Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, REJECTED ADDRESSES: THE STRANGER, BY MOMUS MEDLAR, by JAMES SMITH (1775-1839)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

REJECTED ADDRESSES: THE STRANGER, BY MOMUS MEDLAR, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Who has e'er been at drury must needs know
Last Line: And high diddle ho diddle, pop tweedle dee.
Subject(s): Theater & Theaters


WHO has e'er been at Drury must needs know the Stranger,
A wailing old Methodist, gloomy and wan,
A husband suspicious -- his wife acted Ranger,
She took to her heels, and left poor Hypocon.
Her martial gallant swore that truth was a libel,
That marriage was thraldom, elopement no sin;
Quoth she, I remember the words of my Bible --
My spouse is a Stranger, and I'll take him in.
With my sentimentalibus lachrymae roar'em,
And pathos and bathos delightful to see;
And chop and change ribs, a-la-mode Germanorum,
And high diddle ho diddle, pop tweedle dee.

To keep up her dignity no longer rich enough,
Where was her plate? -- why, 'twas laid on the shelf;
Her land fuller's earth, and her great riches kitchen-stuff --
Dressing the dinner instead of herself.
No longer permitted in diamonds to sparkle,
Now plain Mrs. Haller, of servants the dread,
With a heart full of grief, and a pan full of charcoal,
She lighted the company up to their bed.

Incensed at her flight, her poor Hubby in dudgeon
Roam'd after his rib in a gig and a pout,
Till, tired with his journey the peevish curmudgeon
Sat down and blubber'd just like a church-spout.
One day on a bench as dejected and sad he laid,
Hearing a squash, he cried, Damn it, what's that?
'Twas a child of the count's, in whose service lived Adelaide,
Soused in the river, and squall'd like a cat.

Having drawn his young excellence up to the bank, it
Appear'd that himself was all dripping, I swear;
No wonder he soon became dry as a blanket,
Exposed as he was to the count's son and heir,
Dear sir, quoth the count, in reward of your valour,
To shew that my gratitude is not mere talk,
You shall eat a beefsteak with my cook, Mrs. Haller,
Cut from the rump with her own knife and fork.

Behold, now the count gave the Stranger a dinner,
With gunpowder-tea, which you know brings a ball,
And, thin as he was, that he might not grow thinner,
He made of the Stranger no stranger at all.
At dinner fair Adelaide brought up a chicken --
A bird that she never had met with before;
But, seeing him, scream'd, and was carried off kicking,
And he bang'd his nob 'gainst the opposite door.

To finish my tale without roundaboutation,
Young master and missee besieged their papa;
They sung a quartetto in grand blubberation --
The Stranger cried Oh! Mrs. Haller cried Ah!
Though pathos and sentiment largely are dealt in,
I have no good moral to give in exchange;
For though she, as a cook, might be given to melting,
The Stranger's behaviour was certainly strange,
With this sentimentalibus lachrymae roar'em,
And pathos and bathos delightful to see,
And chop and change ribs, a-la-mode Germanorum,
And high diddle ho diddle, pop tweedle dee.





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