Oh! sadly sing my weeping Muse
‘Till Echo mourn again;
An honest Tallow-Chandler’s dirge,
Should be a melting strain.
Although no hero, Dicky Dip,
And living, aye, in peace,
His deeds would not disgrace the pen
Of Homer-Bard of Greece.
If Southey, in chaste elegance,
His life to write should chuse;
‘Twould be but neighbourly-as Dick
Lived near the Royal Mews.
Or blandest Moore in jewel-verse,
His eulogy might pour;-
For Dick who read a-Little once,
Now wished to study-Moore.
For other’s woes, his neighbours know,
Poor Dicky keenly felt,-
The wants of fellow-creatures made
The Tallow-Chandler melt!
His money-bags were full of gold,
And pity on his lip,
And all the poor that came to buy,
He let them have-a dip!
Tho’ damsels short he lov’d right well,
He better lov’d long nights,
For he thought not of his heart so much
As he thought of-his lights.
And he preferred a slender form
In maidens fair and chaste;
Yet, being saving, he was grieved
To see a taper waste!
Tho’ he was far from all his friends,
And relatives most dear,
Whene’er they wanted aid of him,
They always found him-near.
Quoth he: “Trade is an ocean wide;
“I must provide for gales;
“For like unto a sailor, I
“Depend upon my sales!”
All dogs Dick lov’d as guardians true
Of property from knaves;
Yet (oh! ’twas strange!) most gladly he
Provided them with graves.
In hot disputes, or quarrels fierce,
Where blows were like to fall,
He proved himself a man of wax,
By running-from them all.
The Widow Coles sought Dicky once,
And fat and rich was she,
But she lov’d drops, so he declined,
To make her-Mrs. D—.
She had a thousand pounds or more,
Or Rumor told some flams-
Her pounds with Dick had weight, but then
He’d a scruple ‘gainst her drams!
And so he single liv’d, and look’d
As lean as any rat,
And all declared his trade would fail,
Unless that he got-fat!
His eyes grew dim-his limbs grew weak,
He sad began to turn,
He found that, like a candle-wick,
Life would not longer burn.
A winding-sheet a warning gave
His life would quickly slip;
And in his mould, original,
Did Death cast Dicky Dip!
Ah! little did he think his goods
Strange hands would so soon handle;-
For he was buried by torch-light,
His stock sold-by the candle!
(Charles Robert Forrester)
More Poetry from Charles Robert Forrester:
Charles Robert Forrester Poems based on Topics: Man, Sales, Light, Life, Honesty & Integrity, Sadness, Property, Friendship, Gold, Heroism, Money & WealthReaders Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Man Poems, Life Poems, Night Poems, Light Poems, Sadness Poems, War & Peace Poems, Friendship Poems, Gold Poems, Money & Wealth Poems, Heroism Poems, Business & Commerce PoemsBased on Keywords: scruple, disputes, mews, eulogy, southey, torch-light, drams, dicky, fellow-creatures, coles, money-bags