My Mistresses

LET Cowley soft in amorous verse

The rovings of his love rehearse,

With passion most unruly,

Boast how he woo'd sweet Amoret,

The sobbing Jane, and sprightly Bet,

The lily fair and smart brunette,

In sweet succession truly.

But list, ye lovers, and you'll swear,

I roved with him beyond compare,

And was far more unlucky.

For never yet in Yankee coast

Were found such girls, who so could boast,

An honest lover's heart to roast,

From Casco to Kentucky.

When first the girls nicknamed me "Beau,"

And I was all for dress and show,

I set me out a courting.

A romping miss, with heedless art,

First caught, then almost broke, my heart.

Miss Conduct named; we soon did part,

I did not like such spaorting.

The next coquette, who raised a flame,

Was far more grave, and somewhat lame,

She in my heart did rankle.

She conquer'd, with a sudden glance:

The spiteful slut was call'd Miss Chance;

I took the gypsy out to dance;

She almost broke my ankle.

A thoughtless girt, just in her teens,

Was the next fair, whom love it seems

Had made me prize most highly.

I thought to court a lovely mate,

But, how it made my heart to ache;

It was that jade, the vile Miss Take;

In troth, love did it slyly.

And last Miss Fortune, whimpering came,

Cured me of love's tormenting flame,

And all my beau pretences.

In widow's weeds, the prude appears;

See now--she drowns me with her tears,

With bony fist, now slaps my ears,

And brings me to my senses.

Royall Tyler

On a Ruined House in a Romantic Country

AND this reft house is that the which he built,]

Lamented Jack! and here his malt he piled,

Cautious in vain! these rats that squeak so wild,

Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.

Did ye not see her gleaming through the glade!

Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.

What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,

Yet, aye, she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd;

And, aye, beside her stalks her amorous knight!

Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,

And through those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,

His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white;

As when through broken clouds at night's high noon

Peeps in fair fragments forth the full orb'd harvest moon!

Royall Tyler

The Widower

HAPPY the man, who free as air,

  By nuptial ties no longer bound,

With dearest wife lays every care

  Low under ground.

While he with fops, sips tea with toasts;

  Airy, and gay, in his attire;

Whose pride, in age, and winter's frost,

  Can yield him fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find

  Days, hours, and years, glide soft away;

Who jokes, and laughs, with vacant mind,

  Though hairs grow grey.

No sleep by night--dancing and drink

  Together mixt, sweet recreation!

And making love, which witlings think

  Gives reputation.

Thus let me live, thus dance through life,

  Thus unconnected, let me die;

Steal from the world, without a wife

  To LAUGH--or CRY!

Royall Tyler

Original Epitaph on a Drunkard

PRAY who lies here? why don't you know,

'Tis stammering, staggering, boozy Joe;

What, dead at last? I thought that death

Could never stop his long long breath.

True, death ne'er threw his dart at him,

But kill'd, like David, with a sling:

Whither he's gone we do not know,

With spirits above or spirits below:--

But, if he former taste inherits,

He's quaffing in a world of spirits.

Royall Tyler