No plumes you see to-night, I don't suppose, Don't they know wrong from right? Bah! cutting throats And costs the parish something, too, besides." HOW THE PASTY WAS POISONED. (Temp. Elizabeth.) THIS is the pasty for the wedding dinner, Ah, ah! the supper!-he who wrong'd us, smiling, The foolish guests by turns with grins beguiling, Of course, red blushing at the eyes that gaze, Now for next morning, when the music comes To wake the pair-they must play very loud; Away with fluting whistles! send for drums; Beat till your hearts ache, foolish piping crowd. At the gilt chamber door the varlets wait, And wonder why the couple sleep so late. Never was pasty season'd quite so well; Ten grains of stibium smear'd the venison round, Never was fool so neatly sent to hell. Snug goes my master's rival under groundNow, then, for home-and fully worth the gold, Twenty-four angels by the steward told. He weigh'd the spices with such anxious skill, Though measuring doses for his lady's self. up This precious drug, and pointed to a cup. Now for confession, just to take the taste Out of my mouth, then to old Darcy's mask, To talk all night, as the sweet tapers waste, Of poor Trelawney's sudden death, and ask If the thing's true?-for silly stories fly From tongue to tongue, then hear the thing, and sigh. THE SUCCORY WATER. WHY who could fancy now Montesson there- On tiptoe of her dancing foot-but two Thinking no eye was on her-painted whore! I will disclose it to her wittol lord : Yes, by her glove, still faint with wanton scent, Unmask her in the full flush of the court, Brand the lewd harlot on her whitewashed cheek, And open out this plague-den to the air. But first unmask her; see, she shams asleep, Her rounded brow propped by her dainty hand. Fool! I remember when to buy one kiss I would have beggared self of house and land; But now, ah, well! there have been other fools! Cæsar, for instance ;-Sampson-yes, well, well! Poison for me, to cure my doting;-Jules, Bring me a flambeau when I clash the bell. Now for a rough hand on her velvet arm; This succory water's curdled, Rosa lapped, And died five minutes since. Ah! harlot caught. No tricks for me: how pale the witch's face— Cold, dead. Ring the alarm bell-she has escaped. Death has tricked Justice! cut her boddice lace; Bring water; beautiful devil, how she's shaped! |