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VISIT OF A KING TO A CATHEDRAL. 113

An instance take:—a king of this great land,

In days of yore, we understand,
Did visit Sal'sbury's old church so fair:

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 AH with his eye-glass—' Well sir, who are you?

'What, what, sir?—hey, sir?' deign'd the. king te 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, 4 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, andskipp'd it o'er with sounds of praise;
For thus his marv'ling majesty did speak:

114 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

'In Sal'sb'ry that will reach so high.' 'Not mop, no, no, not mop it,' quoth the king— 'No, sir, our Sal'sb'ry mops do no such thing;

'They might as well pretend to scrub the skyv'

THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPRENTICE.

A Pupil of the JEsculapian 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.

One morn he thus address'd his master—

* Dear sir, my hotior'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.

THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPRENTICE. IIS

The master-doctor solemnly perus'd
His victims face, and o'er his symptoms mus'd j
Look'd wise, said nothing—an unerring way,
When people nothing have to say:

Then felt his pulse, and smelt his cane,'
And paus'd and blink'd, and smelt again,

And briefly of his corps perform eacfi motion:
Manoeuvres that for death's platoon are meant,
A kind of a make ready and present,

Before the fell discharge of pill and potion.

At length the patient's wife he thus addressed:

* Madam, your husband's danger's great; . .' And (what will never his complaint abate) * The man 's been eating oysters I perceive,'

'Dear! you 're a witch, I verily believe,' Madam replied, and to the truth confess'd.

Skill so prodigious Bobby too admir'd;

And home returning, of the sage inquir'd How these same oysters came into his head;

'Psha! my dear Bob, the thing was plain—

'Sure that can ne'er distress thy brain: 'I saw the shells lie underneath the bed V

So wise by such a lesson grown,
Next day Bob ventur'd forth alone,

And to the self-same suflPrer paid his court—
But soon, with haste and wonder out of breath,
Return'd the stripling minister of death,

And to his master made this dread report:

* Why sir, we ne'er can keep that patient under—

* Zounds! such a maw I never came across!

* The fellow must be dying and no wonder,

'For'—if he has n't eat a horse!'

'A horse!' the elder man of physic cried, As if be meant his pupil to deride—

116 ON THE DEATH OF A BLACKSMITH.

• How came so wild a notion in your head?'

* How! think not in my duty I was idle; 'Like you, I took a peep beneath the bed,

• And there 1 saw—a saddle and a bridle!'

ON THE DEATH OF A BLACKSMITH.

With the nerves of a Sampson, this son of the sledge,

By the anvil his livelihood got, With the skill of a Vulcan could temper an edge,

And strike—while the iron was hot.

By forging he liv'd—yet never was tried
Or condemn'd by the laws of the land;

But still it is certain, and can't be denied,
He often was—burnt in the hand.

With the sons of St. Crispin no kindred he claim'd,

With the last he had nothing to do; He handled no awl, and yet in his time

Made many an excel lei it shoe.

He blew up no coals of sedition, but still

His bellows were always in blast;
And I will acknowledge (deny it who will)

That one vice, and but one, he possessed.

No actor was he, nor concern'd with the stage,

No audience to awe him appear'd;
Yet oft in his shop (like a crowd in a rage)

The voice of hissing was-heard.

Tho' steeling of axes was part of his cares,

In thieving he never was found,
And tho' he was constantly beating on bars,

No vessel he e'er ran aground.

THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE. 117

Alas! and alack! what more can I say

Of Vulcan's unfortunate son? The priest and the sexton have borne him away,

And the sound of his hammer is done.

THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE.

The reported virtue of the 'water is this, that whether husband or -wife come first to drink thereof, they get the mastery thereby.

A Wexx there is in the west country,

And a clearer one never was seen; There is not a wife in the west country

But has heard of the well of St. Keync.

An oak and an elm tree stand beside,

And behind does an ash tree grow, And a willow from the bank above

Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne;

Joyfully he drew nigh,
For from cock-crow-he had been travelling,

And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water so cool and clear,

For thirsty and hot was he, And he sat down upon the bank,

Under the willow tree.

There came a man from the neighbouring town

At the well to fill his pail; On the well-side he rested it,

And he bade the stranger hail.

Now art thou a batchelor, stranger? quoth he,

For, an if thou hast a wife,
The happiest draught thou hast drank this day,

That ever thou didst in tby life.

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