Whittington and his Cat.

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Richard Trott Fisher
G
GOD prosper long our good Lord Mayor,
And give him wealth and wit!
A little wisdom too mote well
His judgement-seat befit.
Come listen all ye prentice lads,
Sore set to drudge and fast,
How that good luck and industrie
Will make a man at last.
Whittington,
When our third Edward ruled the land,
A king of glorious fame,
An humble boy there lived also,
Dick Whittington by name.
an orphan boy,
His father and his mother too
Were laid beneath the sod:
But he was left, and all alone
The path of misery trod.
destitute,
No woollen hose wore he, nor shoes
Upon his shivering feet;
A tatter’d cloak was all he had
To ward the rain and sleet.
Yet, though his breast was cold without,
His heart was warm within;
And he grumbled not, for well he wot
That envy is a sin.
but industrious,
And he would fight with all his might
To earn his daily bread:
Alas, to think how oft he went
All supperless to bed!
had heard great reports of London.
Now he had heard of London town,
And what the folks did there:
How aldermen did eat and drink,
And plenty had to spare.
And how the streets were full of shops,
And shops were full of food;
Of beef, and mutton, cheese and ham,
And every thing that’s good.
And how the men and women all
Were lords and ladies there;
And little boys were rigg’d as smart
As monkeys at a fair.
But what most wonderful did seem,
Of all he had heard told,
Was how the streets of that great town
Were paved with solid gold.
Resolved to get there,
Heyday! thought he, if only I
Could get to that fine place!
’Twould not be long ere I would change
My miserable case.
he makes his way on foot.
Now started off for London town
Before the break of day,
He fared beside a waggoner
Who drove his team that way.
All day they trudged until the sun
Had sunk behind the hill;
And when he rose again next morn
He saw them trudging still.
His joy to behold that land of plenty.
At length a multitudinous smoke
Hid half th’ horizon round:
And such a sight of chimney-pots!
Dick gaped with joy and stound.
He thought how often he had lain
Beneath the cold damp air;
While here was house-room sure for all,
And fires i’faith to spare.
’Twere hard indeed if one should need
A chimney-corner here:
And from the drays that block’d the ways
Small lack could be of beer.
’Twas thus thought Dick, and so full quick
The waggoner he left;
And was not long, ere thro’ the throng
His nimble way he cleft.
His subsequent disappointment;
Thro’ street, thro’ lane, full fast he ran;
But marvell’d to behold
The ways all strown with dirt and stone,
And not with solid gold.
And folks were not all lords he thought,
Nor ladies of degree:
For here were rags, and here were tags,
As in his own countrie.
when hungry and cold,
Yet, where such plenty seem’d of all
A hungry lad mote need,
Tho’ rags were there he did not care:
He could not fail to speed.
he is neither fed by the victualler;
So at a shop he made a stop:
Before his well-spread board
The vict’ller stood, in jolly mood;
Dick thought he was a lord.
In cap ydight and waistcoat white
He beckonR

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PART II.

