Grumbo Gigas.

Fee! faw! fum!
I smell the blood of an Englishman.
Dead or alive, I will have some.

Fe! fau! fum!
Sanguinem odoror Anglicum.
Seu vivum seu mortuum,
Bibendum est mihi aliquantum.

Jacob Bigelow

Jacob Bigelow was an American physician, botanist, and botanical illustrator. He was instrumental in the founding of Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts, the first rural cemetery in the United States and a precursor to America's public parks. Bigelow was a leading advocate for modernizing medicine and medical education, focusing on practical medicine and scientific advancements. His contributions to botany include the publication of 'American Medical Botany,' which combined his medical knowledge with detailed botanical illustrations.

Jacob Bigelow

Jackus Et Jilla.

Jacob Bigelow, Simple Poetry

Labor Et Cura.

Jacob Bigelow, Simple Poetry

Miles Redux.

Jacob Bigelow, Simple Poetry

Canis Kevensis.

Jacob Bigelow, Simple Poetry

English

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Miles Redux.

Who comes here?
A Grenadier.
What do you want?
A pot of beer.
Wheres your money?
Ive forgot.
Get you gone,
You drunken sot.

Heus! Quis illic?
Ductor militiæ.
Quid petis hic?
Cantharum cervisiæ.
Ubi moneta?
Loqueris oblito.
O, ebriose,
In malum abito.

Jacob Bigelow

In The Catacombs

Sam Brown was a fellow from way down East,
Who never was "staggered" in the least.
No tale of marvellous beast or bird
Could match the stories he had heard;
No curious place or wondrous view
"Was ekil to Podunk, I tell yu."

If they told him of Italy's sunny clime,
"Maine kin beat it, every time!"
If they marvelled at Ætna's fount of fire,
They roused his ire:
With an injured air
He'd reply, "I swear
I don't think much of a smokin' hill;
We've got a moderate little rill
Kin make yer old volcaner still;
Jes' pour old Kennebec down the crater,
'N' I guess it'll cool her fiery nater!"

They showed him a room where a queen had slept;
"'Twan't up to the tavern daddy kept."
They showed him Lucerne; but he had drunk
From the beautiful Mo...

Harlan Hoge Ballard

Labor Et Cura.

Double double,
Toil and trouble.
Fire burn and
Caldron bubble.

    Ingeminat labor,
    Ingeminante curâ,
    Cum flamma ardescit,
    Aqua ebullitura.

Jacob Bigelow

The Raven, Sexton, And Worm.

        (To Laura.)


        My Laura, your rebukes are prudish;
        For although flattery is rudish,
        Yet deference, not more than just,
        May be received without disgust.
        Am I a privilege denied
        Assumed by every tongue beside?
        And are you, fair and feminine,
        Prone to reject a verse benign?
        And is it an offence to tell
        A fact which all mankind knows well?
        Or with a poet's hand to trace
        The beaming lustre of your face?
        Nor tell in metaphor my tale,
        How the moon makes the planets pale?
        I check my song; and only gaze,
        Admiring what I may not praise.

        If you reject my tribute due,
        I'll moralise - despite...

John Gay

Rex Arthurus.

When King Arthur ruled the land,
He ruled it like a king:
He bought four pecks of barley-meal
To make a brave pudding.

A pudding brave the king did make
And stuffed it well with plums;
Great lumps of suet he put into it,
As big as both his thumbs.

The king and queen partook thereof,
And all the court beside;
And what they did not eat that night,
The queen next morning fried.

Angliæ rex imperio potitus,
Hordei nactus modium farinæ,
Ordinat cnâ properè institutâ
            Sternere mensam.

Mira farrago exoritur culinâ,
Turgidis uvis maculata passis
Intus et frustis adipis referta
            Pollicis instar.

Rex et affines epulantur omnes
Principes magni dominæque lectæ:
Alma regina exoriente luce

Jacob Bigelow

Old Sir John

Bald, with old eyes a blood-shot blue, he comes
Into the Boar's-Head Inn: the hot sweat streaks
His fulvous face, and all his raiment reeks
Of all the stews and all the Eastcheap slums.
Upon the battered board again he drums
And croaks for sack: then sits, his harsh haired cheeks
Sunk in his hands rough with the grime of weeks,
While 'round the tap one great bluebottle hums.
All, all are gone, the old companions they
Who made his rogue's world merry: of them all
Not one is left. Old, toothless now, and gray
Alone he waits: the swagger of that day
Gone from his bulk departed even as Doll,
And he, his Hal, who broke his heart, they say.

Madison Julius Cawein