And as I'm sure, you won't deny
My honour and ability,

If till Monday next you wait,

Th' indulgence will not be too great: At ten o'clock, you'll send or come ;I will engage to be at home,

When

your demand I'll truly pay,

With thanks, for your four days' delay.

Shark bow'd and smil'd; for here he

saw

There was a loop-hole for the Law. To wait would never make a bill, Nor help the Lawyer's purse to fill; So the next day, as Tom was walking, And with two charming Misses talking, Dick Catchpole did the party meet And, with a Writ, his Honour greet. -You are arrested now you know, And so with me you e'en must go, Whether it is your will, or no. This fellow was a perfect brute, A Sheriff's vilest substitute: His wishes base, his purpose dark, Just a fit instrument for Shark. His housebreaking, burglarious Sire, Did before Newgate wall expire;

And his Dam kept a Little-Go :
When, for a trifling trick or two,
She, by due course of law was sent
Safe to Port Jackson, to repent.

Tom's ruddy cheeks lost all their blood;
But when he found how matters stood,-
Why then, said he, the debt I'll pay ;
And let me go, without delay.

No, no, said Dick-that will not do ;
I know a better thing or two:

I can't tell what the costs may be ;

And, till they're paid,—you 'll rest with me.
So no more words,-for you must come-
-Then send to Shark.-He's not at home:
He to a Ven'son feast is gone

At Wandsworth, or at Wimbledon :
Therefore, come on, and rest in peace,
To-morrow you 'll have your release.

Thus, as he told his stern command, A griesly Spectre's fleshless hand

His shoulder touch'd:-It chill'd his blood,

And at the sight he trembling stood.

-You long have ow'd, the Phantom said,

What now must instantly be paid.

-O give me Time!- -Thou Caitiff Dun,
You know, full well, you gave him none.
Your Life's the debt that I am suing;
'Tis the last process, Master Bruin.-
-I'll put in Bail above;-No, no:
OLD NICK shall be your BAIL BELOW.

THE INSURANCE OFFICE

SELF-INTEREST by some is said,

To be the universal trade

Which men of ev'ry rank pursue;
And if, what some folks say, be true,
Of ev'ry kind of Woman too.

For wealth the Sailor ploughs the main,
The Merchant thinks of nought but

gain;

We even see superior sense,
And all the powers of eloquence,
Nay, ev'ry impulse of the breast,
Yield to the calls of Interest.

But if nor base, nor sordid view
Blends with the purpose we pursue,
If sage Discretion's cautious art
Corrects the errors of the heart;
If Prudence o'er the plan presides,
And for its ends the means provides,
Which, pointed to some rightful use,
Shall tranquil Happiness produce:

Insure his Life.-But to your sorrow, You'll pay a good, round Sum to-morrow.