A Poem

YE gossips, skill’d in tales of dread!
Staunch to old superstition’s creed!
Draw near your cutty stools;
I sing a ghost of wond’rous kind,
Which play’d the devil, rais’d the wind,
And turn’d wise men to fools.

Far in the east of Scotia’s Isle,
Mid wealth and grandeur’s genial smile,
An ancient city stands;
In which this daring ghost, they say,
Appear’d, and rais’d a mighty fray,
Though void of feet and hands.

But ere I spread before your eyes
The picture in its various dyes,
‘Tis proper to describe
The actors in this comic spree;
And, reader, thou shalt shortly see
They were a curious tribe.

Dandies they were , a beast superb,
Of antic form and curious garb,
Now common everywhere;
A beast! yes! start not at the name!
An ass and dandy mean the same,
At least throughout Ayrshire.

Each dandy’s spine in stays was pack’d,
And drawn together till it crack’d,
Which made the helpless worm
So small, his middle you might grasp,
Something in figure of a wasp,
Or of a sandglass form.

And then his hair, with wond’rous toil,
Was dress’d and daub’d with grease and oil,
And made to stand upright;
Just like the quills of porcupine,
Or bristles of an angry swine,
Or cock prepar’d to fight.

Such were his clothes, in cut and form,
You might ten hundred museums storm,
And not the like produce;
The world such garments ne’er sent out
Since Adie in his skin surtout,
Frisk’d airy, light, and loose.

For folks of fashion now, you know,
Are dress’d like monkeys for a show ,
Poor empty butterflies!
They flit away on gilded wings,
Till spider-death entraps the things ,
L , d knows he gets a prize!

Next ’tis my arduous task to trace
Some lineaments of that fair place,
Where these bright creatures dwelt;
And of all corners on the pole,
For fashions queer and fishes droll,
This city wore the belt.

Engines they had for every job,
Even to the dressing of the nob,
And shaving of the chin;
Though some, who went for shaving there,
Lost their physogs, instead of hair,
Which made them look right thin.

Others escap’d with half a nose,
And some without a chin arose,
And, screaming, ran away,
As flies a wounded hare, when death
Wings her wild speed, till, out of breath,
She tumbles lifeless clay.

Farther, ’tis said, that bairns they got
By steam, though I believe it not;
But often I’ve been told
Their clergy, by the self-same power,
Could preach whole volumes in an hour,
And wond’rous tales unfold.

And when the sun had sunk to rest,
In the dark chambers of the west,
By philosophic slight
They formed another , Gas by name ,
Compos’d of brilliant, shining flame,
Which serv’d them through the night.

Spectacles, too, the boys possessed,
Through which they saw, or rather guessed,
Great wonders in the sky:
These glasses Telescopes were named,
Though how such curious things were framed
I never could descry.

Likewise they had aerial cars,
In which they soar’d among the stars,
Till earth seem’d like a speck;
But fares were high, as people say,
For oft the passenger did pay
The tribute of his neck.

Fain my wild notes would softly flow,
And light around the subject throw;
But never has my hand
Cull’d flowers on famed Parnassus’ hill,
Therefore ’tis far beyond my skill
To touch a theme so grand.

And though their rigs were all unfurl’d
Sublime before the wond’ring world,
They’d only gape and stare;
And sure I am they’d not believe
The half, nor yet the tenth receive,
Of things in practice there.

But something yet before we’ve flown,
To sing of dandies overthrown,
And stays asunder riven,
And of philosophers an host,
By an impudent little ghost
To desperation driven.

Phrenology, among the squad
Of all their curious things, they had,
Which put them on a plan
To know what passed within the head
From its outside, and thus to read
The whole internal man.

This useful Science to explore
They oft assembl’d, talk’d it o’er,
Though Truth was heard cry, “Shame!”
The creatures held their long debates,
O’er heads of monkeys, pictures, plates,
And things too great to name.

One even, as Sol slow westward fell,
About to bid the world farewell, ,
Ceas’d was the torrent’s roar;
Dire Tempest rested in his cave,
And Silence rul’d the rippling wave,
That calmly kiss’d the shore.

The Sages met, the house was full,
And on the board a pond’rous skull,
Which, as tradition told,
Was that which great Goliah wore,
Whom Davie, wi’ his sling of yore,
Laid low among the mould.

After a crowd of nods and bows,
Hawks, hems, coughs, scrapes, and how-d’ye-do’s,
The preses thus began : ,
“Gentlemen philosophers, to you
“I bring, this evening, something new;
“Attention every man.”

All eager, scarce could draw a breath,
When lo! the mighty man of Gath
Roll’d off the table quite.
Up sprung the dandies, one and all,
While shrieks of terror shook the hall,
Some tumbling o’er wi’ fright.

