The Devil's Walk on Earth But, then, said Satan to himself, As for that said beginner, Against my infernal Majesty, There is no greater sinner. He hath put me in ugly ballads He hath scoff'd at my hoofs and my horns, But this Mister Poet shall find I am not a safe subject for whim; For I'll set up a School of my own, And my Poets shall set upon him. He went to a coffee-house to dine, They are much to my palate, thought he, But the soles in the bill were ten shillings; But mark ye, said he to the waiter, Now soles are exceedingly cheap, 305 As he went along the Strand Between three in the morning and four He observed a queer-looking person Who staggered from Perry's door. And he thought that all the world over The Devil then he prophesied It would one day be matter of talk, And with wit moreover being happily bitten, A pretty mistake, quoth the Devil; I have put many ill thoughts in his mouth, And whoever shall say that to Porson He is an untruth-telling whore-son, And if seeking an illicit connection with fame, Any one else should put in a claim, In this comical competition; That excellent poem will prove A man-trap for such foolish ambition, Where the silly rogue shall be caught by the leg, And exposed in a second edition. Now the morning air was cold for him Father Molloy For he had some morning calls to make Before he went back to Hell; So thought he I'll step into a gaming-house, And that will do as well; But just before he could get to the door A wonderful chance befell. For all on a sudden, in a dark place, -'s burning face; 'Twas the general conflagration. 307 Robert Southey. FATHER MOLLOY OR, THE CONFESSION PADDY MCCABE was dying one day, And Father Molloy he came to confess him; Paddy pray'd hard he would make no delay, But forgive him his sins and make haste for to bless him. "First tell me your sins," says Father Molloy, "For I'm thinking you've not been a very good boy." "Oh," says Paddy, “ so late in the evenin', I fear, 'Twould throuble you such a long story to hear, For you've ten long miles o'er the mountains to go, While the road I've to travel's much longer, you know. So give us your blessin' and get in the saddle, To tell all my sins my poor brain it would addle; And the docther gave ordhers to keep me so quiet'Twould disturb me to tell all my sins, if I'd thry it, And your Reverence has towld us, unless we tell all, 'Tis worse than not makin' confession at all. So I'll say in a word I'm no very good boyAnd, therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy." "Well, I'll read from a book," says Father Molloy, Your Reverence's fist will be soon black and blue; "Well," says Father Molloy, "if your sins I forgive, So you must forgive all your enemies truly; And promise me also that, if you should live, You'll leave off your old tricks, and begin to live newly." "I forgive ev'rybody," says Pat, with a groan, "Except that big vagabone Micky Malone; And him I will murdher if ever I can-" "Tut, tut," says the priest, "you're a very bad man; For without your forgiveness, and also repentance, You'll ne'er go to Heaven, and that is my sentence." "Poo!" says Paddy McCabe, "that's a very hard caseWith your Reverence and Heaven I'm content to make pace; But with Heaven and your Reverence I wondher-Och hone You would think of comparin' that blackguard Malone- So, now for your blessin', sweet Father Molloy !" Samuel Lover. The Owl-Critic THE OWL-CRITIC 309 "WHO stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop, The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop; The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading "Don't you see, Mr. Brown," Cried the youth, with a frown, "How wrong the whole thing is, How preposterous each wing is. How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is- I've learned owl-eology. I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections, Arising from unskilful fingers that fail To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail. Do take that bird down, Or you'll soon be the laughing-stock all over town!" |