back.
Ye who in proper titles glory,
Will think, I hope, as I have oft,
That, as this Story's of a Loft,
It should be called a "Lofty Story."
Well, Larrup, without more disputing,
Fixed on this loft to put his fruit in,
And quickly had it thither moved,
How far securely, must be proved.
From one apartment so erected
That with the very trifling risk
Of dislocating neck or shoulder,
Which boys ne'er think of in a frisk
(Nay, oft it makes the urchins bolder).
Adventurous spirits might contrive
To reach the Doctor's apple-hive.
In this room rested four or five
Of these young pilferers, undetected.
Whilst leaden sleep sat on the Doctor's shutters
(By shutters, I would here imply,
The lids that shut light from the eye.)
These daring rogues explored the tiles and gutters
In search of trap or casement—but alack!
They found not e'en a small, a gracious crack.
(By shutters, I would here imply,
The lids that shut light from the eye.)
These daring rogues explored the tiles and gutters
In search of trap or casement—but alack!
They found not e'en a small, a gracious crack.