A Dialogue Betwixt an Exciseman and Death
‘The King of Heaven a warrant got,And sealèd it without delay,And he did give the same to Death,For him to serve straightway,’ &c.]
UPON a time when Titan’s steeds were drivenTo drench themselves beneath the western heaven;And sable Morpheus had his curtains spread,And silent night had laid the world to bed;’Mongst other night-birds which did seek for prey,A blunt exciseman, which abhorred the day,Was rambling forth to seek himself a booty’Mongst merchant’s goods which had not paid the duty;But walking all alone, Death chanced to meet him,And in this manner did begin to greet him.
DEATH.
Stand, who comes here? what means this knave to peepAnd skulk abroad, when honest men should sleep?Speak, what’s thy name? and quickly tell me this,Whither thou goest, and what thy business is?
EXCISEMAN.
Whate’er my business is, thou foul-mouthed scold,I’d have you know I scorn to be controlledBy any man that lives; much less by thou,Who blurtest out thou know’st not what, nor how;I go about my lawful business; andI’ll make you smart for bidding of me stand.
DEATH.
Imperious coxcomb! is your stomach vexed?Pray slack your rage, and hearken what comes next:I have a writ to take you up; therefore,To chafe your blood, I bid you stand, once more.
EXCISEMAN.
A writ to take me up! excuse me, sir,You do mistake, I am an officerIn public service, for my private wealth;My business is, if any seek by stealthTo undermine the state, I do discoverTheir falsehood; therefore hold your hand,—give over.
DEATH.
Nay, fair and soft! ’tis not so quickly doneAs you conceive it is: I am not goneA jot the sooner for your hasty chat,Nor bragging language; for I tell you flat’Tis more than so, though fortune seem to thwart us,Such easy terms I don’t intend shall part us.With this impartial arm I’ll make you feelMy fingers first, and with this shaft of steelI’ll peck thy bones! as thou alive wert hated,So dead, to dogs thou shalt be segregated.
EXCISEMAN.
I’d laugh at that; I would thou didst but dareTo lay thy fingers on me; I’d not spareTo hack thy carcass till my sword was broken,I’d make thee eat the words which thou hast spoken;All men should warning take by thy transgression,How they molested men of my profession.My service to the State is so well known,That should I but complain, they’d quickly ownMy public grievances; and give me rightTo cut your ears, before to-morrow night.
DEATH.
Well said, indeed! but bootless all, for IAm well acquainted with thy villany;I know thy office, and thy trade is such,Thy service little, and thy gains are much:Thy brags are many; but ’tis vain to swagger,And think to fight me with thy gilded dagger:As I abhor thy person, place, and threat,So now I’ll bring thee to the judgment-seat.
EXCISEMAN.
The judgment-seat! I must confess that wordDoth cut my heart, like any sharpened sword:What! come t’ account! methinks the dreadful soundOf every word doth make a mortal wound,Which sticks not only in my outward skin,But penetrates my very soul within.’Twas least of all my thoughts that ever DeathWould once attempt to stop excisemen’s breath.But since ’tis so, that now I do perceiveYou are in earnest, then I must relieveMyself another way: come, we’ll be friends;If I have wrongèd thee, I’ll make th’ amends.Let’s join together; I’ll pass my word this nightShall yield us grub, before the morning light.Or otherwise (to mitigate my sorrow),Stay here, I’ll bring you gold enough to-morrow.
DEATH.
To-morrow’s gold I will not have; and thouShalt have no gold upon to-morrow: nowMy final writ shall to th’ execution have thee,All earthly treasure cannot help or save thee.
EXCISEMAN.
Then woe is me! ah! how was I befooled!I thought that gold (which answereth all things) couldHave stood my friend at any time to bail me!But grief grows great, and now my trust doth fail me.Oh! that my conscience were but clear within,Which now is rackèd with my former sin;With horror I behold my secret stealing,My bribes, oppression, and my graceless dealing;My office-sins, which I had clean forgotten,Will gnaw my soul when all my bones are rotten:I must confess it, very grief doth force me,Dead or alive, both God and man doth curse me.Let all Excisemen hereby warning take,To shun their practice for their conscience sake.
The Messenger of Mortality;
OR LIFE AND DEATH CONTRASTED IN A DIALOGUE BETWIXT DEATH AND A LADY.
