A Riddle: A Tale Poem by Cornelius Arnold

In Days of yore the Story goes,
A subterranean Castle rose;
Which rear'd its Head a wond'rous Height,
The Work of some ingenious Sprite;
Who in one Night perform'd the Feat,
And rais'd the Fabrick quite compleat;
A Castle fam'd the Country round,
For Stateliness, Extent of Ground;
Perhaps the Work of fam'd Glendower,
That great Adept in Magic Power;
Perhaps of Merlin, hoary Sage!
Name rever'd thro' many an Age:
What matters, who the Architect?
The Fact sure challenges Respect;
It being true, so Legends tell,
As that of Winifredis Well;
And full as true, for aught I know,
As that of Church of Loretto:
These are no Fictions, you'll allow,
But who minds Magic, Legends, now?
Hobgobblins, Fairies, Witches, Sprites,
Don't venture out now e'en o' Nights;
So chang'd the Times since James's Days,
When many a beldam Witch did blaze;
Alack! our now degenerate Kings,
They take no Notice of such Things:
But to the Castle, Sir! I pray,
What have you more of that to say?
Where was this Building so renown'd,
So well contrived under Ground?
Aye, there Sir, I'm not very clear,
A stately Castle 'twas, but where
In Monmouth or Glamorganshire
It Stood-in Truth my Memory fails,
But sure I am, it was in Wales:
Now wave but this-and to be brief,
To introduce you give me Leave;
Where dwelt a Knight of high Degree,
Much fam'd for Hospitality;
Of Wealth he knew no other End,
Than to enjoy or serve his Friend-
A Briton true, an honest Soul,
Who lov'd his Country, lov'd his Bowl;
And all who came from far and near,
He'd entertain with welcome Cheer:
A Knight who could his Lineage trace,
From princely Arthur's martial Race;
Zeal for his Country (tho' but rare)
Yet sometimes carry'd him too far:
As he in honest Warmth extoll'd,
The antient Race of Britons bold;
Quo' he-in Saints and Tyrants Reigns,
Saxons or Romans, Normans, Danes;
We still maintain'd our Language pure,
Our Laws and Liberties secure;
What Country else can boast, said he,
Such lengthen'd Lines of Ancestry?
I scorn your motley London Tribe,
Who at True Britons fleer and gibe,
When they with Shouts and Ribaldry,
St. David hang in Effigy:
O! could I, said the Knight, bear Rule,
Fluellin like I'd force each Fool,
To eat the Leek they ridicule;
Those Knaves who think themselves so arch,
Perdie should dread the Ides of March;
His Temper apt to wax too warm,
Still the good Knight did mean no Harm;
In Youth susceptible of Charms,
In Love renown'd as well as Arms;
But past the Summer of his Day,
And blest with Autumn's milder Ray;
In social Mirth and honest Ease,
He past his Time, nor knew Disease:
And herein was his chief Delight,
On Winter Evenings to recite,
Of Battles, Sieges, and Redoubts,
Of fierce Attacks, Defeats and Routs,
By Monmouth's famous Harry wrought,
Who Danger spurn'd, and Glory sought:
Oft he'd rehearse the warlike Sport,
Perform'd in Field of Agincourt;
Each hardy Knight recount by Name,
And not forget his Komero Gam;
Insist that Bolingbroke's brave Son,
In Deeds of Arms was ne'er out-done,
By him of Rome or Macedon;
With much Dexterity would shew,
The various Uses of the Bow;
Sometimes produce the very Dart,
That struck a Frenchman to the Heart.
Well Sir!-a Traveller benighted,
As Chance would have it here alighted;
One who had trac'd the Globe half o'er,
Yet ne'er in Wales had been before;
But much had heard of this Knight's Fame;
He rang the Bell-the Porter came,
Who quickly op'd the ready Gate,
(Unus'd to let e'en Beggars wait
Not like the Porter of his Grace,
With swolen Paunch, and surly Face;
Of Name, Place, Function, makes Demand,
Watching the Motions of your Hand;
Acquaints you, after tedious Stay,
'My Lord will not be seen To-day:'
But here sans Form our wearied Wight,
Was introduced to the Knight:
The good old Knight his Joy exprest,
In hearty Welcomes to his Guest;
Who was, if I am not mislead,
A Youth engaging and well bred;
Handsome his Face, his Person tall,
An easy Freedom graced all;
Of ample Fortune, large Estate,
Stil'd Esquire Manly 'mong the Great;
You might discern, e'en by his Looks,
That he'd read Men, as well as Books,
And had not merely travell'd o'er,
Vast Tracks of Land, and nothing more;
But with Propriety could quote,
What he'd remark'd as worthy Note;
Free from those stiff and studied Rules,
Practis'd too much by pedant Fools;
Thus he'd agreeably define
The Laws of Po, the Danube, Rhine;
Aptly account for, well explain,
Why Gravity presides in Spain;
Why the French are so vivacious,
Why the Dutch are so rapacious;
Who stick at nought when Gain's in View,
Amboyna's Farce would e'en renew;
Sure they have Cause to dread the Day,
Which their foul Crimes shall purge away,
Sins of their puny infant State,
E'er High and Mighty prov'd ingrate,
Like Prodigals should be their Fate;
Gladly to feed on Husks of Rice,
No more monopolize the Spice:
Od'sme, I have forgot the Squire;
O! he's above, a little higher:
Well, cross the Seas he'd waft you o'er,
And land you safe on India's Shore;
Then bring you back again intent,
Over the spacious Continent;
There set you down with utmost Ease,
In Spain, or France, or where you please:
But here I'll not omit the Truth,
He had his Faults-but then his Youth-
And who as yet from Adam came,
That e'er was wholly free from Blame.
