Classic Poem

Her eyes these lines acquainted with her mind
Had scarcely made, when o'er the hill behind
She heard a woman cry: “Ah well-a-day,
What shall I do? Go home, or fly, or stay?”
Admir'd Marina rose, and with a pace
As graceful as the goddesses did trace
O'er stately Ida when fond Paris' doom
Kindled the fire should mighty Troy entomb,
She went to aid the woman in distress,
(True beauty never was found merciless)
Yet durst she not go nigh lest, being spied,
Some villain's outrage that might then betide,
For ought she knew, unto the crying maid,
Might grasp with her: by thickets which array'd
The high sea-bounding hill so near she went,
She saw what wight made such loud dreriment.
Loud? yes: sung right: for since the azure sky
Imprison'd first the world, a mortal's cry
With greater clangour never pierc'd the air.
A wight she was so far from being fair;
None could be foul esteem'd compar'd with her.
Describing foulness, pardon if I err,
Ye shepherds' daughters, and ye gentle swains!
My Muse would gladly chant more lovely strains:
Yet since on miry grounds she trod, for doubt
Of sinking, all in haste, thus wades she out.
As when great Neptune in his height of pride
The inland creeks fills with a high spring-tide,
Great shoals of fish among the oysters hie,
Which by a quick ebb on the shores left dry,
The fishes yawn, the oysters gapen wide:
So broad her mouth was. As she stood and cried,
She tore her elvish knots of hair, as black
And full of dust as any collier's sack.
Her eyes, unlike, were like her body right,
Squint and misshapen, one dun, t'other white.
As in a picture limn'd unto the life,
Or carved by a curious workman's knife,
If twenty men at once should come to see
The great effects of untir'd industry,
Each sev'rally would think the picture's eye
Was fix'd on him and on no stander-by:
So as she bawling was upon the bank,
If twice five hundred men stood on a rank,
Her ill face towards them, every one would say,
She looks on me; when she another way
Had cast her eyes, as on some rock or tree,
And on no one of all that company.
Her nose (O crooked nose!) her mouth o'erhung,
As it would be directed by her tongue:
Her forehead such, as one might near avow
Some ploughman there had lately been at plough.
Her face so scorch'd was, and so vild it shows,
As on a pear-tree she had scar'd the crows.
Within a tanner's fat I oft have eyed
(That three moons there had lain) a large ox-hide
In liquor mix'd with strongest bark (for gain)
Yet had not ta'en one-half so deep a stain
As had her skin, and that as hard well-nigh
As any brawns long harden'd in the sty.
Her shoulders such, as I have often seen
A silly cottage on a village green
Might change his corner-posts, in good behoof,
For four such under-proppers to his roof.
Housewives, go hire her, if you yearly gave
A lambkin more than use, you that might save
In washing-beetles, for her hands would pass
To serve that purpose, though you daily wash.
For other hidden parts thus much I say;
As ballad-mongers on a market-day
Taking their stand, one (with as harsh a noise
As ever cart-wheel made) squeaks the sad choice
Of Tom the Miller with a golden thumb,
Who, cross'd in love, ran mad and deaf and dumb;
Half part he chants, and will not sing it out,
But thus he speaks to his attentive rout:
Thus much for love I warbled from my breast,
And, gentle friends, for money take the rest:
So speak I to the over-longing ear,
That would the rest of her description hear,
Much have I sung for love, the rest (not common)
Martial will show for coin in's crabbed woman.
If e'er you saw a pedant 'gin prepare
To speak some graceful speech to master mayor,
And being bashful, with a quaking doubt
That in his eloquence he may be out,
He oft steps forth, as oft turns back again;
And long 'tis ere he ope his learned vein:
Think so Marina stood: for now she thought
To venture forth, then some conjecture wrought
Her to be jealous left this ugly wight,
Since like a witch she look'd, through spells of night
Might make her body thrall that yet was free
To all the foul intents of witchery:
This drew her back again. At last she broke
Through all fond doubts, went to her, and bespoke
In gentle manner thus: Good day, good maid;
With that her cry she on a sudden stay'd,
And rubb'd her squint eyes with her mighty fist
But as a miller, having ground his grist,
Lets down his flood-gates with a speedy fall,
And quarring up the passage therewithal,
The waters swell in spleen, and never stay
Till by some cleft they find another way:
So when her tears were stopp'd from either eye
Her singults, blubb'rings seem'd to make them fly
Out at her oyster-mouth and nosethrils wide.
Can there (quoth fair Marina) e'er betide
In these sweet groves a wench so great a wrong,
That should enforce a cry so loud, so long?
On these delightful plains how can there be
So much as heard the name of villainy?
Except when shepherds in their gladsome fit
Sing hymns to Pan that they are free from it.
But show me, what hath caus'd thy grievous yell?
As late (quoth she) I went to yonder well,
(You cannot see it here; that grove doth cover
With his thick boughs his little channel over)
To fetch some water, as I use, to dress
My master's supper (you may think of flesh;
But well I wot he tasteth no such dish)
Of rotchets, whitings, or such common fish,
That with his net he drags into his boat:
Among the flags below there stands his cote,
A simple one, thatch'd o'er with reed and broom;
It hath a kitchen and a several room
For each of us.—But this is nought: you flee,
Replied Marine, I prithee answer me
To what I question'd. Do but hear me first,
Answer'd the hag. He is a man so curst,
Although I toil at home, and serve his swine,
Yet scarce allows he me whereon to dine:
In summer time on blackberries I live,
On crabs and haws, and what wild forests give:
In winter's cold, barefoot, I run to seek
For oysters and small winkles in each creek,
Whereon I feed, and on the meagre slone.
But if he home return and find me gone,
I still am sure to feel his heavy hand.
Alas and wealaway, since now I stand
In such a plight: for if I seek his door
He'll beat me ten times worse than e'er before.
What hast thou done? (yet ask'd Marina) say?
I with my pitcher lately took my way
(As late I said) to thilk same shaded spring,
Fill'd it, and homewards, rais'd my voice to sing;
But in my back return. I (hapless) spied
A tree of cherries wild, and them I eyed
With such a longing that unwares my foot
Got underneath a hollow-growing root;
Carrying my pot as maids use on their heads,
I fell with it, and broke it all to shreds.
This is my grief, this is my cause of moan.
And if some kind wight go not to atone
My surly master with me, wretched maid,
I shall be beaten dead. Be not afraid,
Said sweet Marina, hasten thee before;
I'll come to make thy peace: for since I sore
Do hunger, and at home thou hast small cheer,
(Need and supply grow far off, seldom near,)
To yonder grove I'll go to taste the spring,
And see what it affords for nourishing.
Thus parted they. And sad Marina blest
The hour she met the maid, who did invest
Her in assured hope she once should see
Her flock again and drive them merrily
To their flower-decked lair, and tread the shores
Of pleasant Albion through the well-pois'd oars
Of the poor fisherman that dwelt thereby.
But as a man who in a lottery
Hath ventur'd of his coin, ere he have ought,
Thinks this or that shall with his prize be bought,
And so enrich'd, march with the better rank,
When suddenly he's call'd, and all is blank:
To chaste Marina so doth Fortune prove,
“Statesmen and she are never firm in love.”