the home book of verse-4-第3部分
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As my small Pipe best fits my little Note。
A little Meat best fits a little Belly；
As sweetly； lady； give me leave to tell ye；
This little Pipkin fits this little Jelly。
Robert Herrick ＇1591…1674＇
CHIVALRY AT A DISCOUNT
Fair cousin mine！ the golden days
Of old romance are over；
And minstrels now care naught for bays；
Nor damsels for a lover；
And hearts are cold； and lips are mute
That kindled once with passion；
And now we've neither lance nor lute；
And tilting's out of fashion。
Yet weeping Beauty mourns the time
When Love found words in flowers；
When softest test sighs were breathed in rhyme；
And sweetest songs in bowers；
Now wedlock is a sober thing …
No more of chains or forges！ …
A plain young man … a plain gold ring …
The curate … and St。 George's。
Then every cross…bow had a string；
And every heart a fetter；
And making love was quite the thing；
And making verses better；
And maiden…aunts were never seen；
And gallant beaux were plenty；
And lasses married at sixteen；
And died at one…and…twenty。
Then hawking was a noble sport；
And chess a pretty science；
And huntsmen learned to blow a morte；
And heralds a defiance；
And knights and spearmen showed their might；
And timid hinds took warning；
And hypocras was warmed at night；
And coursers in the morning。
Then plumes and pennons were prepared；
And patron…saints were lauded；
And noble deeds were bravely dared；
And noble dames applauded；
And Beauty played the leech's part；
And wounds were healed with syrup；
And warriors sometimes lost a heart；
But never lost a stirrup。
Then there was no such thing as Fear；
And no such word as Reason；
And Faith was like a pointed spear；
And Fickleness was treason；
And hearts were soft； though blows were hard；
But when the fight was over；
A brimming goblet cheered the board；
His Lady's smile the lover。
Ay； those were golden days！ The moon
Had then her true adorers；
And there were lyres and lutes in tune；
And no such thing as snorers；
And lovers swam； and held at naught
Streams broader than the Mersey；
And fifty thousand would have fought
For a smile from Lady Jersey。
Then people wore an iron vest；
And bad no use for tailors；
And the artizans who lived the best
Were armorers and nailers；
And steel was measured by the ell
And trousers lined with leather；
And jesters wore a cap and bell；
And knights a cap and feather。
Then single folks might live at ease；
And married ones might sever；
Uncommon doctors had their fees；
But Doctor's Commons never；
O！ had we in those times been bred；
Fair cousin； for thy glances；
Instead of breaking Priscian's head；
I had been breaking lances！
Edward Fitzgerald ＇1809…1883＇
THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE
A street there is in Paris famous；
For which no rhyme our language yields；
Rue Neuve des Petits Champs its name is …
The New Street of the Little Fields；
And there's an inn； not rich and splendid；
But still in comfortable case …
The which in youth I oft attended；
To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse。
This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is …
A sort of soup； or broth； or brew；
Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes；
That Greenwich never could outdo；
Green herbs； red peppers； mussels； saffern；
Soles； onions； garlic； roach； and dace：
All these you eat at Terre's tavern；
In that one dish of Bouillabaisse。
Indeed； a rich and savory stew 'tis；
And true philosophers； methinks；
Who love all sorts of natural beauties；
Should love good victuals and good drinks。
And Cordelier or Benedictine
Might gladly； sure； his lot embrace；
Nor find a fast…day too afflicting；
Which served him up a Bouillabaisse。
I wonder if the house still there is？
Yes； here the lamp is as before；
The smiling； red…cheeked ecaillere is
Still opening oysters at the door。
Is Terre still alive and able？
I recollect his droll grimace；
He'd come and smile before your table
And hope you liked your Bouillabaisse。
We enter； nothing's changed or older。
〃How's Monsieur Terre； waiter； pray？〃
The waiter stares and shrugs his shoulder； …
〃Monsieur is dead this many a day。〃
〃It is the lot of saint and sinner。
So honest Terre's run his race！〃
〃What will Monsieur require for dinner？〃
〃Say； do you still cook Bouillabaisse？〃
〃Oh； oui； Monsieur；〃 's the waiter's answer；
〃Quel vin Monsieur desire…t…il？〃
〃Tell me a good one。〃 〃That I can； Sir；
The Chambertin with yellow seal。〃
〃So Terre's gone；〃 I say； and sink in
My old accustomed corner…place；
〃He's done with feasting and with drinking；
With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse。〃
My old accustomed corner here is； …
The table still is in the nook；
Ah！ vanished many a busy year is；
