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A TALE.

Fine weather, Miss!'-'Yes, very, very, fine,' Quoth Miss-prodigious fine indeed!

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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 loving, 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.

A TALE.

(BY THE REV. MR. BISHOP.)

No plate had John and Joan to hoard,
Plain folk in humble plight;

One only tankard crown'd their board,
And that was fill'd each night:

Along whose inner bottom sketch'd,
In pride of chubby grace,

Some rude engraver's hand had etch'd,
A baby Angel's face.

POVERTY AND POETRY

John swallow'd first a mod'rate sup;
But Joan was not like John,

For when her lips once touch'd the cup,
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;

And where the angel stood so plain,

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;

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And, Why dost guzzle now,' he cry'd,

'At this enormous rate.'

'O John,' said she, am I to blame?

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"I can't in conscience stop:

For sure 't would be a burning shame,
To leave the devil a drop!

POVERTY AND POETRY.

"Twas sung of old, how one Amphion
Could by his verses tame a lion ;
And by his strange enchanting tunes
Make bears and wolves dance rigadoons;
His songs could call the timber down,
And form it into house or town;

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VISIT OF A KING TO A CATHEDRAL.

But it is plain now in these times
No house is rais'd by poet's rhymes;
They for themselves can only rear
A few old castles in the air.

Poor are the brethren of the bays,
Down from high strains to ekes and ayes;
The muses too are virgins yet,
And may be till they portions get;
Yet still the doating rhymer dreams,
And sings of Helicon's bright streams;
But Helicon for all his clatter,
Yields nothing but insipid water;
Yet ev❜n athirst, he sweetly sings,
Of nectar and Elysian springs.
The grave physician, who by physic
Like death dispatches him that is sick,
Pursues a sure and thriving trade;
Tho' patients die, the doctor 's paid;
Licens'd to kill, he gains a palace,
For what another mounts a gallows.

In shady groves the muses play,
And love in flow'ry meads to stray;
Pleas'd with a bleaky barren ground,
Where rip'ning fruits are never found.
But then some say you purchase fame,
And gain a never dying name;
Great recompense for real trouble!
To be rewarded with a bubble.

Thus soldiers who in many battles

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

(PINDAR.)

SOMETIMES, great kings will condescend
A little with their subjects to unbend!

VISIT OF A KING TO A CATHEDRAL.

An instance take:-a king of this great land, In days of yore, we understand,

Did visit Sal'sbury's old church so fair:

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An earl of Pembroke was the monarch's guide; Incog. they travell'd, shuffling side by side: And into the cathedral stole the pair.

The verger met them in his blue silk gown, And humbly bow'd his neck with rev'rence down, Low as an ass to lick a lock of hay:

Looking the frighted verger through and through All with his eye-glass-Well sir, who are you?" 'What, what, sir?-hey, sir?' deign'd the king to

say.

I am the verger here most mighty king: In this cathedral I do ev'ry thing; Sweep it, an't please ye, sir, and keep it clean.' 'Hey? verger! verger!-you the verger? hey?' 'Yes please your glorious majesty I be,' The verger answer'd, with the mildest mien. Then turn'd the king about towards the peer, And wink'd and laugh'd; then whisper'd in his ear, 'Hey, hey-what, what-fine fellow,'pon my word: I'll knight him, knight him, knight him—hey, my lord?'

Then with his glass, as hard as eye could strain, He kenn'd the trembling verger o'er again.

'He's a poor verger, sire,' his lordship cry'd: Sixpence would handsomely requite him.' 'Poor verger, verger, hey?' the king reply'd: 'No, no, then, we won't knight him-no, won't 'knight him.'

Now to the lofty roof the king did raise

His glass, and skipp'd it o'er with sounds of praise; For thus his marv'ling majesty did speak:

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THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPRENTICE.

Fine roof this, master verger, quite complete ; 'High-high and lofty too, and clean and neat: 'What, verger, what? mop, mop it once a week??

An't please your majesty,' with marv'ling chops, The verger answer'd, we have got no mops

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In Sal'sb'ry that will reach so high.'

Not mop, no, no, not mop it,' quoth the kingNo, sir, our Sal'sb'ry mops do no such thing; They might as well pretend to scrub the sky.

THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPRENTICE.

A PUPIL of the Esculapian school
Was just prepar'd to quit his master's rule;
Not that he knew his trade, as it appears,
But that he then had learnt it seven years.

Yet think not that in knowledge he was cheated--
All that he had to study still,

Was, when a man was well or ill, And how, if sick, he should be treated.

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One morn he thus address'd his masterDear sir, my houor'd father bids me say, If I could now and then a visit pay,

He thinks, with you,

To notice how you do,

My bus'ness I might learn a little faster.
The thought is happy,' the preceptor cries;
A better method he could scarce devise ;
So Bob, (his pupil's name) it shall be so,
And when I next pay visits you shall go.'

To bring that hour, alas! time briskly fled:
With dire intent,

Away they went,

And now behold them at a patient's bed.

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