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My trunk shall be nailed quite close to my back;
Four stout lads so civil
Will bear it up level,
Now let them all sing,
Like a sieve-woman's hat,
Ri fal-da-riddle lah, &c.
THE COURT OF ALDERMEN AT FISHMONGERS' HALL.
“Is that dace or perch?"
Said Alderman Birch ; “I take it for herring,”
Said Alderman Perring.
Said Alderman Wood;
Said Alderman Ansley.
Said Alderman Heygate.
Said Alderman Thorp.
Said Alderman Smith.
Said Alderman Brown:
Said Alderman Glyn.
Said Alderman Waithman :
Said Alderman Atkins.
Said Alderman Scholey;
Said Alderman Brydges.
Said Alderman Magnay.
Said Alderman Ven-
Said Alderman Cox.
Said Alderman Curtis
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. (Born in 1767, died in 1848. President of the United States from 1825 to 1829. He wrote much in both verse and prose : his principal poetical composition, 'published in 1832, is named Dermot MacMorrogh, or the Conquest of Ireland, an Historical Tale of the Twelfth Century, in Four Cantos).
THE PLAGUE IN THE FOREST
A peopled city raised its head ;
But by four-footed beasts instead.
The hoof-defended steed;
And all the canine breed.
In social compact thus combined,
Together dwelt the beasts of prey ;
murderous weapons all resigned,
For warfare all unfit.
His weapon was—his wit.
One summer, by some fatal spell,
(Phoebus was peevish for some scoff)
And swept the beasts by thousands off.
Loved his own people from his heart;
And, taking counsel sage,
Quoth Lion, “ We are sinners all ;
And even, it must be confessed,
I-I am guilty as the rest.
I struggle to refrain,-
I find resistance vain.
“Now to be candid, I must own
The sheep are weak and I am strong,
The sheep have never done me wrong.
One trespass from your view,
I took the shepherd too.
" Then let us all our sins confess,
And whosesoe'er the blackest guilt, To ease my people's deep distress,
Let his atoning blood be spilt.
Your sentence freely give ;
And let my people live.”
The council with applauses rung,
To hear the Codrus of the wood ;' Though still some doubt suspended hung
If he would make his promise good.
Let us like subjects true
We all will die for you.
“But please your majesty, I deem,
Submissive to your royal grace,
That paltry, poltroon, sheepish race;
By all-creating power :
For lions to devour.
And as for eating now and then
As well the shepherd as the sheep,How can that braggart breed of men
Expect with you the peace to keep ? 'Tis time their blustering boast to stem, That all the world was made for them
And prove creation's plan ; Teach them by evidence profuse That man was made for lions' use,
Not lions made for man.”
And now the noble peers begin,
And, cheered with such examples bright, Disclosing each his secret sin,
Some midnight murder brought to light. Reynard was counsel for them all; No crime the assembly could appal,
But he could botch with paint: Hark, as his honeyed accents roll, Each tiger is a gentle soul,
Each bloodhound is a saint.
When each had told his tale in turn,
The long-eared beast of burden came,
To make confession of my shame ;
A haystack on my way:
And cropped a lock of hay.”
“Oh monster! villain !” Reynard cried
“No longer seek the victim, sire ; Nor why your subjects thus have died
To expiate Apollo's ire."