Who had the impudence to tell it you;" "Zounds! then d'ye mean to swear before my face That anchovies don't grow like cloves and mace?" "I do!"
Disputants often after hot debates
Leave the contention as they found it-bone, And take to duelling or thumping têtes ;
Thinking by strength of artery to atone
For strength of argument; and he who winces From force of words, with force of arms convinces !
With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint,
Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding,
Our friends advanced; and now portentous loading
(Their hearts already loaded) serv'd to show
It might be better they shook hands-but no;
When each opines himself, though frighten'd, :
Each is, in courtesy, oblig'd to fight!
And they did fight: from six full measured paces
The unbeliever pulled his trigger first;
And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces,
The whizzing lead had whizz'd its very worst,
Ran up, and with a duelistic fear
(His ire evanishing like morning vapors), Found him possess'd of one remaining ear, Who in a manner sudden and uncouth,
Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth;
For while the surgeon was applying lint,
He, wriggling, cried-"The deuce is in't—
"Sir! I meant-CAPERS !"
medio de fonte leporum
Surgit amari aliquid.-Lueret.
JULIA was blest with beauty, wit, and grace:
Small poets loved to sing her blooming face.
Before her altars, lo! a numerous train
Preferr'd their vows; yet all preferr'd in vain:
Till charming Florio, born to conquer, came,
And touch'd the fair one with an equal flame.
The flame she felt, and ill could she conceal
What every look and action would reveal.
With boldness then, which seldom fails to move,
He pleads the cause of marriage and of love;
The course of hymeneal joys he rounds,
The fair one's eyes dance pleasure at the sounds.
Naught now remain'd but "Noes"-how little meant-
And the sweet coyness that endears consent.
The youth upon his knees enraptured fell:-
The strange misfortune, oh! what words can tell?
Tell! ye neglected sylphs! who lap-dogs guard,
Why snatch'd ye not away your precious ward?
Why suffer'd ye the lover's weight to fall
On the ill-fated neck of much-loved Ball?
The favorite on his mistress casts his eyes,
Gives a melancholy howl, and-dies!
Sacred his ashes lie, and long his rest!
Anger and grief divide poor Julia's breast.
Her eyes she fix'd on guilty Florio first,
On him the storm of angry grief must burst.
That storm he fled:-he woos a kinder fair,
Whose fond affections no dear puppies share.
"T were vain to tell how Julia pined away;
Unhappy fair, that in one luckless day
(From future almanacs the day be cross'd!)
At once her lover and her lap-dog lost!
ONCE on a time three Pilgrims true,
Being Father and Mother and Son,
For pure devotion to the Saint,
A pilgrimage begun.
Their names, little friends, I am sorry to say,
In none of my books can I find;
But the son, if you please, we 'll call Pierre,
What the parents were called, never mind.
From France they came, in which fair land
They were people of good renown;
And they took up their lodging one night on the way
In La Calzada town.
Now, if poor Pilgrims they had been,
And had lodged in the Hospice instead of the Inn,
My good little women and men,
Why then you never would have heard,
This tale of the Cock and the Hen.
For the Innkeepers they had a daughter,
Sad to say, who was just such another
As Potiphar's daughter, I think, would have been
If she followed the ways of her mother.
This wicked woman to our Pierre
Behaved like Potiphar's wife;
And because she failed to win his love,
She resolved to take his life.
So she packed up a silver cup
In his wallet privily ;
And then, as soon as they were gone,
She raised a hue and cry.
The Pilgrims were overtaken,
The people gathered round,
Their wallets were searched, and in Pierre's
The silver cup was found.
They dragged him before the Alcayde;
A hasty Judge was he,
"The theft," he said, "was plain and proved,
And hang'd the thief must be."
So to the gallows our poor Pierre
Was hurried instantly.
If I should now relate
The piteous lamentation,
Which for their son these parents made,
My little friends, I am afraid
You'd weep at the relation.
But Pierre in Santiago still
His constant faith profess'd;
When to the gallows he was led,
"'T was a short way to Heaven," he said,
"Though not the pleasantest."
And from their pilgrimage he charged
His parents not to cease,
Saying that unless they promised this,
He could not be hanged in peace.
They promised it with heavy hearts;
Pierre then, therewith content,
their way
Was hang'd: and they upon
To Compostella went.
Four weeks they travel'd painfully,
They paid their vows, and then
To La Calzada's fatal town
Did they come back again.
The Mother would not be withheld,
But go she must to see
Where her poor Pierre was left to hang
Upon the gallows tree.
Oh tale most marvelous to hear,
Most marvelous to tell!
Eight weeks had he been hanging there,
And yet was alive and well!
"Mother," said he, "I am glad you're return'd, It is time I should now be released: Though I can not complain that I'm tired, And my neck does not ache in the least.
"The Sun has not scorch'd me by day, The Moon has not chilled me by night; And the winds have but helped me to swing, As if in a dream of delight.
"Go you to the Alcayde,
That hasty Judge unjust,
Tell him Santiago has saved me,
And take me down he must!"
Now, you must know the Alcayde,
Not thinking himself a great sinner,
Just then at table had sate down,
About to begin his dinner.
His knife was raised to carve
The dish before him then;
Two roasted fowls were laid therein,
That very morning they had been
A Cock and his faithful Hen.
In came the Mother, wild with joy:
"A miracle!" she cried;
But that most hasty Judge unjust
Repell'd her in his pride.
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