COME listen all, both great and small,
Of high and low degree;
That ye may know this true story
And live in charity.
As wealth by waste and idle taste
Soon falls to penury,
So small estate becometh great
By luck and industry.
Content then be in poverty,
In wealth of humble mind;
Like children of one family
To one another kind.
The venture of the merchant
This merchant now in foreign parts
A venture fain would make;
And all the folk of his household
Were free to share the stake.
joined by each of his domestics.
One risk’d a shilling, one a groat,
And one a coin of gold;
And every one his stake anon
To the ship’s captain told.
Dick’s jesting offer
Then half in jest, and half in shame,
Dick fetch’d his kitten down:
“I too,” he to the captain cried,
“Will venture all my own.”
to the surprise of all
The servants laugh’d: Dick would have wept,
And therefore laugh’d the more;
But soon they stared for wonderment
Who laugh’d so loud before.
taken in earnest by the Captain.
For now the Captain, “Done,” he cried,
“A bargain by my fay:”
And call’d the ship’s-mate in a trice,
To stow the cat away.
The cat is taken aboard.
He came so quick, no time had Dick
To countervail his joke:
So all aboard poor Puss was stored
Among the sea-going folk.
The ship sails.
Now from her mooring, all ataut,
Put off at turn of tide,
Adown the river’s ebbing flood
The gallant bark did glide.
And, like some heavenward-soaring bird,
She faced the open seas;
And seem’d as sick of land to spread
Her wings before the breeze.
The cat at sea.
Then, as she flew, Puss fetch’d a mew,
As if to say—poor me!
To think that I a land-bred cat
Should thus be press’d to sea!
But, ere a week was past and gone,
He changed this plaintive tone,
And, like a jolly sailor-boy,
Purr’d gaily up and down.
For lean and fat a ship-board cat
He found hath both to spare;
And legs by hosts for rubbing posts
Are always lounging there.
And then he oft would run aloft,
And just look out to sea;
Nor e’er a boy could scream ahoy
In shriller note than he.
The ship’s course.
The fresh wind blew; the light bark flew,
And clear’d the channel’s mouth;
Through Biscay’s bay then cut her way,
And bore towards the South.
Bound for Africa.
For she was bound for Afric ground,
Where wretched negroes dwell;
Who waste their days in idle ways,
As I am loth to tell.
Nathless the soil withouten toil
God’s gracious bounty yields;
And gum drops free from every tree
Along the sunny fields.
And we are told how dust of gold
Stains all the river sands:
And huge beasts shed their ivory tusks
About the desert lands.
The unthriftiness of the negroes.
Now what is not with trouble got
Is seldom kept with care:
For foresight and economy
To idlesse strangers are.
So these poor souls their goodly stores,
Not needed for the day,
For trifles and for tromperie
They barter all away.
The ship sails past the cape of St. Vincent;
Three days, three nights our gallant ship
Her southward course had steer’d,
When o’er her larboard at the dawn
Saint Vincent’s cape appear’d.
Still southward yet three days three nights
Her steady prow she bore;
But when again Sol gilt the main
Was spied Marocco’s shore.
anchors off the coast of Marocco.
Now shouts of joy and busy noise
Salute the rising day:
The coast was made, the ship was stay’d,
And anchor’d in the bay.
As when a stranger hawk, that long
Hath soar’d in middle air,
Borne earthward on a tree alights,
And makes his station there;
The myriad tenants of the grove
Would fain his purpose know;
And flock around, yet hold aloof
For fear to meet a foe:
The wonderment of the negroes.
’Twas thus the negroes throng’d the beach,
To view a ship at sea:
While some drew down their light canoes;
What mote the strange bark be?
Or friend—or foe? They long’d to know,
Yet durst not venture near:
Till soon the boat was all afloat,
And off to lay their fear.
Their king and queen
Afront were seen a king and queen,
Whom all the rest obey’d:
And all the good things of the land
Belong’d to them, ’twas said.
invited by the Captain
Which when the captain heard, and how
They had an ample hoard,
Their companie requested he
To dine with him on board.
go on board.
Now, wafted o’er the azure lake,
The king and eke his queen,
Behold them seated on the deck:
The captain sat between.
Puss salutes his Majesty after European fashion.
But ere the dinner it was served,
While yawn’d the king for meat,
Just to divert the royal mind,
Puss rubb’d against his feet.
Now you must know the royal toe
It ticklish was to touch:
But Puss rubb’d he so daintily,
The king he liked it much.
Then to his bride he spake aside,
And e’en was speaking yet,
When lo!—the platter came,—whereat
The rest he did forget.
The dinner.
Now both did eat their fill of meat,
As suiteth royalty:
No lack was there of the ship’s best fare,
And grog flow’d copiously.
Puss joins the carousal,
And both did quaff, and both did laugh,
And both sang merrily:
Till Puss could stay no more away,
But came to join the glee.
his pleasantry.
His tail he whisk’d, and leapt and frisk’d,
As he was wont before:
Whereat the king and eke the queen
For very mirth did roar.
The royal whim
Then up he gat, and sware an oath—
That, for so droll a thing,
In barter, of his choicest goods
A shipload he would bring.
indulged at much cost.
Thereat the captain—“Done,” he cried
“A bargain by my fay!”
And sent his whole ship’s-company
To fetch the goods away.
A merry night.
Now laugh’d the king and laugh’d the Queen,
And laugh’d the captain he:
A bargain struck at festive board
Doth please so mightily.
The goods were brought, the ship was fraught,
And stow’d away full tight.
The king and queen, they drank till e’en,
And slept on board that night.
The next morning.
The captain rose at early dawn
And call’d to th’ king anon:
“This cat is thine, this cargo’s mine;
And now I must begone.”
The king awoke and waked the queen,
Who slept so heavily,
That full ten minutes pass’d away,
Before that she could see.
The king’s maudlin humour.
Then clasping Puss within her arms
She nursed him like a child.
The king his humour now was sad;
Nathless the monarch smiled.
The king and queen depart with puss.
Then down the vessel’s side he stepp’d,
And down the queen stepp’d she.
And Puss was handed down perforce
To join their company.
Alongside lay the king’s canoe,
Well mann’d with negroes ten;
Who swift row’d off the royal pair,
With Puss all snug between.
The ship weighs anchor,
Then sung the Captain—“all hand’s up,
The anchor haul amain:
Unfurl the sails, and point the prow
For British lands again.”
and sails homeward.
Tis done: from out the tranquil bay
Our goodly vessel glides;
And, homeward bound, on Ocean’s back
Right gallantly she rides.

