Читать книгу The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe - Various - Страница 61

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Once on a time, in sunshine weather,

Falsehood and Truth walk'd out together,

The neighboring woods and lawns to view,

As opposites will sometimes do.

Through many a blooming mead they passed,

And at a brook arriv'd at last.

The purling stream, the margin green,

With flowers bedeck'd, a vernal scene,

Invited each itinerant maid,

To rest a while beneath the shade.

Under a spreading beach they sat,

And pass'd the time with female chat;

Whilst each her character maintain'd;

One spoke her thoughts, the other feign'd.

At length, quoth Falsehood, sister Truth

(For so she call'd her from her youth),

What if, to shun yon sultry beam,

We bathe in this delightful stream;

The bottom smooth, the water clear,

And there's no prying shepherd near?

With all my heart, the nymph replied,

And threw her snowy robes aside,

Stript herself naked to the skin,

And with a spring leapt headlong in.

Falsehood more leisurely undrest,

And, laying by her tawdry vest,

Trick'd herself out in Truth's array,

And 'cross the meadows tript away.

From this curst hour, the fraudful dame

Of sacred Truth usurps the name,

And, with a vile, perfidious mind,

Roams far and near, to cheat mankind;

False sighs suborns, and artful tears,

And starts with vain pretended fears;

In visits, still appears most wise,

And rolls at church her saint-like eyes;

Talks very much, plays idle tricks,

While rising stock [Footnote: South Sea, 1720.] her conscience pricks;

When being, poor thing, extremely gravel'd,

The secrets op'd, and all unravel'd.

But on she will, and secrets tell

Of John and Joan, and Ned and Nell,

Reviling every one she knows,

As fancy leads, beneath the rose.

Her tongue, so voluble and kind,

It always runs before her mind;

As times do serve, she slyly pleads,

And copious tears still show her needs.

With promises as thick as weeds—

Speaks pro and con., is wondrous civil,

To-day a saint, to-morrow devil.

Poor Truth she stript, as has been said,

And naked left the lovely maid,

Who, scorning from her cause to wince,

Has gone stark-naked ever since;

And ever naked will appear,

Belov'd by all who Truth revere.