That as the Hebrew nose is hooked,
The Bill was equally as crooked;
And might outlast, thank party embers,
A dozen tribes of Christian members;-
So down he settled in the mud,
With smoother back, and cooler blood,
As mild, as quiet, a Blue Boar
As any over tavern-door.

MORAL.

The chance is small that any measure
Will give all classes equal pleasure ;
Since Tory Ministers or Whigs
Sometimes can't even please the Pigs.

JACK HALL.

'Tis very hard when men forsake This melancholy world, and make A bed of turf, they cannot take

A quiet doze,

But certain rogues will come and break
Their "bone repose."

'Tis hard we can't give up our breath, And to the earth our earth bequeath, Without Death Fetches after death,

Who thus exhume us; And snatch us from our homes beneath, And hearths posthumous.

The tender lover comes to rear
The mournful urn, and shed his tear-
Her glorious dust, he cries, is here!
Alack alack!

The while his Sacharissa dear

Is in a sack!

'Tis hard one cannot lie amid

The mould, beneath a coffin-lid,
But thus the Faculty will bid

Their rogues break through it!

If they don't want us there, why did
They send us to it?

One of these sacrilegious knaves,
Who crave as hungry vulture craves,

Behaving as the goul behaves,

'Neath church-yard wall

Mayhap because he fed on graves,

Was named Jack Hall.

By day it was his trade to go
Tending the black coach to and fro ;
And sometimes at the door of woe,

With emblems suitable,
He stood with brother Mute, to show
That life is mutable.

But long before they passed the ferry,
The dead that he had helped to bury,
He sacked-(he had a sack to carry

The bodies off in.)

In fact, he let them have a very

Short fit of coffin.

Night after night, with crow and spade,
He drove this dead but thriving trade;
;
Meanwhile his conscience never weighed
A single horsehair;

On corses of all kinds he preyed,
A perfect corsair !

At last-it may be, Death took spite,
Or jesting, only meant to fright—
He sought for Jack night after night

The church-yards round ;
And soon they met, the man and sprite,
In Pancras' ground.

Jack, by the glimpses of the moon,
Perceived the bony knacker soon,

An awful shape to meet at noon

Of night, and lonely;

But Jack's tough courage did but swoon

A minute only.

Anon he gave his spade a swing

Aloft, and kept it brandishing,

Ready for what mishaps might spring

From this conjunction ;

Funking indeed was quite a thing

Beside his function.

"Hallo!" cried Death, "d'ye wish your sands

Run out? the stoutest never stands

A chance with me ;-to my commands

The strongest truckles;

But I'm your friend-so let's shake hands,
I should say-knuckles."

Jack, glad to see th' old sprite so sprightly,
And meaning nothing but uprightly,

Shook hands at once, and, bowing slightly,
His mull did proffer:

But Death, who had no nose, politely
Declined the offer.

Then sitting down upon a bank,
Leg over leg, shank over shank,
Like friends for conversation frank,

That had no check on:

Quoth Jack unto the Lean and Lank,

"You're Death, I reckon."

The Jaw-bone grinned :—" I am that same,
You've hit exactly on my name;

In truth it has some little fame

Where burial sod is."

Quoth Jack (and winked), "Of course you came
Here after bodies."

Death grinned again, and shook his head:

"I've little business with the dead

When they are fairly sent to bed

I've done my turn :
Whether or not the worms are fed
Is your concern.

My errand here, in meeting you,
Is nothing but a 'how-d'ye do;'
I've done what jobs I had a few

Along this way;

If I can serve a crony too,

I beg you'll say."

Quoth Jack, " Your Honor's very kind!
And now I call the thing to mind,
This parish very strict I find;

But in the next 'un

There lives a very well inclined

Old sort of sexton."

Death took the hint, and gave a wink
As well as eyelet holes can blink ;
Then stretching out his arm to link
The other's arm-
Suppose," says he, "we have a drink
Of something warm."

Jack, nothing loth, with friendly ease,
Spoke up at once:-"Why, what ye please,
Hard by there is the Cheshire Cheese,
A famous tap."

But this suggestion seemed to tease

The bony chap.

No, no;-your mortal drinks are heady, And only make my hand unsteady;

I do not even care for Deady,

And loathe your rum;

But I've some glorious brewage ready,

My drink is-mum !"

And off they set, each right content;
Who knows the dreary way they went?

But Jack felt rather faint and spent,

And out of breath ;

At last he saw, quite evident,

The Door of Death.