Poem to Ryland

In a book compiled by grandson Samuel Beddome and found in the Angus Library there is a printed poem preserved with the heading we have reproduced here. It must be from the early 1740s.

ORIGINAL POETIC EPISTLE

From the late REV. BEN. B - ME, to the late REV. JOHN RYLAND; written from Tewksbury, the Day after he had left Bristol, his friend Ryland having accompanied him about ten Miles from Town.

DEAR BROTHER, WHEN of your company bereft,

I turn'd a little to the left;

I spurr'd my mare, and made her go
Thro' thick and thin, thro' hail and snow:
But she (alas!) is aged grown,
As by her pace may well be known.
To Tethrington (Tytherington) I came at last,
At nine o'clock, or somewhat past;
Down by the fire I straightway sat,
Hoping the snow wou'd soon abate.
From head to foot (alas) wet thro',
I dry'd my coat, and stockings too.
I ate-and drank, and fed my, Horse:
(The charge was small, the diet coarse:)
But now an hour full expir'd,
And I with waiting almost tir'd;
I call'd to know what was to pay,
Then took my horse and rode away.
Large flakes of snow came down apace,
And still the wind was in my face:
With feet benumb'd and spirits down,
At length I came to Newport town
Then on I passed to Cambridge Inn
And there arrived wet to the skin
Again I drank, again I ate,
And gave my horse a little meat
Again I dry'd, then on I went,
Nor e'er repin'd at what I spent.
Still heavy clouds obscur'd the sky,
Now rains descended from on high.
I travell'd on, and thought of you,
And Bristol friends, and you know who;
Perhaps (said I) some of them see
The beating storm, and think of me.
Sometimes I wish'd that heav'nly grace
Might thus bedew our fallen race.
'The Lord' (said I) 'with gentle show'rs
Visit these barren souls of ours,
Till ev'ry plant of grace within
Be like the earth more fresh and green!'
At Gloster now did I arrive,
A quarter wanting just of five;
At Mrs Smith's I made some stay,
Tir'd with the labours of the day.
Such acts of kindness there I met,
'Twou'd be ungrateful to forget.
A welcome glass, some cheering tea,
I wish'd my RYLAND there with me;
If ever you to Gloster come,
I'd have you make that house your home.
But still to Tewkesbury I must go;
There's nought enduring here below;
And now the heav'ns more fair and bright
(At even tide there oft is light)
I took the hint and mounted straight
And got to Tewkesbury just at eight.
O thou e'er-availing Power above
Accept the tribute of my love.
O thine upholder of my ways
Now move my lips to grateful praise!
This night I've had a little sleep
And onwards am engag'd to keep.
The Lord be with you, my dear friend,
And me to those I know commend,
To parents dear be love expressed,
And then to Mrs Evans next
First read, then burn these doggerel lines.
But I must haste - day brightly shines.
Then think of me as I of you,
My dearest friend once more adieu.

Poem A Letter

The same book that has the poem A Wish also has this playful one "A Letter", no doubt from the same period and written for his wife to be.

My sister most dear
To my instructions give ear
Be sober, be best, be genuine, be true
With a decorum behave
Be cheerful, yet grave,
And give unto each the respect that is due.

Pray don't stay long
We want you at home.
A week or two more may suffice,
Your virtue reveal'd
Your frailty conceal'd
A word is enough to the wise.

If a sweet heart you meet
That is proper and fit
To look to a nearer Relation.
Don't quickly refuse
Be in no haste to choose
There are never enough in the nation.

May you snake such a choice
That your friend may rejoice
That Mr Boswell e'er had such a Daughter
From your only Brother
Till you have another
Ben Beddome Bourton-on-the-Water.

Poem A Wish

We have not preserved entirely on this blog the poem by Beddome found in a  notebook at the Angus Library and headed A Wish. It is from about 1742 it seems (the year he proposed to Anne Steele).

Lord, in my soul implant thy fear:
Let faith, and hope, and love be there.
Preserve me from prevailing vice
When Satan tempts or lusts entice.
Of friendship's sweets may I partake,
Nor be forsaken, or forsake.
Let moderate plenty crown my board,
And God for all be still adored.
Let the companion of my youth
Be one of innocence and truth;
Let modest charms adorn her face,
And give her thy superior grace.
By heavenly art first make her thine,
Then make her willing to be mine.
My dwelling-place let Bourton be,
There let me live, and live to thee.

Poem Enigma

Enigma 229 is from the Ladies Diary of 1738 (when Beddome was 21) page 352. See here. The answer is revealed on page 356 (see below).

From dirty form, and filthy dress set free,

At length I enjoy a pleasing liberty:

From spots refin'd, and every blemish clear,

Ladies, like you, I'm innocent and fair.

I, quaker-like, am neat and plainly dust,

Yet oft in me the beauish fop's exprest.

Sometimes in black my mournful body's bound,

With costly gold sometimes I'm edg'd around.

No monstrous form, no horrid shape I bear,

Unarm'd I go, yet oft when I appear,

The stoutest souls are seiz'd with panic fear.

Th' insolvent debtor often I surprize,

Nor mind the wife's complaint, or children's cries.

With unrelenting force I seize the prey,

And to a gaol the lawful prize convey.

To vagabonds, whores, and such-like paltry stuff,

To pilfering knaves and rogues I'm always rough,

But unprovok'd, I'm peaceable enough.

The jarring feuds of friends I oft compose,

And settle peace between the greatest foes.

Love is my natural product;

I inspire An amorous warmth, and kindle mutual fire.

Like wide-mouth'd fame, thro' distant realms I fly,

Sometimes I tell the truth, and sometimes lye.

All this I do, but still my chiefest care

Is to oblige and please the charming fair.

Ladies, on you submissive I attend,

Your faithful servant, and your bosom friend.

In bulk I'm small, of all your slaves the least;

Yet trusted most, and still esteem'd the best.

Let servile fools at humble distance stand,

My office is to wait at your right hand.

There I attend from every drudgery free,

And even my mistress often stoops to me.

Whilst fortune smiles and crowns me with success,

I'm honour'd with each female's fond caress;

But if she frown, and I successless prove,

At once I lose both their respect and love.

Then all the marks of fem'nine rage I bear,

My tender tides they mangle, bruise, and tear,

And cast my feater'd limbs to rot i'th' open air.

Ye cruel dames, your utmost efforts try,

To name the thing you deal so coarsely by.

Answer (choose with cursor to see): "paper"