The thresher's miscellany: or, poems on several subjects, written by Arthur Duck. Now a poor thresher in the county of Suffolk, ... though formerly an Eton-scholar. ...

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- TO THE Earl of MACCLESFIELD.

- SOME ACCOUNT OF MY LIFE.

- ROGER and URSULA: Or, LOVE in a HOG-STY.

- The MILK-MAID, a Song.

- The PLOWMAN's Wish to his FRIEND.

- Now or Never: Or, the MAID's Counsellor.

- Epitaph on my Uncle's APE.

- DAMON: Or, The Shepherd's PARADISE.

- CAROLETTA: Or, The Shepperdess.

- PHILLIS, a Song.

- POLYPHEMUS to his MISTRESS, from Ovid.

- Verses writ upon a GLASS.

- The SPARROW, from CATULLUS. Humbly Inscribed to my much respected and honoured Kins-Woman, Mrs. GRACE HOWARD.

- To the Lady BRIDGET OSBORNE, with a Present of Grapes.

- EPIGRAMS.

- An Imitation of OVID in Distress.

- EPITAPH on a SEXTON.

- An Imitation of Horace's ODE on FORTUNE.

- EPITAPH on the late Duke of B * * *.

The END of PART I.

THE Thresher's Miscellany: OR, POEMS ON Several Subjects,

Written by ARTHUR DUCK. Now a poor Thresher in the County of Suffolk, at the Wages of Five Shillings and Six Pence per Week, though formerly an Eton-Scholar.

Dedicated to the Right Honourable the EARL of MACCLESFIELD, in Order to be Read to Her Majesty, and in Hopes of Her most Gracious Favour.

By Virtue of a Natural Right, to my own Property, I do hereby appoint my Name sake Arthur Moore to print these POEMS, and that no other Person presume to print the same.
ARTHUR DUCK.

LONDON: Printed for A. MOORE, near St. Paul's. 1730. (Price Six Pence.)

TO THE Earl of MACCLESFIELD.

My LORD,

BY Civil Law the DUCKS first got a Name,[*]

And STEPHEN's Flail, not Verse, has rais'd his Fame.

My Rural-Lines if Macclesfield but Read,

Will also, with my SOVERAIGN succeed.

Read then most Noble Earl, O read once more,

And let my Poetry increase my Store,

&dagger;TUSSER's Five Hundred Points of Husbandry

In Verse; records his Name above the Sky.

Let not the Witlings then of London-Town,

Cry up Grubaean-Trash, and cry Us down[*];

Parnassian-Heights, a Sylvan-Muse may try,

Thus—Britain's Queen, with Sheba's Queen, may vie.

O let this Truth, my Lord, but pave my way,

And your Petitioner shall ever pray, &c.

ARTHUR DUCK.

Notes

*
ARTHUR DUCK, LL.D. wrote a most excellent Treatise, intitled, De Authoritate Juris Civilis, 8vo.
↵

&dagger;
THOMAS TUSSER (a Suffolk Farmer) Flor. Temp. EDW. VI.
↵

*
Allusion to Persius, Sat. 1. Vers. 10 and 11.

— this vast universal Fool, the Town,

Shou'd cry up Lab•• 's Stuff, and cry Me down.

DRYDEN.

↵

SOME ACCOUNT OF MY LIFE.

Gentle Reader,

THE good Town of Ipswich now boasts the Honour of my Birth, as it formerly did that of the great Cardinal Wolsey.

I was conceived in Sin and brought forth in Iniquity, Anno 1680, so that I am double the Age of my Cousin Stephen Duck, and have therefore, you may rationally suppose, Ploughed, Harrowed, and Threshed, twice as long, and all to no Purpose, unless the good Earl of Macclesfield will likewise read some of my Parnassian-Labours to our most Gracious Queen; but, I live in hopes that his Lordship will grant me this humble Boon, and that my Kinsman and I, may share one equal Fate.

