This as a falsehood Crafticanto treats;
And as his style is of strange elegance,
Gentle and tender, full of soft conceits,
(Much like our Boswell’s,) we will take a glance
At his sweet prose, and, if we can, make dance
His woven periods into careless rhyme;
O, little faery Pegasus! rear prance
Trot round the quarto ordinary time!
March, little Pegasus, with pawing hoof sublime!
LXXII.
Well, let us see, tenth book and chapter nine,
Thus Crafticant pursues his diary:
“’Twas twelve o’clock at night, the weather fine,
Latitude thirty-six; our scouts descry
A flight of starlings making rapidly
Towards Thibet. Mem.: birds fly in the night;
From twelve to half-past wings not fit to fly
For a thick fog the Princess sulky quite;
Call’d for an extra shawl, and gave her nurse a bite.
LXXIII.
“Five minutes before one brought down a moth
With my new double-barrel stew’d the thighs
And made a very tolerable broth
Princess turn’d dainty, to our great surprise,
Alter’d her mind, and thought it very nice;
Seeing her pleasant, try’d her with a pun,
She frown’d; a monstrous owl across us flies
About this time, a sad old figure of fun;
Bad omen this new match can’t be a happy one.
LXXIV.
“From two to half-past, dusky way we made,
Above the plains of Gobi, desert, bleak;
Beheld afar off, in the hooded shade
Of darkness, a great mountain (strange to speak),
Spitting, from forth its sulphur-baken peak,
A fan-shap’d burst of blood-red, arrowy fire,
Turban’d with smoke, which still away did reek,
Solid and black from that eternal pyre,
Upon the laden winds that scantly could respire.
LXXV.
“Just upon three o’clock a falling star
Created an alarm among our troop,
Kill’d a man-cook, a page, and broke a jar,
A tureen, and three dishes, at one swoop,
Then passing by the princess, singed her hoop:
Could not conceive what Coralline was at,
She clapp’d her hands three times and cry’d out ‘Whoop!’
Some strange Imaian custom. A large bat
Came sudden ‘fore my face, and brush’d against my hat.
LXXVI.
“Five minutes thirteen seconds after three,
Far in the west a mighty fire broke out,
Conjectur’d, on the instant, it might be,
The city of Balk ’twas Balk beyond all doubt:
A griffin, wheeling here and there about,
Kept reconnoitring us doubled our guard
Lighted our torches, and kept up a shout,
Till he sheer’d off the Princess very scar’d
And many on their marrow-bones for death prepar’d.
LXXVII.
“At half-past three arose the cheerful moon
Bivouack’d for four minutes on a cloud
Where from the earth we heard a lively tune
Of tambourines and pipes, serene and loud,
While on a flowery lawn a brilliant crowd
Cinque-parted danc’d, some half asleep reposed
Beneath the green-fan’d cedars, some did shroud
In silken tents, and ‘mid light fragrance dozed,
Or on the opera turf their soothed eyelids closed.
LXXVIII.
“Dropp’d my gold watch, and kill’d a kettledrum
It went for apoplexy foolish folks!
Left it to pay the piper a good sum
(I’ve got a conscience, maugre people’s jokes,)
To scrape a little favour; ‘gan to coax
Her Highness’ pug-dog got a sharp rebuff
She wish’d a game at whist made three revokes
Turn’d from myself, her partner, in a huff;
His majesty will know her temper time enough.
LXXIX.
“She cry’d for chess I play’d a game with her
Castled her king with such a vixen look,
It bodes ill to his Majesty (refer
To the second chapter of my fortieth book,
And see what hoity-toity airs she took).
At half-past four the morn essay’d to beam
Saluted, as we pass’d, an early rook
The Princess fell asleep, and, in her dream,
Talk’d of one Master Hubert, deep in her esteem.
LXXX.
“About