To the Fair Sex too much inclin'd,
As by the Sequel you will find;
The Sequel, without more Parade,
Informs, here dwelt an handsome Maid;
Patty her Name, if I don't blunder,
But Bards to do so is no Wonder;
Patty! ye cry, with Sneer oblique,
Why what o'deuce could Patt be like?
This Damsel, to be sure, must be
Some Nonpareil, some Prodigy:
What, was she fair and honest too?
Have Patience, I'll my Tale pursue-
I'm sure you cannot take amiss
What I've to say, 'tis only this-
That such a Lass, without Prelude,
To introduce, would be quite rude:
Good Sir! no more Preambulation,
Wind up the Thread of your Narration:
Then be it so-Gallants beware;
Fair was her Skin, and black her Hair;
Her Brows were arch'd, and then between,
The prettiest Nose that e'er was seen;
Her Forehead round, and smooth, and high,
And Cupids laugh'd in either Eye;
Her Lips were thin, her Teeth were small;
Like Coral those, and these like Pearl;
Her dimpl'd Cheeks and charming Face,
Whene'er she smil'd wore such a Grace,
That had you seen them you'd have swore,
The like was never seen before;
So nice she was, so very neat,
No Damask Rose e'er smelt so sweet;
Her easy Waist well turn'd and small,
And such a pretty Bend withall;
And then her Neck, her Leg, her Thigh,
Who can describe? indeed not I-
All that's unsaid conclude the best,
And let your Fancy do the rest:
But still this Lass had all her Paces,
And well knew how to wear two Faces;
Could look demure, put on the Prude,
Portentous Sign she could be lewd;
At Church none more devoutly pray'd,
Nor more attend what Parson said;
But by the bye this Maxim take,
Saints the best of Sinners make;
As John, sly Rogue, had often prov'd,
When Patt was in the loving Mood;
Indeed take John from Top to Toe,
He was passablement or so;
Could very smartly wait at Table,
Clean now a Wig, and now a Stable;
But tall or short, or lean or Fat,
What matters it? he pleas'd Miss Patt:
But here methinks it is not right,
To leave the Knight and 'Squire quite:
Well, we'll suppose them tete â tete,
Supper serv'd up, with Choice replete;
That o'er, the Glass went briskly round,
Gay Mirth and Jollity abound;
Patty was call'd to bring more Light,
And see the Esquire's Bed was right;
He in a Trice the Lass did spy,
The Esquire had a roguish Eye;
And strait it came into his Head,
To court the Damsel to his Bed:
The Ev'ning spent in various Chat,
Of News and Wars, and this and that;
He took his Leave, his Congees paid,
And then was usher'd by the Maid;
Quite opportune with am'rous Glances,
He 'gan to further his Advances;
He sigh'd, he kiss'd, at large exprest,
The raging Tortures of his Breast;
Told her how the Gods above,
All own'd that greater Pow'r, Love;
That Juno, Venus, did the same,
And Love return'd with equal Flame;
Her various Beauties he ran o'er,
Swore what had oft been sworn before;
And when at Loss t'express her Charms,
He hugg'd her close within his Arms;
'My Dear! you know the House is haunted;
'Nay, don't be frighten'd, don't be daunted;
'But should you lay alone To-night,
'Who knows what may the hellish Sprite?
'But here your safe-' O! pray Sir, fie,
'Sprites, De'els, and Goblins I defie:
'My Vartue-'bove the World I prize,
'I hate your Sek, the Men despise-
'Don't-let me go-' then out she flies,
Leaving him there to ruminate
And curse his inauspicious Fate:
Now if one might presume to guess,
What baffl'd thus our 'Squire's Success;
'Tis my Opinion his high Tropes,
Dash'd at once his tow'ring Hopes;
Having neglected Ovid's Rule,
Ne'er to talk learned out of School;
And not t'attack the Fort in Form,
When he should carry it by Storm:
'Tis plain, by John, here lay the Failing;
John's Argument was more prevailing:
The Esquire meeting such Rebuff
But seldom-thought it odd enough:
'There's something more in this, quo' he,
'Than at first Sight appears to me;
'The Damsel's pretty, looks too, kind,
'Or else in Love Affairs I'm blind;
'So form'd by Nature to comply,
'A Man wou'd swear she cou'dn't deny;'
But yet to Bed full loth to go,
The Door ajar-walk'd to and fro;
Revolving thus how Things could be,
A Noise disturb'd his Reverie;
John hap'd to trip in passing by,
He look'd, and plainly did descry
The Varlet, nimbly post his Way,
To Chamber where the Virgin lay;
Three soft Taps-Monimia's Sign-
Now John might boast was, Patty's thine;
The well known Raps Admission gain'd,
Whatever vartuous Patt had feign'd;
Sly John stole in, they shut the Door,
Did as they'd often done before;
The Esquire laugh'd-'O ho! O ho!
''Tis plain enough how Matters go:'
Himself undress'd, in Bed he leapt,
'Woman's a Riddle,' he said, and slept.