The Roughfort Fair
By Samuel Thomson
鈥淩eputation鈥檚 a bug-bear to fools,
A foe to the joys of dear drinking.鈥�
Phillips.
鈥淩efreshment after toil, ease after pain.鈥�
Milton.
The day, at length, to evening鈥檚 edge is come,
And cools his axle in the western sea;
The mellow farmers drive their heifers home,
And leave the fair to social mirth and me.
The glimmering candles light each festive room,
And rural transport flies from nook to nook,
Save where the drunk man tumbles o鈥檈r the loom,
And stagg鈥檙ing seeks some private place to puke.
Save that from yonder cobweb-mantled bed,
The drunk-down jockey鈥檚 sullen snores resound,
Who wishful turns, but turns in vain the head,
For that repose which cannot there be found.鈥�
In farthest bed, with humble checquer hung,
Heaving the rug, two social fellows rest,
Who gay till six o鈥檆lock, carrous鈥檇 and sung,
But forc鈥檇, alas! to give it up at last.
Of busy tongues the ever-varying roar,
The song vociferous and wild horse-laugh;
Nay, all the transports of the 鈥榬andom splore,鈥�
Ne鈥檈r rouse these fellows from their bed of chaff.
In vain for them the blazing hearth may burn;
Their wives in vain the supper may prepare;
In vain the children wish their sire鈥檚 return,
Expecting sweets and play-things from the fair.
Poor wives! how often are ye but deceiv鈥檇
With husband鈥檚 promise when they go away;
For thus they tell you, and are still believ鈥檇,
鈥楿pon my word, indeed, we will not stay鈥�.
Howe鈥檈r, let not the shrew, with brazen face,
In search of husband to the alehouse roam;
It plays the devil, and it brings disgrace;
Far better stay and nurse their wrath at home.
Yet there are some, to all decorum dead,
Like fiends will after to the ale-house fly;
Who boast the breaking of their husband鈥檚 head,
And how they can the social scene destroy!
And neighbours will impute to such the blame
Of all the discord and domestic strife,
That feed, unsanctified, the wasting flame,
Which still consumes the peace of marry鈥檇 life.
Can bitter scolding, kicks, and torn-out hair,
Back to the mansion sweet agreement call?
Or can Contentment visit such a pair,
Whose every day is one eternal brawl?
Perhaps in this gay festive place may life
The frothy schoolmaster, ere break of day;
Dull as a musket ball each roll鈥檇 up eye,
That beam鈥檇 on truants the despotic ray.
But Knowledge to his eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne鈥檈er unroll;
Nature withheld from him the noble rage,
And froze the current of his stupid soul.
Full many a blockhead, impudent, and fool,
The few intelligent are doom鈥檇 to bear;
Full many a worthless scoundrel keeps a school,
And poisons intellects both far and near.
The stiff-neck formalist, with bigot breast,
That vain new-light men ever keen controuls;
The subtle deist, held Religion鈥檚 pest,
Here fall together, all as drunk as owls.
Th鈥檃pplause of sober people to command,
The 鈥榤erry roar鈥� and bottle to despise,
Nay, on their feet like men to go or stand,
Or e鈥檈n when fallen, up again to rise.
Their state forbids; but holds them here incog.
In friendly Robin鈥檚 hospitable shed;
Forbids to wade, all fours, thro鈥� ditch and bog,
Or tumble, zig zag, home to wife and bed.
The struggling pangs of vomiting to hide,
And paley face from other鈥檚 eyes to keep,
Some stragglers slip out to the garden side,
Puke, yawn, and tumble over sound asleep.
Beyond the reach a while of grog and din,
They sleep, and dream perhaps of wife and care,
Till waken鈥檇 sober, they again come in,
And help their fellows to conclude the fair.
Now rouse ye, sleepers, from the bed of chaff,
And set your rested bones once more erect;
This glass of stingo stout come quickly quaff,
鈥楾will heal the head and all the man protect.
Tho鈥� sick the stomach, and sore pain鈥檇 the head,
To join their fellows they again are willing,
And many a plausive thing around is said,
To make them board again the other shilling.
For who to hawk Economy a prey,
The glee of such society would break;
Renounce the transports of the old-fair day?
But want, alas! makes worthy fellows sneak.
Yet on some friend the moneyless may call,
And, whispering, borrow half-a crown or so;
Then, renovated, to the bottle fall,
And rant and roar till bed-time, well or woe.
For thee who mindful of this drouthy corps,
Dost in this crambo rhyme their tale relate,
A hundred times, I鈥檓 sure thou hast, and more,
With such, till day-light, kept thy festive seat.
Haply some evil-minded folk may say,
鈥淥ft have we seen him drunk as drunk may be,
While far too narrow was the broad highway,
Such stumbling, reeling to and fro kept he鈥�.
There, at the foot of yon romantic thorn,
Whence issuing pure, the chrystal fountain flows,
We鈥檝e seen him bathe his head full many a morn,
And home to work, refusing all repose.
Oft o鈥檈r the sunny side of verdant Lyle,
In pleasing melancholy rap鈥檇, he鈥檒l rove,
And rustic madrigals compose the while,
Singing them home by Granny鈥檚 rural grove.
One morn we miss鈥檇 him on the flow鈥檙y hill,
Along the mead, and at his fav鈥檙ite tree;
A friend had ask鈥檇 him to partake a gill,
So in the whiskey house safe-moor鈥檇 was he.
The evening following drunk, drunk indeed,
From Beattie鈥檚 sheban house he came along,
Still mutt鈥檙ing as he went with little heed,
Something resembling the following song:
THE SONG
Here 鈥榣one I jog upon the face of earth,
And on my fate tho鈥� Fortune seem to frown;
Fair Nature smil鈥檇 upon my humble birth,*
And sweet Contentment mark鈥檇 me for her own.
I鈥檓 somewhat versatile, but still sincere;
Disdain to fawn or creep for selfish ends,
And Heaven, to chear me thro鈥� this vale of care,
Has given me honest Damon, best of friends.
O, let not Calumny the bard expose,
His failings blazing in the face of day,
Because to whiskey shops sometimes he goes,
To warm and moistify his tuneful clay!
*聽 I was born on the 25th of blooming May, 1766.