[ONE of Charles Lamb’s most beautiful and plaintive poems was suggested by this old dialogue. The tune is given in Chappell’s Popular Music, p. 167. In Carey’s Musical Century, 1738, it is called the ‘Old tune of Death and the Lady.’ The four concluding lines of the present copy of Death and the Lady are found inscribed on tomb-stones in village church-yards in every part of England. They are not contained, however, in the broadside with which our reprint has been carefully collated.]
DEATH.
FAIR lady, lay your costly robes aside,No longer may you glory in your pride;Take leave of all your carnal vain delight,I’m come to summon you away this night!
LADY.
What bold attempt is this? pray let me knowFrom whence you come, and whither I must go?Must I, who am a lady, stoop or bowTo such a pale-faced visage? Who art thou?
DEATH.
Do you not know me? well! I tell thee, then,It’s I that conquer all the sons of men!No pitch of honour from my dart is free;My name is Death! have you not heard of me?
LADY.
Yes! I have heard of thee time after time,But being in the glory of my prime,I did not think you would have called so soon.Why must my morning sun go down at noon?
DEATH.
Talk not of noon! you may as well be mute;This is no time at all for to dispute:Your riches, garments, gold, and jewels brave,Houses and lands must all new owners have;Though thy vain heart to riches was inclined,Yet thou must die and leave them all behind.
LADY.
My heart is cold; I tremble at the news;There’s bags of gold, if thou wilt me excuse,And seize on them, and finish thou the strifeOf those that are aweary of their life.Are there not many bound in prison strong,In bitter grief of soul have languished long,Who could but find the grave a place of rest,From all the grief in which they are oppressed?Besides, there’s many with a hoary head,And palsy joints, by which their joys are fled;Release thou them whose sorrows are so great,But spare my life to have a longer date.
DEATH.
Though some by age be full of grief and pain,Yet their appointed time they must remain:I come to none before their warrant’s sealed,And when it is, they must submit and yield.I take no bribe, believe me, this is true;Prepare yourself to go; I’m come for you.
LADY.
Death, be not so severe, let me obtainA little longer time to live and reign!Fain would I stay if thou my life will spare;I have a daughter beautiful and fair,I’d live to see her wed whom I adore:Grant me but this and I will ask no more.
DEATH.
This is a slender frivolous excuse;I have you fast, and will not let you loose;Leave her to Providence, for you must goAlong with me, whether you will or no;I, Death, command the King to leave his crown,And at my feet he lays his sceptre down!Then if to kings I don’t this favour give,But cut them off, can you expect to liveBeyond the limits of your time and space!No! I must send you to another place.
LADY.
You learnèd doctors, now express your skill,And let not Death of me obtain his will;Prepare your cordials, let me comfort find,My gold shall fly like chaff before the wind.
DEATH.
Forbear to call, their skill will never do,They are but mortals here as well as you:I give the fatal wound, my dart is sure,And far beyond the doctor’s skill to cure.How freely can you let your riches flyTo purchase life, rather than yield to die!But while you flourish here with all your store,You will not give one penny to the poor;Though in God’s name their suit to you they make,You would not spare one penny for His sake!The Lord beheld wherein you did amiss,And calls you hence to give account for this!
LADY.
Oh! heavy news! must I no longer stay?How shall I stand in the great judgment-day?[Down from her eyes the crystal tears did flow:She said], None knows what I do undergo:Upon my bed of sorrow here I lie;My carnal life makes me afraid to die.My sins, alas! are many, gross and foul,Oh, righteous Lord! have mercy on my soul!And though I do deserve thy righteous frown,Yet pardon, Lord, and pour a blessing down.[Then with a dying sigh her heart did break,And did the pleasures of this world forsake.]
Thus may we see the high and mighty fall,For cruel Death shows no respect at allTo any one of high or low degreeGreat men submit to Death as well as we.Though they are gay, their life is but a span—A lump of clay—so vile a creature’s man.Then happy those whom Christ has made his care,Who die in the Lord, and ever blessèd are.The grave’s the market-place where all men meet,Both rich and poor, as well as small and great.If life were merchandise that gold could buy,The rich would live, the poor alone would die.
England’s Alarm;
OR THE PIOUS CHRISTIAN’S SPEEDY CALL TO REPENTANCE
For the many aggravating sins too much practised in our present mournful times: as Pride, Drunkenness, Blasphemous Swearing, together with the Profanation of the Sabbath; concluding with the sin of wantonness and disobedience; that upon our hearty sorrow and forsaking the same the Lord may save us for his mercy’s sake.
