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CABINET OF MOMUS.
NO TRICKS UPON TRAVELLERS.
A TALE (pExwirai.)
A. Cornish Miner, high in wrestling fame,
To London city Tom would fain be packing;
And hung his wardrobe on it in a nackin.*
The journey was a long one to be sure;
But Tom was hardy and could much endure:
That deep-Jaid scheme which cockney artists gravels
So vent'rous Tom set out upon his travels.
The weary way he cheer'd with many a song;
Till he the mighty city 'gan to approach;
2 NO TRICKS UPON TRAVELLERS.
When soon he saw and loudly hail'd a coach: 'Hoa!—Maister Coachman, have'e room forme?
'Can'st taak a body in that's mighty tir'd?' 'Yes,' replied Coachee, 'I have only three:*
The price agreed for soon the place was hired. 'Twas pitchy dark, Tom could not see a face; But 'twixt two passengers he took his place.
Tom was a social fellow—lov'd to chatter,
A man who sat Tom's vis-a-vis,
'And cannot talk our English lingo: 'I am the tutor, sir, to that young lad, 'The Russian's Nephew, and sure man ne'er had
'A wickeder young rogue to teach, by jingo.'
'Why, sir,' says Tom, ''tis my belief,
'The Nephew is a little thief;
'Ave stoaVd away my tatey pasty ;*
* Sich tricks in junsters, sir, be nasty;
'And ef a worn't a cheeld, as I may saay,
'' Id throw mun out of winder in the waay.'
But now the crazy vehicle stood still,
Whilst Coachee turn'd about,
And begg'd the Gem'men to get out, And ease his tired cattle up the hill:
No sooner said than done.
Each descended—one and one.
• Potatoe Pasty.