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PRAYING FOR RAIN.
How difficult, alas ! to please mankind!
One or the other every moment mutlers :
A third, petition for a southern, utters.
Good Lamb, the curate, much approved,
Was one dry summer begged to pray for rain:
Immediately a torrent drenched the plain.
It chanced that the church warden, Robin Jay,
Thus was his hay to health quite past restoring.
He sought the parson, like a lion roaring.
“Zounds ! Parson Lamb, why, what have you been doing? A pretty storm, indeed, ye have been brewing!
What! pray for rain before I saved my hay!
Ask you to dine with me and Mistress Jay,
“Send you a goose, a pair of chicken,
And often too a cag of brandy!
Making my house so very handy!
“You, parson, serve one such a scurvy triek! Zounds ! you must have the bowels of Old Nick.
What! bring the flood of Noah from the skies,
“Lord! parson, you're a fool, one might suppose-
Your brother warden joined, to have the prayer.”— "Cobb! Cobb! why this for Cobb was only sport : What doth Cobb own that any rain can hurt?"
Roared furious Jay as broad as he could stare.
“The fellow owns, as far as I can larn,
Besides—why could you not for drizzle pray?
“ Dear Mister Jay, I do protest,
I do affirm it, Mister Jay, indeed.
Till you and all the parish are agreed."
APOLOGY FOR KINGS.
As want of candor really is not right,
Why will the simple world expect wise things,
Look on their poverty of education!
Jove-like, to shake the pillars of creation !
An instance take :- A king of this great land,
In days of yore, we understand,
An Earl of Pembroke was the Monarch's guide;
Incog. they traveled, shuffling side by side; And into the cathedral stole the pair.
The verger met them in his blue silk gown,
And humbly bowed his neck with reverence down, Low as an ass to lick a lock of hay:
Looking the frightened verger through and through,
And with his eye-glass—“Well, sir, who are you? What, what, sir?--hey, sir ?" deigned the king to say.
"I am the verger here, most mighty king :
In this cathedral I do every thing;
Yes, please your glorious majesty, I be,”
[It is a satire-royal: and if any thing were yet wanting to convince us that Master Pindar is no turncoat, here is proof sufficient.]
Then with his glass, as hard as eye could strain,
“He's a poor verger, sire," his lordship cried:
** Sixpence would handsomely requite him." “ Poor verger, verger, hey?" the king replied:
No, no, then, we won't knight him—no, won't knight him."
Now to the lofty roof the king did raise
For thus his marveling majesty did speak:
What, verger, what? mop, mop it once a week ?" “An't please your majesty," with marveling chops, The verger answered, "we have got no mops
In Salisbury that will reach so high.” “ Not mop, no, no, not mop it," quoth the king“No, sir, our Salisbury mops do no such thing;
They might as well pretend to scrub the sky."
That ignorance, a king too often lurches ;
The natural history of mops and churches ?
STORY THE SECOND.
From Salisbury church to Wilton House, so grand,
“My lord, you've got fine statues,” said the king.
Let's see them all, all, all, all, every thing. "Who's this ? who's this ?—who's this fine fellow here ?" “Sesostris," bowing low, replied the peer. Sir
Sostris, hey ?-Sir Sostris ?--'pon my word! Knight or a baronet, my lord ?
One of my making ?—what, my lord, my making?"
" Se-sostris, sire," so soft, the peer replied
“A famous king of Egypt, sir, of old.” "Oh, poh!" th' instructed monarch snappish cried,
“I need not that-I need not that be told.”
“Pray, pray, my lord, who's that big fellow there ?" “ 'Tis Hercules," replies the shrinking peer;
Strong fellow, hey, my lord ? strong fellow, hey? Cleaned stables !-cracked a lion like a flea; Killed snakes, great snakes, that in a cradle found him The queen, queen's coming! wrap an apron around him."
Our moral is not merely water-gruel-
It shows with kings that ignorance may dwell:
As information to great folk is hell:
It shows that decency may live with kings,
On whom the bold virtu-men turn their backs; And shows (for numerous are the naked things)
That saucy statues should be lodged in sacks.
OD'E TO THE DEVIL.
The devil is not so black as he is painted.
Yourself in meter shine;
Before this Ode of mine.