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Should you a Rat to madness teize,

Why even a Rat might plague you:
There's no Philosopher but sees
That Rage and Fear are one disease-
Tho' that may burn and this may freeze,
They're both alike the ague.


And so this Ox in frantic mood

Faced round like any Bull
The mob turn'd tail, and he pursued,
Till they with fright and fear were stew'd,
And not a chick of all this brood,

But had his belly full.


Old Nick's astride the beast, 'tis clear

Old Nicholas to a tittle !
But all agree, he'd disappear,
Would but the parson venture near,
And thro' his teeth * right o'er the steer,

Squirt out some fasting spittle.

According to the superstition of the West Countries, XIV.

Achilles was a warrior fleet,

The Trojans he could worry-
Our parson too was swift of feet,
But shew'd it chiefly in retreat!
The victor Ox scour'd down the street,

The mob fled hurry-skurry.


Thro' gardens, lanes, and fields new-ploughid,

Thro' bis hedge and thro' ber hedge,
He plung'd, and toss'd, and bellow'd loud,
Till in his madness he grew proud,
To see this helter skelter crowd,

That had more wrath than courage.

if you meet the Devil, you may either cut him in half with a straw, or you may cause him instantly to disappear by spitting over his horns.


Alas! to mend the breaches wide

He made for these poor ninnies, They all must work, whate'er betide, Both days and months, and pay beside, (Sad news for Avarice and for Pride)

A sight of golden guineas.


But here once more to view did pop

The man that kept his senses. And now he cried—“Stop, neighbours ! stop! • The Ox is mad! I would not swop, “ No, not a school-boy's farthing top,

“ For all the parish fences.


“ The Ox is mad! Ho! Dick, Bob, Mat!

“ What means this coward fuss ? “ Ho! stretch this rope across the plat “ 'Twill trip him up—or if not that,

Why damme! we must lay him flat“ See, here's my blunderbuss !"



"A lying dog! just now he said,

“ The Ox was only glad. “Let's break his presbyterian head !"“ Hush! (quoth the sage) you've been misledy, “ No quarrels now let's all make head

You drove the poor Ox mad!"


As thus I sat in careless chat,

With the morning's wet newspaper,
In eager haste, without his hat,
As blind and blundering as a bat,
In came that fierce aristocrat,

Our pursy Woollen-draper.


And so my Muse perforce drew bit,

And in he rush'd and panted
Well, have you heard?”“No! not a whit.”
What, ha’nt


heard ?"_" Come out with it-" That Tierney votes for Mister Pitt,

“ And Sheridan's recanted,"


Now Spring's ambrosial fingers pour
Of vernal buds a breathing shower,

And sweetly smiles the blue-eyed sky;
I love unheard, unseen, to steal
Along the verdure-vested vale,

For as I stray, to Fancy's eye
Each lovelier shape of nature view'd
Displays, in sweet similitude,
The peerless graces that entwine
Around my Sarah's form divine.

The lucid dew-drop twinkling nigh,
Recalls to thought her sparkling Eye

Illumin'd with a liquid light;
The strawberry blushing on its bed
Her rapture-breathing Lip as red;

The vale-nurst lilly's bell so white,

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