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Proceeded on with no less art,

My tongue was engineer;
I thought to undermine the heart
By whispering in the ear.

When this did nothing, I brought down
Great canon-oaths, and shot

A thousand thousand to the town,
And still it yielded not.

I then resolv'd to starve the place,
By cutting off all kisses,
Praising and gazing on her face,
And all such little blisses.

To draw her out, and from her strength,
I drew all batteries in :

And brought myself to lie at length,
As if no siege had been.

When I had done what man could do,
And thought the place mine own,
The enemy lay quiet too,

And smil'd at all was done.

I sent to know from whence, and where,
These hopes, and this relief?

A spy inform'd, Honour was there,

And did command in chief.

March, march (quoth I;) the word straight give,

Let's lose no time, but leave her;

That giant upon air will live,

And hold it out for ever.

To such a place our camp remove
As will no siege abide;

I hate a fool that starves for love

Only to feed her pride."

We shall now give a considerable part of his best piece. Nothing can be more airy and pleasant, and sometimes picturesque and poetical. The little feet (like mice) peeping from beneath the petticoats, is delightful; so are several others of the descriptive parts; and the parentheses are the best examples we are acquainted with of the use of that figure.

"I tell thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen ;
Oh things without compare!
Such sights again cannot be found
In any place on English ground,
Be it at wake, or fair.

At Charing Cross, hard by the way
Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay,
There is a house with stairs;

And there did I see coming down
Such folk as are not in our town,
Vorty at least, in pairs.

Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine
(Ilis beard no bigger though than thine)
Walk'd on before the rest:

Our landlord looks like nothing to him:
The king (God bless him) 'twould undo him,
Should he go still so drest.


But wot you what? the youth was going
To make an end of all his wooing :
The parson for him staid :
Yet by his leave (for all his haste)
He did not so much wish all past
(Perchance) as did the maid.

The maid (and thereby hangs a tale)
For such a maid no Whitson-ale

Could ever yet produce:

No grape that's kindly ripe could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,
Nor half so full of juice.

Her finger was so small, the ring
Would not stay on which they did bring;
It was too wide a peck:

And to say truth (for out it must)
It look'd like the great collar (just)
About our young colt's neck.

Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice, stole in and out,
As if they fear'd the light:
But oh! she dances such a way!
No sun upon the Easter-day

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Is half so fine a sight.


Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
No daisie makes comparison;

(Who sees them is undone)

For streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Cath'rine pear,

(The side that's next the sun.) Her lips were red; and one was thin, Compar'd to that was next her chin;

(Some bee had stung it newly.) But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face, them gaze,

I durst no more upon

Than on the sun in July.

Her mouth so small, when she does speak,
Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break,
That they might passage get:

But she so handled still the matter,
They came as good as ours, or better,
And are not spent a whit.

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Just in the nick the cook knock'd thrice,
And all the waiters in a trice

His summons did obey;

Each servingman with dish in hand,
March'd boldly up, like our train’d-band,
Presented, and away.

When all the meat was on the table,
What man of knife, or teeth, was able
To stay to be intreated?

And this the very reason was,
Before the parson could say grace,
The company was seated.

The bus'ness of the kitchen's great,
For it is fit that men should eat;

Nor was it there deny'd:

Passion oh me! how I run on!

There's that that would be thought upon, (I trow) besides the bride.

Now hats fly off, and youths carouse;

Healths first go round, and then the house,
The bride's came thick and thick;

And when 'twas nam'd another's health,
Perhaps he made it her's by stealth.

(And who could help it, Dick ?)

O'th' suddain up they rise and dance;
Then sit again, and sigh, and glance :
Then dance again, and kiss :
Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass,
Till ev'ry woman wish'd her place,
And ev'ry man wish'd his.

By this time all were stol'n aside

To counsel and undress the bride:
But that he must not know:

But yet 'twas thought he guest her mind,
And did not mean to stay behind

Above an hour or so.

We shall next give two or three of his delightful love songs -if such they can be called, when they are all written on the anti-romantic theory. The first is well known, and is the perfection of that kind of "easy writing," which is also "easy reading."

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?

Prithee why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?

Prithee why so mute?

Quit, quit for shame, this will not move,
This cannot take her;

If of her self she will not love,
Nothing can make her :

The Devil take her."

Unless the admirers of our delightful modern lyrist should insist that Suckling was imitating him in the following, we shall insist that he has imitated Suckling. To relish it fully, the reader should understand the nature of the old sport of Barleybreak, on which it turns. He may find this described by some of the commentators of Shakspeare.

"Love, Reason, Hate, did once bespeak
Three mates to play at barley-break;

Love, Folly took; and Reason, Fancy;

And Hate consorts with Pride; so dance they :
Love coupled last, and so it fell

That love and folly were in hell.

They break, and Love would Reason meet,
But Hate was nimbler on her feet;
Fancy looks for Pride, and thither
Hies, and they two hug together:
Yet this new coupling still doth tell
That love and folly were in hell.

The rest do break again, and Pride
Hath now got Reason on her side;
Hate and Fancy meet, and stand
Untoucht by Love in Folly's hand;
Folly was dull, but Love ran well,

So Love and Folly were in hell.'

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There is a fine reflective character about the following, unmixed with anything in the shape of contemptuousness or flippancy. The truth is, Suckling had a really philosophical mind, that would search after the truth: and perhaps the secret of his easy and happy disposition (which we so seldom find allied to minds of this cast)--is, that he permitted it to pursue this search without constraint, and then made the best of things as he found them; instead of endeavouring (as such minds usually do) to blink the matter themselves, and, not being able to do that effectually, kick against the pricks.-The style, too, of this little piece is the perfection of natural writing. There is not an inversion of any kind—not an ornament—not an epithet; there is not a word or a whole phrase that might not be used in the plainest prose, or even in common familiar conversation. And yet it is as musical as words can be, and would completely baffle the modern trick of printing it as prose, in order to depreciate its merits as verse. Who, after reading this and others we have now given, will listen, on the one hand, to those who pretend to see any necessary distinction between the language of prose and the language of verse; and, on the other hand, to those who pretend that the use of one and the same language for both is a modern invention ?

"Dost see how unregarded now

That piece of beauty passes?

There was a time when I did vow

To that alone;

But mark the fate of faces;

That red and white works now no more on me,

Than if it could not charm, or I not see.

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