PART III.

Dick’s whole estate.
NOW when the merchant gave to Dick
That kitten for his own,
No thing he had alive or dead
On earth save it alone.
His regret at its loss;
And so enamour’d had he grown
Of this his property,
That sooth his heart did sorely smart
When Puss was sent to sea.
His melancholy vein,
Then all was lonely as before;
Again he rued his plight:
He moped in solitude all day,
And lay awake all night.
and wayward fancy.
So dismal and so desolate
The granary now it seem’d,
He long’d in the green fields to be,
And where the sunshine gleam’d.
He deserts his trust,
Alas! how weak our nature is
Its cravings to resist:
For Dick betray’d his master’s trust
To follow his own list.
and wanders into the fields.
He stroll’d abroad into the fields,
He knew not where nor why;
Regardless of his duty quite
About the granary.
The Lord Mayor’s day.
Now as it chanced the new Lord Mayor
Of London, that same day,
To meet the king at Westminster
In state had ta’en his way.
Bow bells
With such a charge the city-barge
Did proudly flaunt along:
And the bells of Bow were nothing slow
To greet him with—ding, dong.
heard by Dick.
While truant Dick all sad and sick
Was wandering in despair,
Hark! hark! the music of Bow-bells
Came wafted on the air.
What they seemed to say.
They seem’d to say—Turn Whit-ting-ton:
Again turn Whit-ting-ton:
And when he listen’d still, they said—
Lord May-or of Lon-don.
Again he heard the self-same words
Repeated by the chimes;
Yet trusted not, till he had heard
The same an hundred times.
His repentance and return.
“It must be so: and I will go
Back to my granary.
Oh shame! to be so false while he
Was true and kind to me.”
He turn’d, and reach’d the granary
Before the fall of day:
And not a living soul e’er knew
That he had run away.
his good resolves,
This foolish prank he sorely rued;
But now that it was o’er,
And he all right again, he vow’d
He ne’er would do so more.
rewarded by peace of mind.
And so that night in peace he slept,
And so to joy he rose:
But while he slept, he thought he trod
Upon the Lord Mayor’s toes.
His prophetic dream.
Patience—patience! my little boy;
Take heed to save your skin:
The Lord Mayor is a portly man,
And thou but small and thin.
Beware of cage, beware of cat
That tails hath three times three:
For he may strip, and he may whip,
And he may ’mprison thee.
All in his sleep this sage advice
Seem’d whisper’d to his ear:
Nathless right on the Lord Mayor’s toe
He stood withouten fear.
A visiter
Again the day had pass’d away,
And night was creeping o’er,
When such a knock as mote him shock
Was thunder’d at his door.
brings tidings of his luck.
“Hallo! hallo! why batter so?”
In trembling voice he sung:
Whereat wide-open flew the door,
And in the Captain sprung.
“Good luck, good luck! my jolly buck!
Why whimper there and whine?
Cheer up now Maister Whittington,
For—all the cargo’s thine.”
His incredulity.
But Dick was so much used to woe,
He dared not trust on weal:
Nor had he zest to point a jest
To rouse the sailor’s peal.
The congratulations of the household.
Till soon the household made aware
Came rattling at the door,
And greeted Maister Whittington,
Who was poor Dick before.
They led him forth a man of worth,
And humbly call’d him Sire;
And placed him in a huge arm-chair
Before the merchant’s fire.
The good man heard the rumour’d word
And eke his daughter fair;
And both ran straight to where he sate
All in this huge arm-chair.
’Twas then the merchant laugh’d aloud,
And then the maiden smiled:
And then the servants bow’d to him
They had before reviled.
The virtue of riches.
For Poverty may blameless be,
Yet is an unblest thing;
And wealth, for all that good men preach,
Doth sure obeisance bring.
This truth found Dick, who grew full quick
Into an honour’d man;
Yet was he loth to let his luck
Abide where it began.
His active industry,
So join’d he jolly venturers
In every good emprise;
It was no niggard share he staked
In all their argosies.
rewarded.
All lucky he came off at sea;
But luckier far on land,
Whenas the merchant’s daughter fair
Gave him her heart and hand.
His honours.
Next he became an Alderman,
And Lord Mayor before long:
And then—oh! how the bells of Bow
Did greet him with ding-dong.
E’en on that day they seem’d to say
Lord May-or of Lon-don:
But when he listen’d still they said
Sir Rich-ard Whit-ting-ton.
His charity.
Then thought he on the luckless lad
That swept the granary floor;
Nor ever in the pride of wealth
Did he forget the poor.
And so God save our good Lord Mayor,
And give him wealth and wit:
But never let a prentice-lad
Dick Whittington forget.

ship at sea

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