The ox was his-what cou'd he say?
His legs were stiffen'd with dismay,
The ox ran o'er him mid the fray,
And gave him his death's bruise.

45

IX

The frighted beast ran on-(but here,
No tale, (tho' in print, more true is)
My Muse stops short in mid career-
Nay, gentle Reader, do not sneer!
I cannot chuse but drop a tear,
A tear for good old Lewis!)

X

The frighted beast ran through the town,
All follow'd, boy and dad,

Bull-dog, parson, shopman, clown:
The publicans rush'd from the Crown,
'Halloo! hamstring him! cut him down!'
THEY DROVE THE POOR OX MAD.

ΧΙ

Should you a Rat to madness tease
Why ev'n a Rat may plague you:

There's no Philosopher but sees

That Rage and Fear are one disease

Though that may burn, and this may freeze,
They're both alike the Ague.

65

XII

And so this Ox, in frantic mood,
Fac'd round like any Bull!

The mob turn'd tail, and he pursued,

Till they with heat and fright were stew'd,
And not a chick of all this brood

But had his belly full!

70

49 The baited ox drove on M. P., An. Anth. 50 No... print] The Gospel scarce M. P., An. Anth. 53 cannot] could M. P. 55 The ox drove on, right through the town M. P. 62 may] might M. P., An. Anth. 68 any] a mad M. P. 70 heat and fright] flight and fear 71 this] the M. P.

M. P., An. Anth.

XIII

Old Nick's astride the beast, 'tis clear!

Old Nicholas, to a tittle!

But all agree he'd disappear,

Would but the Parson venture near,

And through his teeth,' right o'er the steer,
Squirt out some fasting-spittle.

XIV

Achilles was a warrior fleet,
The Trojans he could worry:
Our Parson too was swift of feet,
But shew'd it chiefly in retreat :

The victor Ox scour'd down the street,
The mob fled hurry-scurry.

XV

Through gardens, lanes and fields new-plough'd, 85
Through his hedge, and through her hedge,

He plung'd and toss'd and bellow'd loud

Till in his madness he grew proud

To see this helter-skelter crowd

That had more wrath than courage!

90

XVI

Alas! to mend the breaches wide
He made for these poor ninnies,

They all must work, whate'er betide,

Both days and months, and pay beside.
(Sad news for Av'rice and for Pride),
A sight of golden guineas!

95

According to the common superstition there are two ways of fighting with the Devil. You may cut him in half with a straw, or he will vanish if you spit over his horns with a fasting spittle. Note by S. T. C. in M. P. According to the superstition of the West-Countries, if you meet the Devil, you may either cut him in half with a straw, or force him to disappear by spitting over his horns. An. Anth., S. L.

73 beast] ox M. P. 91 Alas] Alack M. P.

75 agree] agreed M. P.

83 scour'd] drove M. P.

XVII

But here once more to view did pop
The man that kept his senses—

And now he cried,-'Stop, neighbours, stop!
The Ox is mad! I would not swop,

No! not a school-boy's farthing top

For all the parish-fences.'

XVIII

'The Ox is mad! Ho! Dick, Bob, Mat!
'What means this coward fuss?

Ho! stretch this rope across the plat-
"Twill trip him up-or if not that,
Why, dam'me! we must lay him flat-
See! here's my blunderbuss.'

XIX

'A lying dog! just now he said

The Ox was only glad

Let's break his Presbyterian head!'

'Hush!' quoth the sage, 'you've been misled;

No quarrels now! let's all make head,

YOU DROVE THE POOR OX MAD.'

XX

As thus I sat, in careless chat,

With the morning's wet newspaper,

In eager haste, without his hat,
As blind and blund'ring as a bat,
In came that fierce Aristocrat,
Our pursy woollen-draper.

1798.

XXI

And so my Muse per force drew bit;
And in he rush'd and panted!

'Well, have you heard?' No, not a whit.
'What, ha'nt you heard?' Come, out with it!
That Tierney votes for Mister PITT,

And Sheridan 's recanted!'