Self-mov’d, Goliah pac’d the floor;
Some bounded swiftly to the door,
And off like lightning flew;
But those whom terror left the power
To fly, in this tremendous hour,
Were really very few.

One nearly out the window got,
But a great nail detain’d his coat,
And held him firm behind;
And there his little carcase hung,
And O! how prettily he swung,
And dangl’d in the wind.

Another fell, and lo! his waist
In whalebone stays so firm was lac’d,
The creature could not rise;
Spartling upon the floor he lay,
And kept the little ghost at bay,
With horrid murder-cries.

One with a pea-sheaf head of hair,
Wild as a startled pig did stare,
And bounded up the flue;
His head was such a monstrous size,
He stuck; and soot-bedim’d his eyes,
He cried, “What shall I do.”

The sparrows on the chimney-top
Down lifeless to the ground did drop,
At such an eldritch roar;
The very smoke-board, from its seat
With terror vaulted to the street,
And knock’d a fishwife o’er.

A Mr. Cobweb, spruce and gay,
Right through the window burst his way,
His hurry was so big;
But in a mass of dung he fell,
And, sinking near an English ell,
He wallow’d like a pig.

A bowlman’s donkey, at the sight,
Set off direct with all his might,
And strew’d the ware around;
The owner, cursing in the rear,
Pursu’d, ‘mid many a shout and cheer,
And loss-insulting sound.

One Mr. Squib, expert in war,
A duelist, renown’d afar,
Drew out his pistol keen;
And charging, cried, “Stand firm, my boys,
“For what this hurry and this noise,
“I’ll sweep the decks quite clean.”

He grasp’d the pistol firm in hand,
Shut both his eyes, resolv’d to stand,
But, ere the piece was fir’d,
He cried, “Ghost, ghost,” and falling o’er,
A sentence never utter’d more,
And instantly expired.

One, more courageous than the rest,
Undaunted through the skirmish prest,
Arm’d with the chamber pot;
He gain’d the door, and, by the post
Sly peeping, hurl’d it at the ghost,
Then down the stair he got.

Yet still the Philistine was bold,
And still amid the tumult roll’d;
And as he mov’d around ,
“Assistance , mercy , O ! what’s this ,
“He comes , we’re over , yes, yes, yes” ,
Made all the house resound.

Twas like a miniature display
Of some great city’s final day,
When through her bulwarks strong,
Like thirsty tiger to his prize,
The cruel foe vindictive flies,
And carries death along.

Squat like a hare within her form,
Snug in a corner from the storm
A worthy provost lay,
And roar’d out, “Police! mercy! help!”
As loud as ever he could yelp,
Till reason died away.

A lawyer, grumbling ‘neath a chair,
Was heard at something like a pray’r ,
Such wonders ghosts can do!
A doctor, dying, cried, “O! Death
“Have mercy , do not stop my breath ,
“To thee I’ll still be true!”

A brisk young soldier, who had fought
Through fields of blood, and who was thought
To be exceeding brave,
Lay bawling out, “Extend your lines!
“Down, down upon the Philistines,
“And send them to the grave!”

“Publish it not in Gath , nor tell
“In Askelon , what things befel,”
Roar’d out a stripling priest;
“Keep down the slaves!” a statesman cried;
“I’ll help!” a churchman loud replied ,
“And, friend, we’ll share the feast.”

An empty barrel grac’d the floor,
In which a dozen, some say more,
Had fled to shun the fight;
And, peeping through the large bunghole,
Beheld the skull instinctive roll,
And trembled at the sight.

As bugs, affrighted, hear the chime
Of bowls and plates at flitting-time;
And, weeping, tell their young
That death draws nigh; so were the fops
Affrighted, as the naked chops
Rock’d, reel’d, and danc’d along!

Crash went the barrel into staves,
Like some old bark among the waves;
And dandies tumbl’d out,
As apples roll along the street,
When gardeners’ stands misfortune meet,
From some o’erwhelming route.

The landlord of the house, amaz’d,
Said to his consort, “Heaven be prais’d ,
“What’s this? what’s this I hear?
“Surely our house is coming down,
“Or else wild beasts are out in town,
“Or some earthquake is near.”

By this the room was like a shore,
When some destructive storm is o’er,
And spread along the beach
Wrecks upon wrecks dissever’d lie,
The shatter’d victims of the sky,
As far’s the sight can reach.

Things thus were situate, when, lo!
The landlord, bouncing in, cried, “Ho!
“What i’ the devil! what! what!”
Wishing the cockneys all to nick.
He gave the skull a rending kick,
And, lo! out jump’d a RAT!

Quoted from: John Ramsay: Poems. Edinburgh, 1836: 49-60.