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Next morn to bid, in furious passion,
Strong John lay twenty times the lash on!
Determined, then, to ease his doubt-
E'en though it bred a flogging bout-
Of that, howe'er, to be sincere,
He was not very much in fear;
Once more he turn'd his horse's head,
And to his host thus, smiling, said-
"Last night, a peasant told me, here,
"As I have found, was noble cheer;
"But added, ere this morn I went,
"You'd drub me to my heart's content-
"Is it a fiction or a fact,

"After such kindness you've exprest,
"You thus take leave of every guest?
"And how, if still a rule you've kept it,
"Have I deserved to be excepted?

"Sir," answered he," "tis very true, "No stranger e'er went hence, but you, "Who bore not on his well-carv'd back, "Of cat-o'-nine-tails many a mark; "None yet deserv'd-or I'm mistaken"That pity e'er should save their bacon; "A set of tiresome, troublesome knaves, "Of bowing, fawning, lying slaves; "If a man asked what they'd prefer "Oh, I love any thing, good sir??"Would you choose coffee, sir, or tea?? "Dear ma'am, it's all the same to me!? "For beef, or mutton, give your voice!' "Upon my honour, I've no choice!'"There's Cheshire, sir, and Glo'ster cheese:"Which shall I send you? Which you please!' "Curse on their cringing complaisance! "I've tutor❜d some of them to dance "Such steps as they ne'er learned in France! "But you, good sir, or I misdeem, "Deserve an honest man's esteem: "Your frankness, sir, I call polite; "I never spent a happier night!

"And whensoe'er this road you come,
"I hope you'll make my house your home:
"Nay, more; I likewise hope, henceforth,
"To rank a man of so much worth

"Among my friends."-" Sir," said the Squire, ""Tis what I ardently desire!

"Not twenty miles from hence, my house; "At which your sons, yourself, and spouse, "Shall find such hospitality

"As kindly you have shown to me."

The bargain struck, our Squire and Jerry
Again proceed for town of Bury.

And now the reader may, with ease,
Extract this moral, if he please
Politeness cannot e'er become
Impertinent and troublesome!
His breeding good he soonest proves,
Who soonest tells you what he loves;
And who, in rapid eloquence,
Their wordy compliments dispense,
Have more servility than sense,

THE BEGGAR'S LAMENT.
(MALLET.)

Oh, Mercy! Heaven's first attribute,
Whose care embraces man and brute!
Behold me where I shivering stand!
Bid gentle Pity stretch her hand
To want and age, disease and pain,
That all in one sad object reign.

Still feeling bad, still fearing worse,
Existence is to me a curse:
Yet how to close this weary eye-
By my own hand I dare not die ;
And Death, the friend of human woes,
Who brings at last the sound repose-
Death does at dreadful distance keep,
And leaves one wretch to wake and weep.

KILL OR CURE.

A MEDICAL BARGAIN.

One Hodge, brought up to drive and plough,
Whose dame bred faster than his sow,
So deep was in the Doctor's debt
For boys and girls, a long et cet.,
Hodge oped the Doctor's door with fear.
"What you again!' the Doctor said-
"I stir not till my bill is paid;

""Tis time it was." Quoth Hodge, "That's true; "I wish it was, as well as you :

"But words won't pay, and cash I've none."
"Then trudge, sir: from my door begone."
"Nay, hold," said Hodge, "be not so rough,
In harvest I shall get enough;

}

"And though the payment's somewhat late,
"I'll make this bargain with you straight;
"Come but this once-don't be afraid-
"For, kill or cure, you shall be paid."
The doctor, though of sourest look,
Was better than his face bespoke,
And kindly went to give the parish
Hodge's tenth child to teach and nourish.
But, sad mishap! the mother died—
Hodge grieved as husbands do-he sigh'd,
And, as the story goes, he cried :
You'll not expect more from our clown,
Than well-bred spouses of the town.
The time pass'd on-each market day
The doctor look'd for Hodge to pay;
Yet would not break upon his sorrow,
Thinking he'd surely call each morrow.
But ingrate Hodge still pass'd the door,
Though not so sheepish as before;
For often in the doctor's shop

He leer'd, but never chose to stop.

They one day met-Hodge made his bow; "Well, Hodge, you mean to pay me now?"

"Pay you!" said Hodge, "if in your debt,
"I would. You know we settled it."
"How! settled, knave!" the doctor roar'd.
"Come, come," said Hodge, "no angry word;
"But recollect yourself a bit:

"I say again, we've settled it."
"Settled! the Devil!"-No, the bill."
"As how, Sir? tell me."-"Well, I will--
"When last I call'd you to the dame,
"I promised you that if you came,
"And kill'd or cured' her, I would pay.
"Now did you cure her? only say?"
"Cure her! how could I? stupid clown!
"When Death had mark'd her for his own?"
"Ne'er mind the mark that Death had set on;
"You did'nt cure her ?"-" Booby, get on!"
"Well then, good doctor, don't be furious,
"Nor think a silly clown too curious;

"But, did you kill her ?"" Kill her !"-" Aye!
"Or else you know, there's nought to pay.
"For kill or cure,' 'twas, depend on't:

·

"If you did neither-there's an end on't."

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SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF.
Curio, whose hat a nimble knave had snatch'd,
Fat, clumsy, gouty, asthmatic, and old,
Panting against a post his noddle scratch'd,
And his sad story to a stranger told.

"Follow the thief," replied the stander by.

"Ah, Sir," said he, these feet will wag no more!" "Alarm the neighbourhood with hue and cry." "Alas! I've roar'd as long as lungs could roar."

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"Then, quoth the stranger, "vain is all endeavour, "Sans voice to call, sans vigour to pursue : "And since your hat, of course, is gone for eve "I'll e'en make bold to take your wig--Adieu !"

A SERMON ON "MALT."

The Rev. Mr. Dodd, a very worthy minister who lived a few miles from Cambridge, had rendered himself obnoxious to many of the Cantabs, by frequently preaching against drunkenness. Several of them meeting him on a journey, determined to make him preach in a hollow tree which was near the road side. Accordingly, addressing him with great apparent politeness, they asked him if he had not lately preached much against drunkenness. On his replying in the affirmative, they insisted that he should now preach from a text of their choosing. In vain he remonstrated on the unreasonableness of expecting him to give them a discourse without study, and in such a place; they were determined to take no denial, and the world MALT was given him by way of text; on which he immediately delivered himself as follows:

"Beloved, let me crave your attention.-I am a little man, come at a short warning, to preach a short sermon, from a small subject, in an unworthy pulpit, to a slender congregation. Beloved, my text is MALT. I cannot divide it into words, it being but one; nor into syllables, it being but one; I must therefore, of necessity, divide it into letters, which I find to be these four, M-A-L—T.

"M, my beloved, is Moral ;-A, Allegorical ;-L, Literal;-T, Theological.

"The Moral is set forth to teach you drunkards good manners; therefore, M, my masters,-A, all of you,--L, listen,--T, to my text.

"The Allegorical is when one thing is spoken of, and another is meant. The thing spoken of is malt; the thing meant is the juice of malt, which you Cantabs make-M, your master,-A, your apparel,—L, your liberty, and T, your trust.

"The Literal is according to the letter,-M, much, -A, ale,-L, little,-T, trust.

"The Theological is according to the effects that it works; and these I find to be of two kinds :-first,

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