As to my Education, the most learned Dr. Arthur Duck, being my Godfather, I was by his Interest got upon the Foundation of Eton-College, and having gone through my School-Studies, I was, as well as my Countryman Thomas Tusser, for sometime a Student in the University of Cambridge. In this seminary of the Muses, our Alma-Mater being peevish, fretful, and generally out of Humour, I could not so much as Rhime my self into a College-Fellowship. This I took, as Hudibras says, in great Dudgeon, more especially, since it is well known that the whole Race of the DUCKS were born Poets.

I left King's-College, and came to assist my Parents in their Farming-Business at Ipswich; where I soon found that Corn and Hops came to a much better Market than Greek and Latin. Tho' in this first Part of my Rustic-Miscellany,

I hope th' impartial Reader will discern,

I ne'er invok'd the Muses in a Barn.

Upon the Death of my intestate Parents, being an only Child, there fell to me, by right of Inheritance, a very decent Country-Legacy, viz. Good store of Grain, the Pastures well stockt with Cattle, Provender for their Winter-Sustenance, and a round sum of Money. But, as Horace says,

My Way-ward, wandring Mind did not approve,

My happy State; I was inclin'd to rove:

And soon experienced the fatal Consequences attending such a Temper. In short, I had no Notion of foreign Travel; nothing would serve me, but making the Tour of Change-Alley; where, in that memorable Year of Chronology 1720, I fell a Victim on the Altar which made a daily Sacrifice both of Cit and Bumpkin.

Thus having sunk the Scholar in the Farmer; and the Farmer having undergone a South-Sea Ship wreck; I am now reduced to my Kinsman's Pristine Vocation of God speed the Plough.

My Wages, are indeed, five Shillings and Six-pence per Week, our County of Suffolk giving one Shilling more than they do in Wiltshire; tho' alas, at this Price, it is with great Difficulty that Buckle and Throng, as we say, are brought together. However, I am in hopes of seeing better Days,‘Redeunt Saturnia Regna.’

To conclude, in one Word, my sole Trust is in my noble Patron, therefore

Whate'er thro' Carolina's Hand is sent,

I'll praise Earl Macclesfield, and be Content.

ARTHUR DUCK.

P. S. I intend, God willing, to publish a second Part of this Miscellany, before the Meeting of the Parliament, by way of New-Years-Gift.

ROGER and URSULA: Or, LOVE in a HOG-STY.

I.

GAFFER and Gammer were fast in their Nest,

And all the young Fry of their Cribs were possess'd;

Spott, Whitefoot, and Puss in the Ashes were laid,

And a blinking Rush-Candle burnt over their Head.

And a blinking Rush, &c.

II.

URS'LA was washing her Dishes and Platter,

Preparing to make her good Friend the Hog satter;

Greas'd up to the Elbows, as much to the Eye,

'Till her 'broidered Cloaths were e'en ready to fry.

'Till her 'broidered, &c.

III.

Close by Her, ROGER the Plowman lay snoring,

CUPID being vex'd at his clownish adoring;

Did straightway convey to the great Loggerhead,

The whispering News, that they all were in Bed.

The whispering &c.

IV.

Upstarted ROGER, and rubbing his Eyes,

To his dearest sweet URS'LA in a Passion he flies;

Then leaning his Elbows on URS'LA's broad Back,

He complain'd that his Heart was e'en ready to crack.

He complain'd, &c.

V.

URS'LA being vex'd at the Weight of her Love,

Cry'd, CUPID, why dost Thou thus treacherous prove?

In an angry Mood she then turn'd her about,

And the Dish Clout lapp'd over the Face of the Lout.

And the, &c.

VI.

ROGER being angry at such an Affront,

And not at all minding what wou'd come on't;

He gave her a Kick, with such wonderous Mettle,

As tumbled poor URS'LA quite over the Kettle.

As tumbl'd, &c.

VII.

At the Noise of this rumbling the Gaffer awaken,

And fearing lest Thieves had been stealing his Bacon;

With a Pur in his Hand, down Stairs he comes stumbling,

Where he found Roger gaping whilst Urs'la lay tumbling.

Where he found, &c.

VIII.

Pox take ye, quoth he, for a Rogue and a Whore,

So he turn'd these poor Lovers quite out of the Door,

(Ne'er minding the Rain, nor the cold windy Weather,)

To finish their Loves in a Hog-Sty together.

To finish, &c.

The MILK-MAID, a Song.

