• Again, would your lordship a moment suppose— "Tis a case that has happened, and may be again— That the visage or countenance had not a nose,

Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then? 'On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, And the nose was as plainly intended for them.' Then shifting his side, as the lawyer knows how, He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes ; But what were his arguments few people know, For the world did not think they were equally wise. So his lordship decreed, with grave solemn tone, Decisive and clear, without one if or but— That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By daylight or candle-light-Eyes should be shut! Couper.

Ex. 204.

The Well of St. Keyne.

A well there is in the west country,

And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.
An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,
And behind does an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne ;
Joyfully he drew nigh,

For from cock-crow he had been travelling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.
He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he;

And he sat down upon the bank

Under the willow-tree.

There came a man from the neighbouring town,
At the Well to fill his pail ;

On the Well-side he rested it,
And he bade the stranger hail.

Now, art thou a bachelor, stranger?' quoth he,
'For, an if thou hast a wife,

The happiest draught thou hast drunk this day,
That ever thou didst in thy life.

'Or has thy good woman-if one thou hast—
Ever here in Cornwall been?

For, an if she have, I'll venture my life
She has drunk of the Well of St. Keyne.'

I have left a good woman who never was here,'
The stranger he made reply;

But that my draught should be better for that,
I pray you answer me why.'

'St. Keyne,' quoth the Cornish-man, many a time
Drank of this crystal Well,

And before the angel summoned her,
She laid on the water a spell :

'If the husband-of this gifted Well
Shall drink before his wife,

A happy man thenceforth is he,

For he shall be master for life.

'But if the wife should drink of it first.

God help the husband then!'

The stranger stooped to the Well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the water again.

'You drank of the Well, I warrant, betimes?'
He to the Cornish-man said:

But the Cornish-man smiled as the stranger spake,
And sheepishly shook his head.

'I hastened as soon as the wedding was done,
And left my wife in the porch :

But i'faith! she had been wiser than I;
For she took a bottle to church.'

Southey.

A fellow, in a market-town,

Most musical cried razors up and down,
And offered twelve for eighteen-pence ;
Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap,
And, for the money, quite a heap,

As every man would buy, with cash and sense.

A country bumpkin the great offer heard :

Poor Hodge! who suffered by a thick, black beard,
That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose,

With cheerfulness the eighteen-pence he paid,
And proudly to himself, in whispers, said,
This rascal stole the razors, I suppose !

'No matter if the fellow be a knave, Provided that the razors shave:

It sartinly will be a monstrous prize.’

So, home the clown, with his good fortune, went
Smiling in heart and soul content,

And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.

Being well lathered from a dish or tub,
Hodge now begun with grinning pain to grub,
Just like a hedger cutting furze :

'Twas a vile razor!-then the rest he tried-
All were impostors-'Ah!' Hodge sighed,

'I wish my eighteen-pence within my purse!'

In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces,

He cut, and dug, and winced, and stamped, and swore ; Brought blood and danced, blasphemed and made wry faces; And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er!

His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff,
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff;

So kept it-laughing at the steel and suds :
Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws,
Vowing the direst vengeance, with clinched claws,
On the vile cheat that sold the goods.
'Razors! a base confounded dog!

Not fit to scrape a hog!'

Hodge sought the fellow-found him, and begun-
'Perhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun,
That people flay themselves out of their lives:
You rascal! for an hour have I been grubbing,
With razors just like oyster-knives.
Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave,
To cry up razors that can't shave.

'Friend,' quoth the razor-man, 'I am no knave:

As for the razors you have bought,

Upon my soul, I never thought

That they would shave.'

'Not think they'd shave!' quoth Hodgo, with wondering eyes, And voice not much unlike an Indian yell;

'What were they made for then, you dog?' he cries. 'Made!' quoth the fellow, with a smile,-' to sell.'

Wolcot.

Ex. 206.

The Three Warnings.

The tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit the ground;
"Twas therefore said by ancient sages,
That love of life increased with years
So much, that in our latter stages,
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.

This strong affection to believe,
Which all confess, but few perceive,
If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleased to hear a modern tale.

When sports went round, and all were gay
On neighbour Dobson's wedding-day,
Death called aside the jocund groom
With him into another room,

And looking grave, 'You must,' says he,
Quit your sweet bride, and come with me.'
'With you! and quit my Susan's side!
'With you!' the hapless husband cried :
Young as I am! 'tis monstrous hard :
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared ;
My thoughts on other matters go;
This is my wedding night, you know.'
What more he urged, I have not heard ;
His reasons could not well be stronger :
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.

Yet, calling up a serious look,

His hour-glass trembled while he spoke :
Neighbour,' he said, 'farewell: no more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour ;
And farther, to avoid all blame

Of cruelty upon my name,
To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have
Before you're summoned to the grave :
Willing for once, I'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve;

In hopes you'll have no more te say;
But when I call again this way,

Well pleased the world will leave.'
To these conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented.

What next the hero of our tale befell,
How long he lived, how wisely well;
How roundly he pursued his course,
And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse,
The willing muse shall tell :

He chaffered then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,
Nor thought of death as near;
His friends not false, his wife no shrew;
Many his gains, his children few,
He passed his smiling hours in peace;
And still he viewed his wealth increase.
While thus, along life's dusty road
The beaten track content he trod,
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,
Brought on his eightieth year—
When, lo! one night in musing mood,
As all alone he sat,

The unwelcome messenger of fate
Once more before him stood.

Half killed with anger and surprise,

'So soon returned?' old Dobson cries.

So soon, do you call it?' Death replies :

Surely, my friend, you're but in jest ; Since I was here before,

'Tis six and thirty years at least,

And you are now fourscore.'

'So much the worse,' the clown rejoined ; 'To spare the aged would be kind : Besides, you promised me Three Warnings, Which I have looked for, nights and mornings, And for that loss of time and ease,

I can recover damages.'

;

I know,' says Death, 'that, at the best,
I seldom am a welcome guest;
But don't be captious, friend, at least:
I little thought you'd still be able
To stump about your farm and stable
Your years have run to a great length,
I wish you joy though of your strength.'
'Hold,' says the farmer, 'not so fast;
I have been lame these four years past.'