how

bound them, and were masters of their wealth: mark now, a plain tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you four, and with a word, outfaced you from your prize, and have it, yea can show it you here in the house. And Falstaff, you carried your paunch away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard a bull-calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou has done, and then say it was in fight? What trick, what device, what starting hole canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame ?

Fal. Ha ha ha!-D'ye think I did not know ye Hal Why, hear ye, my master, was it for me to kill the heir ap parent? should I turn upon the true prince? why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules. But beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true prince; instinct is a great matter. I was a coward on instinct, I grant you; and I shall think the better of myself and thee during my life; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But I am glad you have the money. Let us clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray tomorrow. What! shall we be merry? shall we have a play extempore?

P. Henry. Content!—and the argument shall be, thy running away.

Fal. Ah!-no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me.

FLOGGING AN EDITOR.-J. N. MCELLIGOTT.

THE editor sat in his easy chair

But he sat not easy: there being an air
Of anxious thought beclouding his brow,
As if rightly he knew not what or how
To do in some matter of moment great,
On which depended a throne or a state;
When all of a sudden flew open wide
The office door, and, with hasty stride,
A loaferish figure came stalking in
With a rubicund phiz, and hairy chin,
(The former a product directly of gin)

And with fiery eye and menacing air

He made right up to the editor's chair.
66 Are you the man

What edits the paper?

I've come to tan

Your hide for that caper.

You called me a villain-you called me a 10gue,
A way of speaking, sir, too much in vogue,
With you fellows that handle the printing press:
Defend yourself, sir! I demand a redress."
The editor quailed

Decidedly paled;

But just at the moment his courage gave way
His genius stepped in, and gained him the day.
"I'm not the person, you seek," he said;
If you want redress, go straight to the head.
He's not far off, and will settle affairs,

A fire, or something worse to prevent.
Meantime there came, through a door below,
Another somebody to deal him a blow,—

A

scamp well known to annals of fame,
Whom, the hapless editor hoping to tame,
Had ventured to publish, and that by name.
At the foot of the stair,

Or near it somewhere,

The monster met him, demanding redress,
And, just like the other, began to press
Poor editor hard with a Billingsgate mess,
And threaten forthwith his hide to dress,
When necessity, mother of all invention,
And a brain editorial, used to tension,
Contrived a means of diverting attention.
"Stranger," said he,
Be not too free,

In applying abusive words to me;

Up stairs is the person you wish to see.”
Up stairs all raging the rowdy flew,
(Neither complainant the other knew,)
So the moment they met without more ado,
At it they went in a regular set to.
A terrible tussle,

A terrible bustle,

They make, as around the room they wrestle;
There were very few words, but plenty of blows,
For they fought like a couple of deadly foes,
Till each had acquired a bloody nose;
And each had the pleasure distinctly to spy,
In the face of the other, a very black eye.

AN APOTHECARY CROSS-EXAMINED.-ANON.
DAUNCEY, WARBURTON AND JUDGE.

Mr. D. Have you always been a surgeon ?

Wit. Pray, my lord, is this a proper answer?

Judge. I have not heard any answer; Mr. Dauncey has put

a question.

Wit. Must I answer?

Judge. Yes: do you object?

Wit. I do not think it a proper answer.

Judge. I presume you mean question. I beg leave to differ

with you in opinion.

Mr. D. Have you always been a surgeon ?

Wit. I am a surgent.

Mr. D. Can you spell the word you mention?

Wit. My lord, is that a fair answer?

Judge. I think it a fair question.

Wit. Spell the word! To be sure I can. S-y-u-r-gunt. Mr. D. I am rather hard of hearing-repeat what you have said.

Wit. S-u-r-gend.

Mr. D. What did you say was next to S, sir?

Wit. Sy-u-gent.

Judge. As I take it down, please to favor me with it once

more.

Wit. S-g-u-r-gent.

Judge. What?

Wit. S-e-r-gund.

Mr. D. Have you always been what you say? What were you originally?

Wit S-y-u-r-g-e-n-d.

Mr. D. Were you ever a gardener, Dr. Warburton?
Wit. Surgent.

Mr. D. I do not ask you to spell that word again.

Wit. Sergund-aye, that's it.

Mr. D. My lord, I am afraid I have thrown a spell over this poor man which he can't get rid of. Where were you a gardener?

Wit. I never was a gardener. I first was a farmer. I ceased to be a farmer, because I learnt the business I now is. Mr. D. Who did you learn it of?

Wit. My lord, is that a proper question?

Judge. I see no objection to it.

Wit. I learned it of Doctor Hum: he practised the same as the Whitworth doctors, and they were regular physicians. Mr. D. Where did they take their degrees?

Wit. I don't think they ever took any.

Mr. D. Then do you suppose they could be regular physi cians ?

Wit. No; I believe they were only doctors.

Mr. D. Were they doctors of law, physic, or divinity?

Wit. They doctored cows and other human beings.

Mr. D. Did

you ever make up

tions of a physician?

Wit. I never did.

medicines from the prescrip

Mr. D. Do you understand the characters they use for ounces, scruples, and drachms?

Wit. I do not. I can make up as good medicines in my way as they can in theirs.

Mr. D. What proportion does an ounce bear to a pound?

Wit. My lord, is that a fair answer— -I mean question?

Judge. Certainly.

Mr. D. Are there sixteen ounces to the pound?

Wit. We do not go by weight; we mix ours by the hand. Mr. D. Do you ever bleed?

Wit. Yes.

Mr. D. With a fleam or lancet?

Wit. With a lancelot.

Mr. D. Do you bleed from the vein or the artery!
Wit. From the wain.

Mr. D. There is an artery about the temple. Can you tell the name of it?

Wit. I does not pretend to have so much knowledge as

Bome.

Mr. D. Can you tell me the name of that artery?

Wit. I don't know what artifice you mean.

Mr. D. Suppose I were to tell you to bleed my servantwhich heaven forbid!—in the jugular vein, where would you apply the lancet?

Wit. In the arm, to be sure. I am a bit of a dentist

Mr. D. Indeed! Suppose, then, a person had the tooth ache, and could not bear it, how would you proceed?

Iit. Beat it out, to be sure.

Mr. D. With what?

Wit. A hammer.

Mr. D. You may retire. I am perfectly satisfied.

THE THREE BLACK CROWS.-BYROM.

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
One took the other briskly by the hand;
"Hark ye," said he, “'tis an odd story this,
About the crows!"-"I don't know what it is,"
Replied his friend. "No! I'm surprised at that;
Where I come from, it is the common chat;

T