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< Oh! oh' reply'd the marquis, 'does it so?

To Monsieur JCaniferstane, lucky man!
The palace to be sure. Ties rather low;

But, then, the size and grandeur of the plan!
I never saw a chateau on the Seine,
Equal to this of Monsieur Kaniferstane.'

While he thus spoke, the sailors anchor cast,

As the marquis descended on the quay,
He saw a charming frow that chanc'd to pass,

In liveliest bloom of youth and beauty gay,
Bedeck'd with all the Amsterdam parade

Of gold and silver, pearls and jewels rare; On the marquis she much impression made;

His tender breast soon own'd a pleasing flame; Stopping a passenger, he, bowing said,

'Mousieur pray tell me who's that lovely dame." The civil Dutchman bow'd to him again, And gently answer'd 'Ik kan niet verstaaiu'

'What Monsieur Kaniferstane's wife!' the marquis cry'd,

'He who has got yon gay and sumptuous house? Well! that some men have luck can 't be deny'd;

What! such an edifice, and such a spouse! Ma foi! I think I never should complain, Had I the lot of Monsieur Kaniferstane.'

As on the morrow, through the streets he pass'd,

Gazing on the pretty sights about, On a largeopen hall his sight he cast,

Where bustling crowds were going in and out. Joining the throng, he entrance soon obtain'd,

And found the people much engaged to see The numbers which the blanks and prizes gain'd

In their high mightinesses' lottery. Some laugh'd, some wept, some groau'd and some exclaim'd,

In all the spirit of true castle-builders,


When, on a sudden, a loud voice proclaim'd
The sov'reign prize of twenty thousand guilders!

'And who,' the marquis cry'd, to one close by,
'Who has the luck this mighty prize to gain?*

The man survey'd him with a doubtful eye,
And slowly answer'd, 'Ik kan niet ver staan.'

* What! Monsieur JCaniferstane got the prize!'
The marquis cry'd, 'he 's lucky on my life;

He who has got a house of such a size,
And such a garden, too, and such a wife!

Diable! you may very well be vain,

With all these treasures, Monsieur KaniferstaneP

A week or two elaps'd when, as he stray'd,
On novelty intent, he chanc'd to meet,

Adorn'd with solemn pomp and grave parade,
A sumptuous burial coming up the street:

'Monsieur,' said he, as bowing to a baker,
Who left bis shop the pageantry to see,

And just had nodded to the undertaker,
•Pray, Monsieur, whose grand burial may this be?'

The baker, as he turn'd to shop again,

Reply'd most gravely, 'Ik, kan niet ver staan.'

'Mon Dieu!' exclaim'd the marquis. 'what pity!

Monsieur Kaniferstane! with surprise!
He had the noblest palace in this city!

And such a wife! and such a glorious prize!
Alack! alack! good fortune smiles in vain;
So rest in peace, good Monsieur Kaniferstane f



A Group of topers at a table sat,

With punch, that much regales the thirsty sonl: Flies soon the party join'd, and join'd the chat,

Humming and pitching, round the mantling bowl.


At length those flies got drunk; and for their sin,
Some hundreds lost their legs and tumbled in;
And sprawling 'midst the gulph profound,
Like Pharaoh and his daring host, were drown'd.

Wanting to drink—one of the men
Dipp'd from the bowl the drunken host,
And drank—then, taking care that none were lost,

He put in ev'ry mother's son agen.

Upjump'd the Bacchanalian crew, on this,
Taking it very much amiss—

Swearing, and in the attitude to smite:

'Lord! (cry'd the man with gravely-lifted eyes) 'Though I don't like to swallow flies,

'I did not know but others viight.'



Ix a town I could mention, a lawyer resided
As cunning as Satan, and fond of disputes;

In wrangles and quari;els he ever confided.
To keep on his docket a long string of suits.

Of little importance, nay, paltry and mean,
The matter contested, a pig or a hen;

But one thing he stuck to, he ever was seen
To have for his.pleading just one pound ten.

With pleasure he saw that the quarrels increased,
Each day he had business from wranglesome men,

But all to the 'squire was a holiday feast

While he got his dear Fee, the one pound ten.

A parchment, Caveto, hung up in his hall,
Which cautioned the reader to read and attend,


That for one pound ten he would quibble and brawl, Twist, lie, and do all things a cause to defend.

Sometimes when the limits of lots were disputed, He would put all to rights in the turn of a straw;

From the tenth of an inch he his pocket recruited, Till he made the two parties curse lawyer and law.

Thus matters went on, and the lawyer grown rich, Fed high, and swilled wine till the dropsy began

To bloat up his guts to so monstrous a pitch,
You would hardly have known htm to be the
same man.

At last he departed, and when he had died,
His worship arriving at Belzebub's den;

How much is the entrance? (demanded the guide)—
Old Devil made answer, ''Tis One Pocsd Ten.'


*twas at some country place, a parson preaching.

The virtue of long sufferance was teaching:
And so pathetically did exhort
His listening congregation, and in short

Discours'd so much of Job, and how he bore
With such exceeding pleasantry his woes,
Faith 'twas enough to make a man suppose

Job wish'd for more.

Meaning, perhaps, that since'tis plain,
How needlessly we grieve at pain;

How would it be if man

Pursu'd a different plan,
And were to laugh anil treat the matter lightly;

And not, when tortur'd with the gout,

To make wry faces, roar and shout, But look agreeable and sprightly.

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'And pray, d'ye think my dearest life/
Exclaim'd the parson's wife,

As after church they sat,

In courteous chat,
'That 'tis in human nature to endure

'The sad extremity of wo,

'That Joh, you say, did undergo?
''Tis more than you or I could do, I'm sure.'
'My dear,' quoth he, 'this diffidence,
'Shews, let me tell you, great good sense,

'A talent in your sex we seldom see;
* And doubtless the remark is true,
'As far as it extends to you,

• Tho' not, I think, to me.

'No woman, since the world began,
'Could bear misfortune like a man—

'And in good truth, 'twixt you and me,
—i^mLthat without much. yaivity,
JI do conceive that I myself have shewn,

'That patience and that strength of mind

'Were not entirely confin'd
'To Job alone.' '•

Thus said the modest priest, and would have said

much more,
But fop the sudden opening of the door,

When out of breath, in stumps

His clownish servant 'Numps/
His mouth wide open, on the parson gazing—

Just like the wight,

Who drew old Priam's curtains in the night, To tell Mm Troy was blazing. 'Well, Numps, the matter? speak! why look'st so

pale! 'Has any thing gone wrong?' quoth Numps, 'the ale.'

* What,' cries the priest, 'the ale gone sour?* (And then his phiz began to lower;)

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