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To clear such rubbish from the earth,
And science do attend you, -
They'd only turn and rend you.
THERE liv'd as fame reports, in days of yore,
A pleasant wight in town, yelep'd Tom King,
In short, for strokes of humor, quite the thing.
To many a jovial club, this King was known,
Choice spirit, grave free-mason, buck, and blood, Would crowd, his stories and bon mots to hear, And none a disappointment e'er could fear,
His humor flow'd in such a copious flood.
To him a frolic was a high delight-
Careless how prudence on the sport might frown.
Nor left the game till he had run it down.
One night, our hero, rambling with a friend,
Just by that spot, the Seven Dials hight;
And scarce a lamp display'd a twinkling light.
Around this place, there liv'd the num’rous clans
Known at that time by name of refugees-
And here they lighted like a swarm of bees.
Well! our two friends were saunt'ring through the street,
When, in a window near, a light they view;
So tow'rds the gloomy dome our hero drew.
Strait at the door he gave a thund'ring knock, (The time we may suppose near two o'clock)
“I'll ask," says King, “ if Thompson lodges here"“ Thompson !" cries t'other, “who the deuce is he ?" “I know not," King replies,“ but want to see
What kind of animal will now appear.”
After some time a little Frenchman came,
The other held a thing they call culotte ;
Scarce half awake, he heav'd a yawning note.
Though thus untimely rous'd, he courteous smild,
Bending his head politely to his knee-
Pray tell me, sare, vat your commands vid me ?”
" Sir," reply'd King, “ I merely thought to know, As by your house I chanc'd to-night to go
But, really, I disturb'd your sleep I fearI say, I thought, that you perhaps could tell, Among the folks who in this street may dwell,
If there's a Mr. Thompson lodges here ?"
The shiv'ring Frenchman, tho' not pleas'd to find
Too simple to suspect 'twas meant in jeer, Shrugg'd out a sigh that thus his rest should break, Then, with unalter'd courtesy, he spake
“No, sare, no Monsieur Tonson lodges here." Our wag begg'd pardon, and toward home he sped, While the poor Frenchman crawl'd again to bed;
But King, resolv'd not thus to drop the jest, So the next night, with more of whim than grace, Again he made a visit to the place,
To break once more the poor old Frenchman's rest.
He knock'd--but waited longer than before ;
Our Frenchman lay in such a sleep profound;
And oft indeed he made the door resound.
At last King hears him o'er the passage creep,
salutes him with a civil leer; Thus drawling out, to heighten the surprise, (While the poor Frenchman rubb'd his heavy eyes)
" Is there-a Mr. Thompson-lodges here?” The Frenchman falter'd, with a kind of fright"Vy, sare, I'm sure I told you, sare, last night,
(And here he labor'd with a sigh sincere) No Monsieur Tonson in de varld I know, No Monsieur Tonson here—I told you so;
Indeed, sare, dare no Monsieur Tonson here!"
Some more excuses tender'd, off King goes,
The rogue next night pursu'd his old career'Twas long indeed before the man came nigh, And then he utter'd, in a piteous cry,
“ Saré, ’pon my soul, no Monsieur Tonson here !" Our sportive wight his usual visit paid, And the next night came forth a prattling maid :
Whose tongue indeed than any jack went fasterAnxious she strove his errand to enquire, He said “ 'tis vain her pretty tongue to tire,
He should not stir till he had seen her master."
The damsel then began, in doleful state,
And begg'd he'd call at proper time of day-
But first had much of deep concern to say.
Thus urg'd, she went the snoring man to call,
E’re she could rouse the torpid lump of clay-
When King attacks him in his usual way. The Frenchman now perceiv'd 'twas all in vain To this tormenter mildly to complain,
And strait in rage began his crest to rearSare, vat the mischief make you treat me so ? Sare, I inform you, sare, three nights ago,
Did I not say no Monsieur Tonson here ?" True as the night, King went, and heard a strife Between the harass'd Frenchman and his wife,
Which should descend to chase the fiend away ; At length to join their forces they agree,
And strait impetuously they turn the key,
Prepar’d with mutual fury for the fray.
Utt'ring the old enquiry, calmly stood-
With,“ Well, I'll call when you 're in gentler mood.”
So fond of mischief was the wicked wit;
Monsieur at last was forc'd his house to quit.
Six ling’ring years were there his tedious lot;
And his long absence is at once forgot.
He fain must stroll, the well known haunt to trace; "Ah, here's the scene of frequent mirth," he said, "My poor old Frenchman, I suppose, is dead
Egad, I'll knock, and see who holds his place." With rapid strokes he makes the mansion roar, And while he eager eyes the op'ning door,
Lo! who obeys the knocker's rattling peal ? Why e'en our little Frenchman, strange to say ! He took his old abode that very day
Capricious turn of sportive fortune's wheel! Without one thought of the relentless foe, Who, fiend-like, haunted him so long ago,