To the Tune of, When bright Aurelia, &c.

I.

MARIA when the Paps you press,

Each Morn beneath the Cow;

Do not the secret Thoughts of Bliss,

Your Mind with fancied Joys possess,

And make you long to know?

II.

See then the gentle curling Stream,

That fills your Pail so full,

'Tis turn'd to Floods of luscious Cream,

Whene'er the Milk-Maid chance to Dream,

She's stroaking of a Bull.

III.

Let easier Work your Arms employ

Take better Things in Hand,

Since Heaven has made you fit for Joy,

Have Pity on the Amorous Boy,

Nor let him weeping stand.

IV.

Then leave off making three-meal-Cheese,

For every Plowman's Turn;

The softer Curds of Beauty squeeze,

And make Love's-Butter come with ease,

By jumbling Nature's Churn.

The PLOWMAN's Wish to his FRIEND.

Votatus brevit••, &c.
Mart.

SINCE you, whom all the World admires

Wou'd know what your poor Friend requires,

Some little Spot of Earth he prays

To pass Incognito his Days.

Who'd venture Conscience, Ease, and Health,

For empty Pleasures, useless Wealth?

Who'd be the tawdry Fool of War,

Or the more noisy Knave at Bar?

That might in his own Fields and Wood,

Find his Diversion, and his Food.

His Ponds with various Fishes stor'd,

The Bees for him their Honey hoard.

A Nut-brown LASS both kind and neat

To make his Bed, and dress his Meat.

He that hates me, or likes not this,

May he ne'er know so sweet a Bliss.

But fool'd with Riches, or Renown,

Still stay behind, and rot in Town.

Now or Never: Or, the MAID's Counsellor.

I.

CONSULT, dear Nymph, your faithful Glass,

The Chrystal Streams, the bord'ring Grass,

Then think how Youth and Beauty pass.

II.

MARIA once so fair and young,

No more's the burthen of our Song,

Since cruel TIME has done her Wrong.

III.

His Scythe has Mown her Rosy Cheek,

Cut down the Lillies of her Neck,

And crop'd the Flowers which Maids bedeck.

IV.

Her Eyes that pierc'd the yielding Soul,

The Toast to ev'ry Shepherd's Bowl,

Shall now no more our Hearts controul.

V.

Her Voice so sweet, she use to rear,

As brought the list'ning Birds to hear,

No longer Charms th' attentive Ear.

VI.

Her Lips like Comb for Honey prest,

Like Balls of Snow, her melting Breast,

By envious Age she's all undrest.

VII.

Every Rose with drooping Leaves,

An Emblem of the Virgin gives,

Whose foolish Pride herself deceives.

VIII.

Then Damsels mark the fading Flow'r,

Presume no longer in your Pow'r,

Blossom's vanish every Hour.

IX.

Let then the Youth no longer mourn,

Nor, by destructive Passion, burn,

For Charms once gone can ne'er return.

Epitaph on my Uncle's APE.

UNDER this Slate do lye the last Remains

Of one, whom self-conceited Man disdains,

And scoffing calls an APE; but MAN was he,

If Tumblers, or if Dancing-Masters be.

He did, Alive, in either Art excel;

And now's Gallanted, by Old-Maids, in Hell.

DAMON: Or, The Shepherd's PARADISE.

I.

WHERE Pines and Cedars form a Wood,

On either side a Chrystal Flood;

Where CUPID makes his chief Abode,

And softest Scenes of Love.

Where Innocence adorns the Swain,

Where FLORA crowns the verdant Plain,

And PHILOMELA tunes a main,

The Bounties of great JOVE.

II.

Where Plenty crowns each smiling Brow,

Without the toilsome Help of Plow,

The Flocks do bleat, and Oxen low,

While Birds melodious Sing;

And warble forth Dame Nature's Praise,

Where Phoebus sheds his brightest Rays,

Bestowing on those happy Days,

An everlasting Spring.

III.

Here wou'd I chuse some rural Fair,

The only Object of my Care,

Nor be forsworn, nor yet despair,

By modern Arts betray'd.

Her Choice shou'd fix her Love on me,

Her Words and Actions all be free,

If GRATIANA such wou'd be,

My Happiness were made.

