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CANUTE AND THE OCEAN. '123
'Go back, ye waves, ye blustring rogues !(quoth he) 'Touch not your lord and master, Sea!—
* For, by my pow'r almighty, if you do;' Then staring vengeance,—out he held a stick, Vowing to drive old Ocean to old nick,
Should he ev'n wet the latchet of his shoe.
The Sea retir'd: the monarch fierce rush'd on,
But Sea. not caring to be put upon,
Not only made a stand did Mr. Ocean,
And bid them give the king a hearty trimming,
And set his royalties like geese a swimming.
All hands aloft, with one tremendous roar;
His head and ears most handsomely they dous'd;
No Anabaptist e'er was half so sous'd.
At length to land he crawl'd a half-drown'd thing, Indeed more like a crab than like a king;
And found his courtiers making rueful faces. But what said Canute to the lords and gentry. Who hail'd him from the water, on his entry,
All trembling for their lives or places?
'My lords, and gentlemen, by your advice,
* I 've had, with Mr. Sea, a pretty bustle; 'My treatment from my foe not over-nice,
* Just made a jest for every shrimp and muscle. 'A pretty trick for one of my dominion!
'My lords, [ thank you for your great opinion.
'You 'll say, perhaps. I've lost one game,
'Permit me to inform you all, with shame,
'That you're a set of knaves, and I'm a lubber.*
THE BREWER'S COACHMAN.
Honest William, an easy and good-natur'd fellow,
Cries Sylvia to a reverend dean,
What reason can be given, Since marriage is a holy thing,
That they are none in heaven? There are no women, he replied.
She quick returns the jest— Women there are, but I'm afraid
They cannot find a_priest.
Walking one afternoon along the strand, My wond'ring eyes did suddenly expand
Upon a pretty leash of country lasses. 'Heav'ns! my dear beauteous angels, how d'ye do?
'Upon my soul I'm monstrous glad to see ye.' 'Swinge! Peter we are glad to meet with you;
'We're just to London come—well,pray, how be ye?
* We 're just a going, while 'tis light,
'Lord! come—for once, be so polite,
* With all my heart, my angels.'—On we walk'd, And much of London—much of Cornwall talk'd:
Now did I hug myself, to think How much that glorious structure would surprise,
How from its awful grandeur they would shrink, With open mouths, and marv'ling eyes!
As near to Ludgate-hill we drew,
St. Paul's just op'ning on our view;
Behold, my lovely strangers, one and all,
Gave, all at once a diabolic squall,
As if they had been tumbled on the stones,
And some confounded cart had crush'd their bones.
After well fright'ning people with their cries,
'Swinge! here are colours then to please!
126 DISAPPOINTED HUSBAND.
'Why! not to see such things as these,
'Here, here! look! here are beauties to delight;
'Before that one might meet with such a sight!'
'Come, ladies, 't will he dark,' cry'd I—' I fear; 'Pray, let us view St. Paul's, it is so near''— * Lord! Peter, (cry'd the girls) do n't mind St. Paul? i Sure! you 're a most incurious soul— 'Why we can see the church another day: .Do n't be afraid, St. Paul's can't run away.'
A Scoiding wife so long a sleep possess'd,
ODE TO A MARGATE HOY.
Great is the loss of Gentlefolks from Wapping,
Nothing is good enough to greet their jaws;
To suck like bears a dinner from their paws— Forc'd on an old joint-stool their tea to take,
With treacle 'stead of sugar for their gums; Butt'ring their hungry loaf, or oaten cake,
Like mighty Charles of Sweeden, with their thumbs. •
But Hoy, inform me—who is she—on board,
A.s bulky as of Heidelberg the tun;
In blaze superior to the noonday sun—
With fingers just like sausages, fat things;