Part 10 (1/2)

Ah, no! 'twas a dagger of straw - Give me blinkers, to save me from starting; The knife that I thought that I saw Was nought but my eye, Betty Martin.

Now o'er this terrestrial hive A life paralytic is spread; For while the one half is alive, The other is sleepy and dead.

King Duncan, in grand majesty, Has got my state-bed for a snooze; I've lent him my slippers, so I May certainly stand in his shoes.

Blow softly, ye murmuring gales!

Ye feet, rouse no echo in walking!

For though a dead man tells no tales, Dead walls are much given to talking.

This knife shall be in at the death - I'll stick him, then off safely get!

Cries the world, this could not be Macbeth.

For he'd ne'er stick at anything yet.

Hark, hark! 'tis the signal, by goles!

It sounds like a funeral knell; O, hear it hot, Duncan! it tolls To call thee to heaven or h.e.l.l.

Or if you to heaven won't fly, But rather prefer Pluto's ether, Only wait a few years till I die, And we'll go to the devil together.

Ri fol de rol, &c.

CASE, No. II.--THE STRANGER. {71}

Who has e'er been at Drury must needs know the Stranger A wailing old Methodist, gloomy and wan, A husband suspicious--his wife acted Ranger, She took to her heels, and left poor Hypocon.

Her martial gallant swore that truth was a libel, That marriage was thraldom, elopement no sin; Quoth she, I remember the words of my Bible - My spouse is a Stranger, and I'll take him in.

With my sentimentalibus lachrymae roar 'em, And pathos and bathos delightful to see; And chop and change ribs, a-la-mode Germanorum, And high diddle ho diddle, pop tweedle dee.

To keep up her dignity no longer rich enough, Where was her plate?--why, 'twas laid on the shelf; Her land fuller's earth, and her great riches kitchen-stuff - Dressing the dinner instead of herself.

No longer permitted in diamonds to sparkle, Now plain Mrs. Haller, of servants the dread, With a heart full of grief, and a pan full of charcoal, She lighted the company up to their bed.

Incensed at her flight, her poor Hubby in dudgeon Roam'd after his rib in a gig and a pout, Till, tired with his journey, the peevish curmudgeon Sat down and blubber'd just like a church-spout.

One day, on a bench as dejected and sad he laid, Hearing a squash, he cried, d.a.m.n it, what's that?

'Twas a child of the count's, in whose service lived Adelaide, Soused in the river, and squall'd like a cat.

Having drawn his young excellence up to the bank, it Appear'd that himself was all dripping, I swear; No wonder he soon became dry as a blanket, Exposed as he was to the count's SON and HEIR.

Dear Sir, quoths the count, in reward of your valour, To show that my grat.i.tude is not mere talk, You shall eat a beefsteak with my cook, Mrs. Haller, Cut from the rump with her own knife and fork.

Behold, now the count gave the Stranger a dinner, With gunpowder-tea, which you know brings a ball, And, thin as he was, that he might not glow thinner, He made of the Stranger no stranger at all.

At dinner fair Adelaide brought up a chicken - A bird that she never had met with before; But, seeing him, scream'd, and was carried off kicking, And he bang'd his n.o.b 'gainst the opposite door.

To finish my tale without roundaboutation, Young master and missee besieged their papa; They sung a quartetto in grand blubberation - The Stranger cried Oh! Mrs. Haller cried Ah!

Though pathos and sentiment largely are dealt in, I have no good moral to give in exchange; For though she, as a cook, might be given to melting, The Stranger's behaviour was certainly strange, With this sentimentalibus lachrymae roar 'em, And pathos and bathos delightful to see, And chop and change ribs, a-la-mode Germanorum, And high diddle ho diddle, pop tweedle dee.

CASE, No. III.--GEORGE BARNWELL. {72}

George Barnwell stood at the shop-door, A customer hoping to find, sir; His ap.r.o.n was hanging before, But the tail of his coat was behind, sir.

A lady, so painted and smart, Cried, Sir, I've exhausted my stock o' late; I've got nothing left but a groat - Could you give me four penn'orth of chocolate?

Rum ti, &c.

Her face was rouged up to the eyes, Which made her look prouder and prouder; His hair stood on end with surprise, And hers with pomatum and powder.