[FROM the cluster of ‘ornaments’ alluded to in the ninth verse of the following poem, we are inclined to fix the date about 1653. The present reprint is from an old broadside, without printer’s name or date, in possession of Mr. J. R. Smith.]
YOU sober-minded christians now draw near,Labour to learn these pious lessons here;For by the same you will be taught to knowWhat is the cause of all our grief and woe.
We have a God who sits enthroned above;He sends us many tokens of his love:Yet we, like disobedient children, stillDeny to yield submission to His will.
The just command which He upon us lays,We must confess we have ten thousand waysTransgressed; for see how men their sins pursue,As if they did not fear what God could do.
Behold the wretched sinner void of shame,He values not how he blasphemes the nameOf that good God who gave him life and breath,And who can strike him with the darts of death!
The very little children which we meet,Amongst the sports and pastimes in the street,We very often hear them curse and swear,Before they’ve learned a word of any prayer.
’Tis much to be lamented, for I fearThe same they learn from what they daily hear;Be careful then, and don’t instruct them so,For fear you prove their dismal overthrow.
Both young and old, that dreadful sin forbear;The tongue of man was never made to swear,But to adore and praise the blessèd name,By whom alone our dear salvation came.
Pride is another reigning sin likewise;Let us behold in what a strange disguiseYoung damsels do appear, both rich and poor;The like was ne’er in any age before.
What artificial ornaments they wear,Black patches, paint, and locks of powdered hair;Likewise in lofty hoops they are arrayed,As if they would correct what God had made.
Yet let ’em know, for all those youthful charms,They must lie down in death’s cold frozen arms!Oh think on this, and raise your thoughts aboveThe sin of pride, which you so dearly love.
Likewise, the wilful sinners that transgressThe righteous laws of God by drunkenness,They do abuse the creatures which were sentPurely for man’s refreshing nourishment.
Many diseases doth that sin attend,But what is worst of all, the fatal end:Let not the pleasures of a quaffing bowlDestroy and stupify thy active soul.
Perhaps the jovial drunkard over night,May seem to reap the pleasures of delight,While for his wine he doth in plenty call;But oh! the sting of conscience, after all,
Is like a gnawing worm upon the mind.Then if you would the peace of conscience find,A sober conversation learn with speed,For that’s the sweetest life that man can lead.
Be careful that thou art not drawn away,By foolishness, to break the Sabbath-day;Be constant at the pious house of prayer,That thou mayst learn the christian duties there.
For tell me, wherefore should we carp and careFor what we eat and drink, and what we wear;And the meanwhile our fainting souls excludeFrom that refreshing sweet celestial food?
Yet so it is, we, by experience, findMany young wanton gallants seldom mindThe church of God, but scornfully derideThat sacred word by which they must be tried.
A tavern, or an alehouse, they adore,And will not come within the church beforeThey’re brought to lodge under a silent tomb,And then who knows how dismal is their doom!
Though for awhile, perhaps, they flourish here,And seem to scorn the very thoughts of fear,Yet when they’re summoned to resign their breath,They can’t outbrave the bitter stroke of death!
Consider this, young gallants, whilst you may,Swift-wingèd time and tide for none will stay;And therefore let it be your christian care,To serve the Lord, and for your death prepare.
There is another crying sin likewise:Behold young gallants cast their wanton eyesOn painted harlots, which they often meetAt every creek and corner of the street,
By whom they are like dismal captives ledTo their destruction; grace and fear is fled,Till at the length they find themselves betrayed,And for that sin most sad examples made.
Then, then, perhaps, in bitter tears they’ll cry,With wringing hands, against their company,Which did betray them to that dismal state!Consider this before it is too late.
Likewise, sons and daughters, far and near,Honour your loving friends, and parents dear;Let not your disobedience grieve them so,Nor cause their agèd eyes with tears to flow.
What a heart-breaking sorrow it must be,To dear indulgent parents, when they seeTheir stubborn children wilfully run onAgainst the wholesome laws of God and man!
Oh! let these things a deep impression makeUpon your hearts, with speed your sins forsake;For, true it is, the Lord will never blessThose children that do wilfully transgress.
Now, to conclude, both young and old I pray,Reform your sinful lives this very day,That God in mercy may his love extend,And bring the nation’s troubles to an end.