This well…known chair since last I took；
When first I saw ye； cari luoghi；
I'd scarce a beard upon my face；
And now a grizzled； grim old fogy；
I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse。
Where are you； old companions trusty
Of early days here met to dine？
Come； waiter！ quick； a flagon crusty …
I'll pledge them in the good old wine。
The kind old voices and old faces
My memory can quick retrace；
Around the board they take their places；
And share the wine and Bouillabaisse。
There's Jack has made a wondrous marriage；
There's laughing Tom is laughing yet；
There's brave Augustus drives his carriage；
There's poor old Fred in the Gazette；
On James's head the grass is growing：
Good Lord！ the world has wagged apace
Since here we set the Claret flowing；
And drank； and ate the Bouillabaisse。
Ah me！ how quick the days are flitting！
I mind me of a time that's gone；
When here I'd sit； as now I'm sitting；
In this same place … but not alone。
A fair young form was nestled near me；
A dear； dear face looked fondly up；
And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me。
… There's no one now to share my cup。 。 。 。
I drink it as the Fates ordain it。
Come； fill it； and have done with rhymes；
Fill up the lonely glass； and drain it
In memory of dear old times。
Welcome the wine； whate'er the seal is；
And sit you down and say your grace
With thankful heart； whate'er the meal is。
… Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse！
William Makepeace Thackeray ＇1811…1863＇
TO MY GRANDMOTHER
Suggested By A Picture By Mr。 Romney
Under the elm a rustic seat
Was merriest Susan's pet retreat
To merry…make
This Relative of mine
Was she seventy…and…nine
When she died？
By the canvas may be seen
How she looked at seventeen；
As a Bride。
Beneath a summer tree
Her maiden reverie
Has a charm；
Her ringlets are in taste；
What an arm！ and what a waist
For an arm！
With her bridal…wreath； bouquet；
Lace farthingale； and gay
Falbala； …
If Romney's touch be true；
What a lucky dog were you；
Grandpapa！
Her lips are sweet as love；
They are parting！ Do they move？
Are they dumb？
Her eyes are blue； and beam
Beseechingly； and seem
To say； 〃Come！〃
What funny fancy slips
From atween these cherry lips？
Whisper me；
Fair Sorceress in paint；
What canon says I mayn't
Marry thee？
That good…for…nothing Time
Has a confidence sublime！
When I first
Saw this Lady； in my youth；
Her winters had； forsooth；
Done their worst。
Her locks； as white as snow；
Once shamed the swarthy crow；
By…and…by
That fowl's avenging sprite
Set his cruel foot for spite
Near her eye。
Her rounded form was lean；
And her silk was bombazine：
Well I wot
With her needles would she sit；
And for hours would she knit。 …
Would she not？
Ah perishable clay！
Her charms had dropped away
One by one：
But if she heaved a sigh
With a burden； it was； 〃Thy
Will be done。〃
In travail； as in tears；
With the fardel of her years
Overpressed；
In mercy she was borne
Where the weary and the worn
Are at rest。
Oh； if you now are there；
And sweet as once you were；
Grandmamma；
This nether world agrees
You'll all the better please
Grandpapa。
Frederick Locker…Lampson ＇1821…1895＇
MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS
She has dancing eyes and ruby lips；
Delightful boots … and away she skips
They nearly strike me dumb； …
I tremble when they come
Pit…a…pat：
This palpitation means
These Boots are Geraldine's …
Think of that！
O； where did hunter win
So delicate a skin
For her feet？
You lucky little kid；
You perished； so you did；
For my Sweet。
The fairy stitching gleams
On the sides； and in the seams；
And reveals
That the Pixies were the wags
Who tipped these funny tags；
And these heels。
What soles to charm an elf！ …
Had Crusoe； sick of self；
Chanced to view
One printed near the tide；
O； how hard he would have tried
For the two！
For Gerry's debonair；
And innocent and fair
As a rose；
She's an Angel in a frock； …
She's an Angel with a clock
To her hose！
The simpletons who squeeze
Their pretty toes to please
Mandarins；
Would positively flinch
From venturing to pinch
Geraldine's。
Cinderella's lefts and rights
To Geraldine's were frights：
And I trow
The Damsel； deftly shod；
Has dutifully trod
Until now。
Come； Gerry； since it suits
Such a pretty Puss （in Boots）
These to don；
Set your dainty hand awhile
On my shoulder； Dear； and I'll
Put them on。
Frederick Locker…Lampson ＇1821…1895＇
A GARDEN LYRIC
Geraldine And I
Dite； Damasippe； deaeque
Verum ob consilium donent tonsore。
We have loitered and laughed in the flowery croft；
We have met under wintry skies；
Her voice is the dearest voice； and soft
Is the light in her wistful eyes；
It is bliss in the silent woods； among
Gay crowds； or in any place；
To mould her mind； to gaze in her young
Confiding face。
For eve