IV.

Her Eyes wou'd give a chearful Day,

Her Smiles make ev'ry Shade look gay,

While at her Sight the Flocks wou'd play,

And Linnets stretch their Voice;

And sure where'er my VENUS moves

The Shrubs shou'd rise to Myrtle Groves,

And I'd supply a Train of Loves,

And get a Race of Boys.

CAROLETTA: Or, The Shepperdess.

MENALCAS sure deserves the Bays,

Who aims at CAROLETTA's Praise,

An airy, gay, and frisking She,

Not Fond, but without Coyness, free:

Her pretty Freedoms please the Wise,

And none are Jealous who have Eyes,

None can suspect the Lovely Fair,

Or think Hypocrisy dwells there.

Trace Her thro' ev'ry Part and Grace,

Thro' ev'ry Lineament of Face,

A living Miracle you'll find,

Of Body blended with the Mind;

A Humour Debonâir and Fit

To match her Beauty and her Wit:

By Beauty form'd to charm Mankind,

To conquer all our Sex design'd;

For Wit and Repartee renown'd,

With Words that Cure as well as Wound.

As when they cut a Brilliant-Stone

Such as with PIT of late was known,

At ev'ry Chip a Jewel flies,

And Sparkles after Sparkles rise;

So when you once this Nymph provoke,

To Raillery, or chearful Joke,

New Beauties in each Notion shine,

New Turns of Thought with Thought combine,

Wit uncontroul'd which nought can stem,

And ev'ry Sentence is a Gem.

PHILLIS, a Song.

I.

LET Fops of vain Happiness proud,

Delight in Appearance and Noise;

Their Pleasures divide with the Croud,

The Wise are more nice in their Joys.

II.

My PHILLIS is charming alone,

And all that behold her adore,

Then if I wou'd keep her my own,

No Rival must know of my Store.

III.

Adieu to the rest of Mankind,

To Desarts I fain wou'd retire;

In PHILLIS alone I shall find,

Whatever I want or desire.

IV.

For soon as her Beauties appear,

New Brightness enlightens the Plain;

And only attended by her,

I'll envy no Monarch his Train.

POLYPHEMUS to his MISTRESS, from Ovid.

O GALATEA, Thou'rt the Flow'r of May,

Tall as a Poplar, as a Meadow gay;

Splendid as Glass, gamesome as any Kid,

Airy as Cockles toss'd by ev'ry Tide;

Grateful as Summer's Shade, or Winter's Shine,

Sweet as an Apple, sightly as a Pine;

Smoother than mellow Grapes, whiter than Snow,

Soft as a Swan, or Stroakings from the Cow;

And if you did not shun my fond Embrace,

Fair as a Garden where a Fountain plays.

Again; thou'rt wild as any Colt unbroke,

False as the Waves, obdurate as an Oak;

Weaker than sallow Twigs, or than the Vine,

Harder than Rocks, more Head-strong than the Rhine;

Proud as a Peacock when we him admire,

Sharper than Thorns, and hotter than the Fire;

Deaf as the Seas, cruel as Bears at Rut,

Fierce as an Adder trodden under Foot;

And what the greatest Plague of all I find,

You fly the Lover like the hunted Hind,

Fleeting as Air, and volatile as Wind.

Verses writ upon a GLASS.

'TIS generous Wine refines our Clay,

And makes our Souls out-shine the Day;

'Tis BACCHUS guards our Health and Truth,

Inspires our Wit, preserves our Youth;

Enobles Friendship, downs Deceit,

And smooths the rugged Brow of Fate.

The only Cure of gloomy Spleen,

The Show'r that makes our Sky serene,

Then since the GOD has crown'd our Cup,

'Twere Folly not to drink it up.

The SPARROW, from CATULLUS.
Humbly Inscribed to my much respected and honoured Kins-Woman, Mrs. GRACE HOWARD.

MOURN all ye CUPIDS, Mourn ye little Loves,

Mourn ye fair Maids, and mourn ye pretty Doves;

My Lesbia's SPARROW Fate has rapt away,

Her darling Joy, and Pleasure of her Day.

