The Fishmonger’s Lament Poem by Charles Robert Forrester

1.
'I'll fly—yes, I'll fly from my country, I will,
For at ease I am ill;—
I'll go out of Britain, or out of my mind,
For I find
Every plaice I behold—makes me think of my maid,
Who my love has repaid
With disdain!
Ah! she little knows what my heart feels;
Yet she laughs at my pain;
Cruel soul! she would laugh were I laid by the heels!'

2.
'She look'd simple and gay, like a dolphin at play;
How her errors were hid!
I thought her a lamb (lack-a-day!)
She proved a she-wolf, and made me a lam-prey!—
She did!

3.
'My heart it is lost, and my stomach's gone quite;
Morn and night,
I do nothing but whimper and weep;—
O! so deep,
A thorn in my heart she hath stuck,
(The more's my ill-luck!)
But oh! tho' she wont let me woo her,
If able I were,
Yet I ne'er
Would send that thorn-back again to her!

4.
Like an oyster's, I'll let my beard grow,
Which may show,
All the world how I grieve at my loss:—
It's a toss!
A miracle!—If I survive her rejection
Of my fond affection;
For I'm no philosopher (alas! my poor head!)
In Greek I'm no dab,
And am not deeper red,
Than a boil'd lobster—a cray, or a crab!

5.
: Oh! never did woman so torture and tussle man!
I bade her remember that I was a Christian soul;
Quoth she (and her laughter knew no control)
'Your soul may be Christian, but you're a Muscle-man!'

6.
'She call'd me a fright, and an elfish man!—
And forgot all the rings,
The gew-gaws and pretty things,
I gave her so freely to win her hard heart;
But when I so gen'rously had made her look smart,
To my view;
(Oh! she made me smart too!'
For she call'd me a scaley and sell-fish-man!'

7.
Oh! madness! despair, and distraction!
I see I shall do some blind action.
My heart is burnt out, and my brain is on fire,
I'll kill myself—ere I expire;—
Shall I shoot—hang, or drown?
Drown!
I've got but one chance (a main chance it shall be)
I will rush to the sea!
For sharks are less cruel than she;
There a pike may run clean thro' my gizzard,
And finish my fate which, indeed, is hard!
My sorrow o'er terror prevails—
So maiden—adieu!
And fair England too!
I may find some compassion in Whales!'