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108 THE ASTRONOMER'S ROOM.
''Tis like the sun because 'tis gilt,
* Besides it travels in a belt.
* 'Tis like the Dutch, we plainly see, 'Because that state, whenever we
* A push for our own int'rest make, 'Does instantly our sides forsake.'
The moon?—'Why, when all's said and done, 'A sword is very like the moon; 'For if his majesty (God bless him)
* When county sheriff comes t' address him, 'Is pleas'd his favours to bestow
'On him before him kneeling low,
* This o'er his shoulders glitters bright,
'And gives the glory to the knight (night:)
* 'Tis like a kilderkin no doubt,
'For its not long in drawing out.
* Dispute a doctor's power to kill?'
'But since all swords are swords, d'ye see,
* Which if well us'd, will seldom fail
* To raise up somewhat like a whale.'
THE ASTRONOMER'S ROOM.
One day I call'd, and, Philo out,
Item.—A bed without a curtain,
THE FLY AND SPIDER. 19§
A tliree lcgg'd stool, a four legg'd table,
Were fill'd with books unfit for rabble;
Sines, tangents, secants, radius, co-sines,
Sub-tangents, segments, and all those signs;
Enough to show the man who made em
Was full as mad as he who read 'em:
An almanack of six years standing,
A cup with ink, and one with sand in;
One corner held his books and chest, «
And round the floor were strew'd the rest;
That all things might be like himself,
He 'd neither closet, draw or shelf;
Here, p— pot, sauce-pot, broken platter,
Appear'd like heterogeneous matter.
In ancient days the walls were white,
But who 'gainst damps and snails can fight?
They 're now in wreathy ringlets bound,
Some square, some oval, and some round;
The antiquarian there may find
.Each hieroglyphic to his mind;
Such faces tliere may fancy trace,
As never yet knew time or place;
And he who studies maps or plans,
Has all the work done to his hands;
In short, the room, the goods, and author,
Appear'd to be one made for t' other.
THE FLY AND SPIDER.
* Good-morrow, dear Miss Fly,' quoth gallant
* Good-morrow, sir,'—reply'd Miss Fly to him.
'Walk in, Miss, pray, and see what I 'm about.' '1 'm much obliged t' ye,' Miss Fly rejoin'd; -' My eyes are both so very good I find,
* That I can plainly see the whole without** L
110 A TALE.
'Fine weather, Miss!'—'Yes, very, very, fine,'
Quoth Miss—' prodigious fine indeed!' 'But why so coy?' quoth Grim, 'that you decline 'To put within my bow'r your pretty head?' ''Tis simply this,' Quoth cautious Miss; 'I fear you 'd like my pretty head so well, 'You 'd keep it for yourself, sir:—who can tell?'
'Then let me squeeze your lovely hand my dear, .
'And. prove that all your dread is foolish, vain.* 'I 've a sore finger, sir; nay, more, I fear,
'You really would not let it go again.' 'Poh, poh, child, pray dismiss your idle dread; 'I would not hurt a hair of that sweet head,—
'Come, then, with one kind kiss of friendship meet me.' 'La sir,' quoth Miss, with seeming artless tongue, 'I fear our salutation would be long;
'So laving, too, I fear that you would—eat me.'
So saying, with a smile she left the rogue,
To weave more lines of death, and plan for prog.
(liT THE REV. MB. BtSBOP.)
No plate had John and Joan to hoard,
One only tankard crown'd their board,
Along whose inner bottom sketch'd,
In pride of chubby grace.
A baby Angel's face.
POVERTY AND POETHY 111
John swallow'd first a mod'rate sup;
But Joan was not like John,
She swill'd till all was gone.
John often urg'd her to drink fair,
But she ne'er chang'd a jot; She lov'd to see the angel there,
And therefore drain'd the pot.
When John found all remonstrance vain,
Another card he play'd;
He got a devil pourtray'd.
Joan saw the horns, Joan saw the tail,
Yet Joan as stoutly quaff'd, And ever when she siez'd her ale,
She clear'd-it at a draught.
John star'd, with wonder petrify'd,
His hairs rose on his pate;
'At this enormous rate.'
'O John,' said she, 'am I to blame?
'lean 't in conscience stop: 'For sure 't would be a burning shame,
'To leave the devil a drop."
POVERTY AND POETRY.
'twas aung of old, how one Amphion
112 VISIT OF A KING TO A CATHEDRAL.
But it is plain now in these times
Poor are the brethren of the bays,
For what another mounts a gallows.
And love in flow'ry meads to stray;
Pleas'd with a bleaky barren ground,
Where rip'ning fruits are never found.
And gain a never dying name;
Great recompense for real trouble!
To be rewarded with a bubble.
Get bangs and blows, and God knows what else,
Are paid with fame and wooden leg,
And gain a pass, with leave to beg.
VISIT OF A KING TO A CATHEDRAL.
Sometimes, great kings will condescend