Once on a time, as hist’ry’s
page relates,
A lord, possessed of many large estates,
Was angry with a poor and humble clod,
Who tilled his grounds and feared his very
nod.
Th’ offence (as often happens) was
but small,
But on him, vowed the peer, his rage should
fall—
Said he, a halter, rascal, you deserve;
You’ll never from the gallows-turnpike
swerve:
Or, soon or late you swinging will be found
Who, born for hanging, ever yet was drowned?
Howe’er you’ll smile to hear
my lenient voice;
Observe, three punishments await your choice;
Take which you will.—The first
is, you shall eat,
Of strongest garlick, thirty heads complete;
No drink you’ll have between, nor
sleep, nor rest;
You know a breach of promise I detest.
Or, on your shoulders further I propose,
To give you, with a cudgel, thirty blows.
Or, if more pleasing, that you truly pay,
The sum of thirty pounds without delay.
Thepeasant ’gan to turn things in his mind:—
Said
he, to take the heads I’m not inclined;
No
drink, you say, between; that makes it worse;
To
eat the garlick thus, would prove a curse.
Nor
can I suffer on my tender back,
That,
with a cudgel, thirty blows you thwack.
Still
harder thirty pounds to pay appeared;
Uncertain
how to act, he hanging feared.
The
noble peer he begged, upon his knees,
His
penitence to hear, and sentence ease.
But
mercy dwelled not with the angry lord
Is
this, cried he, the answer?—bring a cord.
The
peasant, trembling lest his life was sought;
The
garlick chose, which presently was brought.
Upon a dish my lord the number
told; Clod no way liked the garlick to behold.
With piteous mien the garlick head he took,
Then on it num’rous ways was led to
look, And grumbling much, began to spit
and eat, just like a cat with mustard on
her meat, To touch it with his tongue he
durst not do; He knew not how to act or
what pursue. The peer, delighted at
the man’s distress, The garlick made
him bite, and chew, and press, Then gulp
it down as if delicious fare; The first
he passed; the second made him swear; The
third he found was every whit as sad, He
wished the devil had it, ’twas so bad.
In short, when at the twelfth our wight arrived,
He thought his mouth and throat of skin deprived.
Said he, some drink I earnestly intreat;
What, Greg’ry, cried my lord, dost
feel a heat; In thy repasts dost love to
wet thy jaws? Well! well! I won’t
object; thou know’st my laws; Much
good may’t do thee; here, some wine, some wine!
Yet recollect, to drink, since you design,
That afterward, my friend, you’ll have
to choose The thirty blows, or thirty pounds
to lose. But, cried the peasant, I
sincerely pray, Your lordship’s goodness,
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