King John and the Abbot O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, Now three weeks space to thee will I give. Away rode the abbot, all sad at that word, That could with his learning an answer devise. Then home rode the abbot, of comfort so cold, Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give: The first is to tell him there in that stead, The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt, Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet, Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, And if you will but lend me your gowne, There is none shall knowe us in fair London towne. 555 Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have, Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say, And first, when thou seest me here in this stead, For thirty pence our Saviour was sold For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee. The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel, I did not think I had been worth so littel! -Now secondly tell me, without any doubt, You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same, And then your grace need not make any doubt The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, I did not think it could be gone so soone! -Now from the third question thou must not shrinke, But tell me here truly what I do thinke. Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry: On the Death of a Favorite Cat But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see, The king he laughed, and swore by the masse, Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee, For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee: 557 Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John. From Percy's Reliques. ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLDFISHES 'TWAS on a lofty vase's side, Her conscious tail her joy declared; Her coat that with the tortoise vies, Still had she gaz'd, but, 'midst the tide, The hapless nymph with wonder saw: With many an ardent wish, She stretched in vain to reach the prize: Presumptuous maid! with looks intent, Eight times emerging from the flood, No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred, From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived, And be with caution bold: Not all that tempts your wandering eyes, Nor all that glistens gold. Thomas Gray. MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY MR. SIMPKINSON (loquitur) I WAS in Margate last July, I walk'd upon the pier, I saw a little vulgar Boy-I said "What make you here?The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks any thing but joy; Again I said, "What make you here, you little vulgar Boy?" Misadventures at Margate 559 He frown'd, that little vulgar Boy-he deem'd I meant to scoff: And when the little heart is big, a little "sets it off"; "Hark! don't you hear, my little man?-it's striking nine," I said, "An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed. Run home and get your supper, else your Ma' will scold-Oh! fie! It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!" The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring, "Ah I haven't got no supper! and I haven't got no Ma'!! "My father, he is on the seas,-my mother's dead and gone! And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world alone; I have not had, this live-long day, one drop to cheer my heart, Nor brown' to buy a bit of bread with,-let alone a tart. "If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ, By day or night, then blow me tight!" (he was a vulgar Boy); "And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed intent To jump, as Mr. Levi did from off the Monu-ment!" "Cheer up! cheer up! my little man-cheer up! I kindly said. You are a naughty boy to take such things into your head: If you should jump from off the pier, you'd surely break your legs, Perhaps your neck-then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs are eggs! "Come home with me, my little man, come home with me and sup; My landlady is Mrs. Jones-we must not keep her up |