Sweeter he was, than ever Tongue can tell,

Well worthy Love, and was belov'd as well:

The pretty Sparrow his own Mistress knew,

As well as infant Babes their Mothers do.

From her dear Lap his Wings he never mov'd,

But hover'd round, and show'd how well he lov'd;

Round her fair Bosom still he hopp'd and play'd,

And chirp'd with Joy about the lovely Maid.

But now poor Bird! treads PLUTO's gloomy shore,

Never, ah! never to return once more.

And you dark Shades of Hell's infernal Reign,

Ten thousand Curses for your Plague remain:

Instant you seize on all that's Sweet and Gay,

Ev'n LESBIA's Bird, well-lov'd, you stole away.

O Fact accurst! poor TOM at last is dead,

Hangs his weak Neck, and droops his sickly Head:

Griev'd at the Loss my LESBIA too appears,

Swells her fair Eye, and reddens into Tears.

To the Lady BRIDGET OSBORNE, with a Present of Grapes.

TH' Illustrious Planet that directs the Day,

To ev'ry Blade of Grass extends a Ray,

A Blaze of Incense has been known to move,

The Powers below us, and the Pow'rs above;

Then Thou, my FAIR, accept without disdain,

An humble Off'ring, from an humble Swain.

BRITANNIA is a Clime that well may boast

Its flow'ry Valleys, and its fruitful Coast;

Mild are the Seasons, fragrant is the Air,

Large are her Harvests, and her Product fair;

But far above the rest her Vines produce,

The loveliest Figure, and the kindest Juice.

Fruits fine as these could never be design'd,

For Creatures of a base and vulgar Kind;

No, they're design'd to entertain the Fair,

And such as Heav'n makes its peculiar Care;

For them th' ambitious Grove attempts the Sky,

The Fountains murmur, and the Breezes sigh;

For them the Lilly paints, the Violet blows,

And modest Blushes tinge the fragrant Rose;

For them the Citron loads its Boughs anew,

And the glad Orange takes a golden Hue;

For them gay Flow'rs enamel all the Mead,

And other Olives to the last succeed;

For them our SUN the cluster'd Grape refines,

For them our Elms are wedded with our Vines,

And condescend to take the spousal Twines.

Thou fairest of thy Sex and best, to THEE

Are due the choicest Riches of the Tree,

Accept the ready Offerings of the Plain,

Confess th' Extent of this auspicious Reign,

And never let us pay our V•ws in vain.

So when of old the Farmer's Toil was o'er,

And all his Barns were crouded with his Store,

To that indulgent Power that gave him Peace,

And to his Corn, and to his Herds increase;

He paid the noblest Profits of the Year,

With rigid Justice, and Religious Fear.

EPIGRAMS.

YOU've often averr'd I'm the persectest Wit,

That ever you saw, or convers'd withal yet,

And I in return have has often profest,

That of all Womankind you're the fairest and best.

The Assertions of Both, are equally true,

For as you Laugh at me, so do I Laugh at you.

ANOTHER.

PHILANDER loads his Board with noble Fare,

And ev'ry one that comes is welcome there,

Be wise, PHILANDER, and thou than shalt see,

They love thy Burgundy, but Laugh at thee.

ANOTHER.

BELINDA is reduc'd, 'tis said,

To prostitute her self for Bread;

And if they're sure to hit the White,

That mingle Profit with Delight,

BELINDA's greatly in the Right.

ANOTHER.

Be not vain of your fancy'd Success I desire you,

Nor think that I love you because I admire you;

A Monster does doubtless deserve Admiration,

As much as the prettiest Girl in the Nation,

And hourly Experience, CORINNA, will show ye,

A GRANNY is stare'd at, as much as a CHLOE.

ANOTHER.

Sir GEORGE the most uncertain of Mankind,

Turns with the Tide, and wavers with the Wind;

For well he knows all Times will favour him,

Who makes no Conscience with the Times to Trim.

From MARTIAL.

As Oaks in stormy Seasons shed,

The treacherous Leaves they bear;

So CALVUS did but shake his Head,

And off he shook his Hair.

ANOTHER.

On Mr. PRIOR's Tomb in Westminster-Abby.

