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66 If you
have long hair, soap it: the best holds are the pinnion with your arms at his shoulders, and your head in his face; or get your right arin under his chin, and your left behind his neck, and let your arms close his neck strait, by holding each elbow with the contrary hand, and crush his neck, your fingers in his eyes, and your fingers of your right hand under his chin, and your left hand under the hinder part of his head, or twist his head round by putting your hand to the side of his face, and the other behind his head.
“ But if your adversary taketh fast hold with each of his hands of each side of the collar and thrusteth his thumbs against your throat and windpipe, speedily, that you may not want wind, with your right hand hold his fast there by the wrist, and with the left fort elbow press on the top of his arm upon his feeble, betwixt your right hand and his elbow, or quick over his wrist for the gripes.
“Or proceed for the pinnion, as in page 43, or if he hath his hands at your hair, and he thrusteth his thumbs in your eyes, you proceed after the foregoing method."
The little volume ends with a blank form of “ Indented Articles, that two persons shall wrestle for a sum of money," which must be extremely useful in obscure parishes, where an attorney does not reside, –and a copy of the rules and regulations observed by those who“wrestled for a hat of twenty-two shillings price, a free prize, given by Sir Thomas Parkyns, of Bunny, Bart., for fifteen years successively.” The rules are sound and good, and may be used with safety at the present day, with the exception of Sir Thomas Parkyns being appointed the umpire ! A prose address, and a copy of verses, by one William Tunstall, commendatory to the last degree, are prefixed to the volume;- they are, like pilfered memoranda, of little interest to any but the owner.
We take some pride in reckoning upon so healthy, muscular, and courageous a gentleman, as Sir Thomas Parkyns, being one of us!-one of us, authors ! And we think that an extended knowledge of his character is not unlikely to redeem us from the contempt which has been so long cast upon us, for being a sickly, pale, weakly, and wasted race. Perhaps some of our brethren do give way a little too sadly to their seats, and unfit themselves somewhat, over the midnight lamp, for the “ Hanging Trippet” and the “Flying Horse." We should be right glad to know that the manly example of one of the tribe had seduced any given pale poet or devoted author to “cast aside the learned sheet," at certain periods of the day, and try the “ Back-clamp” upon the printer's devil—throwing him over his head when he called for copy.
Art. IX.--The Works of Andrew Marvell, Esq., Poetical, Con
troversial, and Political ; containing many Original Lelters, Poems, and Tracts, never before printed, with a new Life of the Author. By Captain Edward Thompson. In Three Volumes. London, 1776.
We resume our notice of the works of Marvell, to which we could not do justice in the limits of one number.
As a poet, Marvel was certainly unequal; and some of his most beautiful passages are alloyed with vulgarism and common-place similes. His poem of the Nymph lamenting the Death of her Fawn, is, perhaps, the most finished, and, on the whole, the best of the collection. All the poems, however, contain more or less of poetic beauty; some, great tenderness of feeling and expression; and others, successful descriptions of nature and pastoral scenes. Before we proceed to an account of his prose works, we shall give some further extracts from the poetical ones.
The following passages are selected from a poem of considerable length, entitled “Appleton House,” a residence of Lord Fairfax's, in Yorkshire, now called Nun Appleton, and addressed to that nobleman.
" When first the
this forest sees,
Thus I, easy philosopher,
And little now to make me wants
1 Like some great prelate of the grove. Then, languishing with ease, I toss On pallets swoln of velvet moss; While the wind, cooling through the boughs, Flatters with air my panting brows. Thanks for my rest, ye mossy banks ; And unto you, cool zephyrs, thanks; Who, as my hair, my thoughts too shed, And winnow from the chaff my
head. How safe, methinks, and strong, behind These trees, have I incamp'd my mind : Where beauty, aiming at the heart, Bends in some tree its useless dart ; And where the world no certain shot Can make, or me it toucheth not.
But I on it securely play,
The young Maria walks to night;
VOL. XI. PART I.