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The rest, in exhalations to the sun-
One month's fair weather-and I am undone!

This life he led for many a year together;
Grew old, and grey, in watching of his weather;
Meagre as Death itself, till this same Death
Stopp'd, as the saying is, his vital breath;
For as th’ old fool was carrying to his field,
A heavier burden than he well could wield,
He miss'd his footing, or some how he fumbled
In tumbling of it in-but he tumbled :
Mighty desirous to get out again,
He scream'd and scrambled, but 'twas all in vain :
The place was grown so very deep and wide,
Nor bottom of it could he feel, nor side,
And so—i'th' middle of his pond-he died.

What think ye now from this imperfect sketch, My friends, of such a miserable wretch?“Why,'tis a wretch, we think, of your own making; No fool can be suppos'd in such a taking: Your own warm fancy'-Nay, but warm or cool, The world abounds with many such a fool: The choicest ills, the greatest torments, sure, Are those which numbers labour to endure• What! for a pond !'—Why, call it an estate: You change the name, but realize the fate.

Byror.

THE NIMMERS.

Two foot companions once in deep discourse, Tom,' says the onem let's go and steal a horse.' "Steal!' says the other, in a hage surprise, He that says I'm a thief-I say he lies.'

'Well, well,' replies his friend — no such affront,
I did but ask ye-if you won't you won't.”:
So they joggʻd on-till, in another strain,
The querist mov'd to honest Tom again;

Suppose,' says he-for supposition sake'Tis but a supposition that I makeSuppose—that we should filch a horse, I say? • Filch! filch!' quoth Tom-demurring by the way; "That's not so bad as downright theft-I ownBut-yet-methinks—'twere better let alone : It soundeth something pitiful and low; Shall we go filch a horse, you say—why, noI'll filch no filching :-and I'll tell no lie; Honesty's the best policy-say I.'

Struek with such vast integrity quite dumb, His comrade paus'd-at last, says he- Come, Thou art an honest fellow-I agree [come; Honest and poor ;-alas! that should not be: And dry into the bargain-and no drink! Shall we go nim a horse, Tom-what dost think pd.

How clear things are when liqnor's in the case ! Tom answers quick, with casuistic grace,

Nim? yes, yes, yes, let's nim with all my heart, I see no harm in pimming, for my part; Hard is the case, now I look sharp into't, That honesty should trudge i'th' dirt a foot; So many empty horses round about, That honesty should wear its bottoms out; Besides-shall honesty be chok'd with thirst? Were it my lord mayor's horse-I'd nim it first. And-by-the-by-my lad-no scrubby titThere is the best that ever wore a bit, Not far from hence — I take ye,' quoth his friend, Is not you stable, Tom, our journey's end?'.

Good wits will jump-both meant the very steed; The top o'th' country, both for shape and speed : So to't they went-and, with an halter round His feather'd peck, they nimm’d bim off the ground.

And now, good people, we should next relate Of these adventurers the luckless fate : Poor Tom !-but here the sequel is to seek, Not being yet translated from the Greek : Some say, that Tom would honestly have peachd, But by his blabbing friend was over-reach'd; Others insist upon't that both the elves Were, in like manner, halter-nimm'd themselves.

It matters pot-the moral is the thing, For which our purpose, neighbours, was to sing. If it should hit some few amongst the throng, Let 'em not lay the fault upon the song, Fair warning all : he that has got a cap, Now put it on-or else beware a rap: "Tis but a short one, it is true, but yet Has a long reach with it-videlicet, ”Twixt right and wrong, how many gentle trimmers Will neither steal, nor filch, but will be plagay nimmers,

Byrom.

A COUNTRY BUMPKIN AND RAZOR-SELLER.

A FELLOW in a market town,
Most musical, cried razors up and down,

And offer'd twelve for eighteen-pence;
Which certainly seem'd wondrous cheap,
And for the money quite a heap,

As every man would buy with cash and sense.

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A country bumpkin the great offer heard-
Poor Hodge, who saffer'd by a broad black beard,

That seem'd a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose : With cheerfulness the eighteen-pence be paid; And proudly to himself in whispers said,

This rascal stole the razors, I suppose. No matter, if the fellow be a knave: Provided that the razors shave,

It certainly will be a monstrous prize.' So home the clown with his good fortune went, Smiling, in heart and soul content,

And quickly soap'd himself to ears and eyes. Being well lather'd from a dish or tub, Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub,

Just like a hedger cutting furze; 'Twas a vile razor! then the rest he tried All were impostors—Ah! Hodge sigh’d,

'I wish my eighteen-pence within my purse.' In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces, He cut, and dug, aud winc'd, and stamp'd, and swore;

[wry faces, Brought blood, and danc'd, blasphem’d, and made

And curs'd each razor's body o'er and o'er.
His muzzle, form’d of opposition stuff,
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff:

So kept it, laughing at the steel and suds. Hodge, in a passion, stretch'd his angry jaws, Vowing the direst vengeance, with clench'd claws,

On the vile cheat that sold the goods. Razors!'-a damn'd confounded

g! Not fit to scrape a hog!'

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Hodge sought the fellow, found him, and begunPerhaps, master Razor Rogue, to you 'tis fun,

That people flay themselves out of their lives : Yon rascal! for an hour I have been grubbing, Giving my scoundrel Whiskers here a scrubbing,

With razors just like oyster-knives.
Sirrah! I tell you you're a knave,
To cry op razors that can't shave.'

6

Friend,' quoth the razor-man, 'I'm not a knave: As for the razors you have bought,

Upon my soul I never thought That they would shave.'

"Not think they'd shave ! quoth Hodge, with

wond'ring eyes, And voice not much unlike an Indian yell; • What were they made for, then, you dog?' he cries: • Made!' quoth the fellow with a smile—to sell.',

Wolcott.

THE TRUMPETER,

AN OLD ENGLISH TALE.

It was in the days of a gay British king, (In the old-fashion'd custom of merry-making) The palace of Woodstock with revels did ring,

While they sung and carons'd-one and all : For the monarch a plentiful treasury had, And his courtiers were pleas'd, and no visage was

sad, And the kpavish and foolish with drinking were

mad, While they sat in the banqueting-hall.

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