Full oft within the spacious walls,
When he had fifty winters o'er him,
My grave Lord-Keeper* led the brawls +;
The seals and maces danced before him.

His bushy beard and shoestrings green,

His high crown'd hat, and satin doublet, Moved the stout heart of England's queen, Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it,

What, in the very first beginning!
Shame of the versifying tribe!
Your history whither are you spinning!
Can you do nothing but describe ?

A house there is (and that's enough)
From whence one fatal morning issues
A brace of warriors, not in buff,

But rustling in their silks and tissues.

The first came cap-a-pee from France ‡,
Her conquering destiny fulfilling,
Whom meaner beauties eye askance,
And vainly ape her art of killing.

* Sir Christopher Hatton, promoted by Queen Elizabeth for his graceful person and fine dancing. † Brawls were figure-dances then in fashion.

The lady's husband, Sir Luke Schaub, had been ambassador at Paris some years before.

The other amazon * kind heaven

Had arm'd with spirit, wit, and satire; But Cobham had the polish given,

And tipp'd her arrows with good nature.

To celebrate her eyes, her air

Coarse panegyrics would but tease her, Melissa is her "nom de guerre."

Alas, who would not wish to please her!

With bonnet blue and capuchine,

And aprons long, they hid their armour; And veil'd their weapons bright and keen, In pity to the country farmer.

Fame, in the shape of Mr. Purt †,
(By this time all the parish know it)
Had told that thereabouts there lurk'd
A wicked imp they call a poet :

Who prowl'd the country far and near,

Bewitch'd the children of the peasants,

Dried up the Cows, and lamed the deer,

And suck'd the eggs, and kill'd the pheasants.

* Miss Harriet Speed, Lady C.'s relation, afterwards married to the Count de Viry, Sardinian Envoy at the Court of London.

+ The Rev. Mr. Purt, tutor to the Duke of Bridgewater, then at Eton school.

My lady heard their joint petition,
Swore by her coronet and ermine,
She'd issue out her high commission
To rid the manor of such vermin*.

The heroines undertook the task,

Through lanes unknown, o'er stiles they
ventured † ;

Rapp'd at the door, nor stayed to ask,
But bounce into the parlour entered.

The trembling family they daunt,

They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle,
Rummage his mother, pinch his aunt,
And upstairs in a whirlwind rattle :

Each hole and cupboard they explore,
Each creek and cranny of his chamber,
Run hurry skurry round the floor,

And o'er the bed and tester clamber;

* Henry the Fourth, in the fourth year of his reign, issued out the following commission against this species of vermin :-" And it is enacted, that no master-rimer, minstrel, or other vagabond, be in anywise sustained in the land of Wales, to make commoiths, or gatherings upon the people there."

The walk from Stoke old mansion, to the house occupied by the poet's family, is peculiarly retired. The house is the property of Captain Salter, and it has belonged to his family for many generations. It is a charming spot for a summer residence, but has undergone great alterations and improvements since Gray gave it up in 1758.

F

Into the drawers and china pry,
Papers and books, a huge imbroglio
Under a tea-cup he might lie

Or, creased, like dog's-ears, in a folio.

On the first marching of the troops,
The Muses, hopeless of his pardon,
Convey'd him underneath their hoops
To a small closet in the garden.
So rumour says: (who will believe?)
But that they left the door ajar,
Where safe and laughing in his sleeve,
He heard the distant din of war.

*There is a very great similarity between the style of part of this poem, and Prior's Tale of the Dove:' as for instance in the following stanzas, which Gray must have had in his mind at the time.

"With one great peal they rap the door, Like footmen on a visiting day:

Folks at her house at such an hour,

Lord! what will all the neighbours say

"Her keys he takes, her door unlocks

?

Through wardrobe and through closet bounces, Peeps into every chest and box,

Turns all her furbelows and flounces.

"I marvel much, she smiling said,

Your poultry cannot yet he found:
Lies he in yonder slipper dead,

Or may be in the teapot drown'd,"

Short was his joy. He little knew
The power of magic was no fable;
Out of the window, whisk, they flew,
But left a spell upon the table *.

The words too eager to unriddle,
The poet felt a strange disorder;
Transparent bird-lime form'd the middle,
And chains invisible the border.

So cunning was the apparatus,

The powerful pot-hooks did so move him,
That will he, nill he, to the great house,
He went, as if the devil drove him.

Yet on his way (no sign of grace,
For folks in fear are apt to pray)
To Phœbus he preferr'd his case,

And begg'd his aid that dreadful day.

The godhead would have back'd his quarrel; But with a blush on recollection,

Own'd, that his quiver and his laurel 'Gainst four such eyes were no protection.

The court was sat, the culprit there,

Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping, The lady Janes and Joans repair,

And from the gallery † stand peeping:

* The note which the ladies left upon the table. The music-gallery which overlooked the hall.