  BY THOMAS WHITTLE. Ye muses nine, if you think fit, Instruct my pen to write. Apollo, thou great god of wit, Come help me to indite. Let poets, pipers, fidlers come, In priols, And echo forth, as with a drum, The praise of Will Carstairs. Imprimus, then I will proceed His features to disclose, And draw a compass from his head Unto his heels and toes; Some cunning man come lay a spell, And keep me from all snares, That I may keep in compass well, While I describe Carstairs. But first I must his pardon crave, For making bold and free, For William was his christian name, And shall be so for me; But manners must to rhymes give place, Or else we spoil our wares; And Will and William’s all one case, And equal to Carstairs. His face is like the midnight moon And stars that shine so bright; His nose is like a flaming fire, That casts both heat and light; It sparkles like the Syrian seas When he gets in his airs, A clown has not an heart to buy A beak like Will Carstairs. Without a magnifying glass, His neck you cannot see; But if you please to let it pass, It shall be pass’d by me; His shoulders are compact and strong, Made up of rounds and squares, And no small burden e’er could wrong A back like Will Carstairs’. Down from his shoulder-blades there springs Two arms both stout and strong, That flap just like a buzzard’s wings As he marcheth along; And from those arms there spring two hands, Well skill’d in magic airs; And William Lilley’s charter stands By such as Will Carstairs. He has eight sides, I scorn to slide, I’ll bring them fairly in, The upperside and underside Are two for to begin; There’s backside, foreside, leftside, right— I’ll put them down in pairs— And inside, outside, which make eight, Belonging to Carstairs. Down from his sides there spring two hips With sturdy well built thighs, Just like a pair of weeding-clips, But of a larger size; His legs they do like supples bend, When he gets in his airs— Right taper’d down from end to end, Few men can match Carstairs. His feet are much like other men’s, I guess them by the shoe, They’re neither of the fives nor tens, But just between the two. He’ll trip to Scotland in a trice, For speed he never spares,— There’s few can trip it out so nice As thrifty Will Carstairs. He’s near about the standard pitch, As nature can express— They’re lubbers that’s above his size, And dwarfs that’s any less; But tho’ he be not quite so tall To rank ’mong grenadiers, There’s thousands of marines as small As little Will Carstairs. |
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