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[Page 16]
[handwritten] 1785.
Morning Chronicle
July 29
For the MORNING CHRONICLE.
VERSES,
Written upon STEPHEN RUTTER,
A singular Character, well known in the Western Road,
for shewing Travellers the nearest way to WINDSOR.
ON the great road, that leads you down
To Bath, near Colnbrook's famous town,
There dwells a man, of high renown,
By all yclep'd poor Stephen.
In scanty ringlets, wanton led
The silver locks, hung o'er his head,
And tacitly, they ask the bread,
Implor'd by honest Stephen.
All ye that would old care beguile,
Or mirth impell'd, at nature smile,
Or save your horse at least a mile,
I charge ye lift to Stephen.
All ye who seek for joy on one day,
And drive your gigs and sulks on Sunday,
If you would meet good luck on Monday,
Remember poor old Stephen.
All ye who seek fair Windsor's gate,
To see your King, devoid of state,
And learn to be both good and great,
Incline your eat to Stephen.
Ye girls on Windsor terrace seen,
If e'er you wish (with artless mien)
To be belov'd like Britain's Queen,
I pray ye think on Stephen.
With decent smile, and rural grace,
He doffs his hat, and tells his café;
The Clement Cottrell of the place,
They've nick-nam'd honest Stephen.
Persuasion dwells upon his tongue,
He melts the hearts of old and young
And all self-pleas'd the pence is flung,
To solace poor old Stephen.
E'er fleeting Time had shorn his wing,
'Twas he was foremost in the ring;
For who would dance and blythely sing,
So well as jocund Stephen.
His fame was spread the hamlet round,
By all caress'd, by all renown'd,
The village maids, with rapture crown'd
They gave their hearts to Stephen.
Young Bacchus, with a smile divine,
(Full oft had Stephen seen his shrine)
Immerg'd his pencil deep in wine,
To paint the nose of Stephen.
A nose, Gods look'd on with surprise,
And girls survey'd, with wond'ring eyes,
It's beauty, breadth, its length, and size,
So vast a nose had Stephen.
What man but must with envy die,
So fine a feature to descry,
For widows pant, and virgins sigh,
To grasp the nose of Stephen.
Each ruby pimple, that you see,
Holds in its the womb, they all agree,
A hogshead (in epitome)
Of brandy drank by Stephen.
But envious fate (oh dire to tell,)
Enrag'd to see such graces dwell
On earth, within a mortal shell,
*Seiz'd half of poor old Stephen.
Yet tho' he bends 'neath fate's controul,
And comfortless his hours roll,
Unwounded is the manly soul
Of upright, honest Stephen.
[Second column]
Tho' from the page of science driven,
To him the gift of grace was given,
He humbly bows his head to Heaven
So grateful is poor Stephen.
There let the Stoick tribes combine,
See age, tho' wretched, not repine,
Then their philosophy resign,
And learn to bead from Stephen.
Snug in his hut, he drinks his bub,
(Tho' Boreas gives him many rub)
Its size, the Grecian Cynic's tub,
But large enough for Stephen.
An ass he has, both fat and sleek,
Like Baalam's charger, wise and meek,
When Sol the Western clouds does streak,
He's faddl'd for poor Stephen.
This ass, the wonder of the plain
Was bred in Beaulicu's blest domain,
Where all the loves and grace's reign,
And given to poor Stephen.
His tunes, I've heard the shepherds say,
Were full as sweet, to hear him bray,
As when Bucephalus did neigh :
So fine an ass has Stephen.
I hope no caitiffs, as they pass,
Will steal poor ned, -- for then, alas,
The man must live, without an ass,
And all will sigh for Stephen
At eve, when mounted on his ass,
The crouds admire, to see him pass,
With joy elate, none can surpass
The majesty of Stephen.
Colnbrook, July 21, 1785 J. WILLIAMS
* about eigthteen months ago, poor Stephen was visited with a stroke of the palsy, which deprived him of the use of one side of his body.