This Busto Lewis gave our Bard, his Strains,

At least the best, are borrow'd from Fontaine's:

Then what wou'd Prior be, shou'd Gallia claim,

Her gifted Monument, and borrow'd Fame!

An Imitation of OVID in Distress.

Ille ego qui fneram tenerorum lusor-amorum.

I'M he who once indulg'd an amorous Vein,

And thought all Poets of a heavenly Strain,

My easy Heart each puny Girl subdu'd,

Coquets I flatter'd, and ador'd the Prude,

Thanks to my Muse for she those Joys refin'd,

Dissolv'd my Cares, and made Corinna kind,

Without restraint I pass'd my Youths best Hours,

In easy Studies, or in soft Amours.

You Father Bacchus now extend your Aid,

Remember I was once a roaring Blade,

The Gods themselves have Festivals of Mirth,

'Tis then they show'r their Blessings down on Earth;

And you dear Friends, and Brothers of the Quill,

Remember me, and each his Bumper fill,

When you the Name of honest Naso hear,

Set down the Glass, and drop a friendly Tear,

Look round about, and with a tender Voice,

Cry, where's the faithful Part'ner of our Joys,

Whilst I alone beguile the tedious Day,

With Books, and strive to read my Cares away;

I banish Fate's Unkindness from my Mind,

And fancy o'er the Joys I left behind;

My Muse to me is all the World beside,

My kind Physician, and my loving Bride.

EPITAPH on a SEXTON.

I.

HERE lies old HARE,

Worn out with Care,

Who whilom toll'd the Bell,

Could dig a Grave,

Or set a Stave,

And say Amen full well.

II.

For sacred Song,

He'ad HOPKIN's Tongue,

And STERNHOLD's eke also;

With Cough and Hem,

He stood by them,

As far's his Word would go.

III.

Full many a Feast,

For Worms, he dress'd;

Himself yet wanted Bread.

But he is gone,

With Skin and Bone,

To Starve 'em now he's Dead.

IV.

Here, take his Spade,

And use his Trade,

Now he is out of Breath,

Cover the Bones,

Of him who once,

Wrought Journey Work for DEATH.

An Imitation of Horace's ODE on FORTUNE.

I.

SOME hoist up Fortune to the Skies,

Others debase her to a Bubble;

I, nor her Frowns, nor Favours prize,

Nor think the Chang'ling worth my Trouble.

II.

If, at my Door she chance to light,

I civilly my Guest receive;

The Visit paid, I bid Good-Night;

Nor murmur, when she takes her Leave.

III.

Tho' prosp'rous Gales my Canvas croud,

Tho' smooth the Waves, serene the Sky,

I trust not Calms; they Storms forebode,

And speak th' approaching Tempest nigh.

IV.

Then Virtue to the Helm repair,

Thou, Innocence, shalt guide the Oar;

Now rage ye Winds; Storms rend the Air,

My Barque thus Mann'd, shall gain the Shore.

EPITAPH on the late Duke of B * * *.

HERE GRUBINOT lies, on very ill Terms,

First, a Prey to the Flies; and then to the Worms.

Those who grieve at his Loss, needn't wonder he's gone;

For the Carcase must rot; when the Flesh is Fly-blown.

But this must be said in his Praise,

Tho' Death, cruel Death, from us forc'd him;

He dy'd by endeav'ring to raise,

His old Friend that lay Dead before him.

Information about this book

Title statement

The thresher's miscellany: or, poems on several subjects, written by Arthur Duck. Now a poor thresher in the county of Suffolk, ... though formerly an Eton-scholar. ...

Duck, Arthur.

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University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
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ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5094

ID [isbn10]

1106020936

ID [isbn13]

9781106020932

ID [TCP]

K099598.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3310246333

ID [ECLL]

0153000500

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Source

— The thresher's miscellany: or, poems on several subjects, written by Arthur Duck. Now a poor thresher in the county of Suffolk, ... though formerly an Eton-scholar. ..., Duck, Arthur.. [8],24p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for A. Moore,. 1730.. [Arthur Duck is a pseudonym.] [At foot of p.24 "The end of part 1".] [The bookseller's name in the imprint is fictitious.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT124869.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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