Rob. Ha ha ha! What work I will make in the village Work!-no, there shall be no such thing as work; it shall be all play. Where shall I go to? I'll go to--no, I won't go there. I'll go to Farmer Hedges takes, and tell him—— no, I'll not go there. I'll go I'll go no where; yes, I will; I'll go everywhere; I'll be neither here nor there, nor any where else. How pleased Dolly will be when she hears—

(Enter Villagers, shouting.)

Dick, Tom, Jack, how are you, my lads? Here's news for you! Come, stand round, make a ring, and I'll make a bit (They all get round him.) First of all,

of a speech to you.

I suppose Snacks has told you that I'm your landlord?
Villagers. We are all glad of it.

Rob. So am I; and I'll make you all happy; I'll lower all your rents.

All. Huzza! long live Lord Robin!

Rob. You shan't pay no rent at all.

All. Huzza! buzza! long live Lord Robin!

Rob. I'll have no poor people in the parish, for I'll make 'em all rich; I'll have no widows, for I'll marry 'em all. (All shout.) I'll have no orphan children, for I'll father 'em all myself; and if that's not doing as a lord should do, then I say I know nothing about the matter-that's all. All. Huzza! huzza!

(Enter Snacks.)

Snacks. I have brought your lordship the money.-He means to make 'em fly; so I have taken care the guineas shall be all light. (Aside.)

Rob. Now, then, young and old, great and small, little and tall, merry men all, here's among you. (Throws the money; they scramble.) Now you've got your pockets filled, come to the castle, and I'll fill all your mouths for you. (Villagers earry him off, shouting-Snacks follows.)

THE TROUBLESOME WIFE.--ANON.

A MAN had once a vicious wife

(A most uncommon thing in life ;)

His days and nights were spent in strife unceasing,

Her tongue went glibly all day long,

Sweet contradiction still her song,

And all the poor man did was wrong, and ill-done.

A truce without doors, or within,

From speeches long as tradesmen spin,

Or rest from her eternal din, he found not.

He every soothing art displayed;

Tried of what stuff her hide was made.
Failing in all, to Heaven he prayed to take her.

Once walking by a river's side,

In mournful terms, "My dear," he cried, "No more let feuds our peace divide: I'll end them.

Weary of life, and quite resigned,

To drown, I have made up my mind,

So tie my hands as fast behind, as can be ;

Or nature may assert her reign,

My arms assist, my will restrain,

And swimming, I once more regain my troubles."

With eager haste the dame complies,

While joy stands glistening in her eyes:

Already, in her thoughts, he dies before her.

"Yet, when I view the rolling tide,
Nature revolts," he said; "beside,
I would not be a suicide, and die thus.

It would be better far, I think,
While close I stand upon the brink,

You push me in-nay, never shrink, but do it."

To give the blow the more effect,

Some twenty yards she ran direct,

And did what she could least expect she should do.

He slips aside, himself to save,

So souse she dashes in the wave,

And gave, what ne'er she gave before, much pleasure.

"Dear husband, help! I sink!" she cried;

"Thou best of wives," the man replied,

"I would. but you my hands have tied : heaven help you."

LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.-COLMAN.

Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown place,
Has seen,
"lodgings to let," stare him full in the face.
Some are good and let dearly; while some 't is well known
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.—

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only;
But Will was so fat, he appeared like a tun,—
Or like two single gentlemen rolled into one.

He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated;
But, all the night long, he felt fevered and heated;
And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.

Next night 't was the same!—and the next! and the next!
He perspired like an ox; he was nervous, and vexed;
Week after week, till by weekly succession,

His weakly condition was past all expression.

In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him; For his skin "like a lady's loose gown," hung about him. He sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny,

"I've lost many pounds-make me well-there's a guinea."

The doctor looked wise:-" a slow fever," he said;
Prescribed sudorifics.-and going to bed.

"Sudorifies in bed," exclaimed Will, "are humbugs!
I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!"

Will kicked out the doctor:-but when ill indeed,
E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed;
So, calling his host-he said—" Sir, do you know,
I'm the fat single gentleman, six months ago?

Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will with a grin,
"That with honest intentions you first took me in :
But from the first night-and to say it I'm bold-
I've been so very hot, that I'm sure I caught cold!”

Quoth the landlord,—" Till now, I ne'er had a dispute,
I've let lodgings ten years, I'm a baker to boot;
In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven;
And your bed is immediately-over my oven."

"The oven!!!"—says Will;-says the host, "Why this pas sion?

In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. Why so crusty, good sir ?"—" Odds!" cried Will in a taking "Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking?"

"Will paid for his rooms ;"-cried the host with a sneer, "Well, I see you 've been going away half a year." "Friend, we can't well agree;-yet no quarrel,"-Will said: "But I'd rather not perish, while you make your bread."

THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN.-KHEMNITZER.

So goes the world; if wealthy, you may call
This friend, that brother, friends and brothers all;

Though you are worthless-witless-never mind it;

You may have been a stable-boy-what then?
'T is wealth, good sir, makes honorable men.

You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.
But if you're poor, heaven help you! though your sire
Had royal blood within him, and though you
Possess the intellect of angels too

'T is all in vain;-the world will ne'er inquire On such a score:-Why should it take the pains? 'Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.

I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever, Witty and wise:—he paid a man a visit,

And no one noticed him, and no one ever

Gave him a welcome. "Strange," cried I, "whence is it !"
He walked on this side, then on that,
He tried to introduce a social chat;
Now here, now there, in vain he tried;
Some formally and freezingly replied,
And some

Said by their silence-"Better stay at home."
A rich man burst the door,

As Croesus rich, I'm sure

He could not pride himself upon his wit;
And as for wisdom, he had none of it;
He had what's better;—he had wealth.
What a confusion!-all stand up erect-
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in honest duty and respect;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these conduct him there.

"Allow me sir, the honor;"-Then a bow
Down to the earth-Is 't possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension ?
The poor man hung his head,

And to himself he said,

This is indeed beyond my comprehension :"

Then looking round,

One friendly face he found,