99 cried] bawl'd M. P. bare-faced M. P.

103 Tom! Walter! Mat! M. P. 115 But lo! to interrupt my chat M. P. 122 And he rush'd in M. P.

came] In rush'd M. P.

125-6

That Tierney's wounded Mister PITT,
And his fine tongue enchanted! M.P.

HEXAMETERS1

WILLIAM, my teacher, my friend! dear William and dear Dorothea!

Smooth out the folds of my letter, and place it on desk or on table;

Place it on table or desk; and your right hands loosely halfclosing,2

Gently sustain them in air, and extending the digit didactic, Rest it a moment on each of the forks of the five-forkéd

left hand,

5

Twice on the breadth of the thumb, and once on the tip of each finger;

Read with a nod of the head in a humouring recitativo; And, as I live, you will see my hexameters hopping before

you.

This is a galloping measure; a hop, and a trot, and a gallop! All my hexameters fly, like stags pursued by the staghounds,

10

Breathless and panting, and ready to drop, yet flying still onwards,3

I would full fain pull in my hard-mouthed runaway hunter; But our English Spondeans are clumsy yet impotent curbreins;

And so to make him go slowly, no way left have I but to lame him.

William, my head and my heart! dear Poet that feelest and thinkest!

15

Dorothy, eager of soul, my most affectionate sister!
Many a mile, O! many a wearisome mile are ye distant,
Long, long comfortless roads, with no one eye that doth
know us.

1 First published in Memoirs of W. Wordsworth, 1851, i. 139-41: reprinted in Life by Prof. Knight, 1889, i. 185. First collected as a whole in P. W. [ed. T. Ashe], 1885. Lines 30-6, 'O what a life is the eye', &c., were first published in Friendship's Offering, and are included in P. W., 1834. They were reprinted by Cottle in E. R., 1837, i. 226. The 'Hexameters' were sent in a letter, written in the winter of 1798-9 from Ratzeburg to the Wordsworths at Goslar.

2 False metre. S. T. C.

Still flying onwards' were perhaps better. S. T. C.

O! it is all too far to send you mockeries idle:

Yea, and I feel it not right! But O! my friends, my beloved! 20 Feverish and wakeful I lie,-I am weary of feeling and thinking.

Every thought is worn down, I am weary yet cannot be vacant.

Five long hours have I tossed, rheumatic heats, dry and flushing,

Gnawing behind in my head, and wandering and throbbing about me,

Busy and tiresome, my friends, as the beat of the boding night-spider.'

I forget the beginning of the line:

my eyes are a burthen,

25

Now unwillingly closed, now open and aching with darkness. O! what a life is the eye! what a strange and inscrutable essence!

Him that is utterly blind, nor glimpses the fire that warms him;

Him that never beheld the swelling breast of his mother; 30 Him that smiled in his gladness as a babe that smiles in its slumber;

Even for him it exists, it moves and stirs in its prison; Lives with a separate life, and 'Is it a Spirit?' he murmurs: 'Sure it has thoughts of its own, and to see is only a language.'

. . The

There was a great deal more, which I have forgotten. last line which I wrote, I remember, and write it for the truth of the sentiment, scarcely less true in company than in pain and solitude:

William, my head and my heart! dear William and dear Dorothea!

35

You have all in each other; but I am lonely, and want you!

1798-9.

1 False metre. S. T. C.

28 strange] fine Letter, 1798-9, Cottle, 1837. 29 Him] He Cottle, 1837. 30 Him] He Cottle, 1837. 31 Him that ne'er smiled at the bosom as babe Letter, 1798-9: He that smiled at the bosom, the babe Cottle, 1837. 32 Even to him it exists, it stirs and moves Letter, 1798-9: Even to him it exists, it moves and stirs Cottle, 1837. 33 a Spirit] the Spirit Letter,

1798-9.

34 a] its Letter, 1798-9.