Some fell upon the Doctor's head,
His figure grac'd, or strew'd the bed;
While some in millinery shower
Were scatter'd all around the floor;
And as they in confusion lay,
Seem'd to give spirit to the fray.
Now Molly, hearing all this clatter,
Cry'd through the key-hole, what's
the matter?
If you are ill, I recommend
That we should for the Doctor send.
"Send some one," Syntax said, "I
Todrive these vermin far away: [pray,
Send me the Doctor, or I'm undone,
Who made a poor boy May'r of London.
Send me a cat, whose claws will cure
The noisome evil I endure.
With half a crown I will reward
The beast who comes to be my guard."
Molly ran off, and soon there came
The Ostler, Benedict by name,
To ease the Doctor of alarm,
With a fierce puss beneath each arm.
They soon compos'd this scene of riot,
And Syntax then repos'd in quiet.
The morning came, the unconscious
Display'd what mischief had been done.
The rats, it seems, had play'd the rig
In tearing up the Doctor's wig.
All discompos'd awhile he strutted,
To see his peruke thus begutted;
Yet when, at length in arm-chair
seated,
He saw how his head-dress was treated,
When his cool thoughts became intent
On this unrivall'd accident,
A laugh, that foe to transient cares, Seem'd to burst from him unawares: And laughing, as his best friends knew, He was not very apt to do.
Pat, who had heard of the disaster, Came to hold council with his master;
The Host, too, bow'd, and bid goodmorrow,
And with down looks express'd his
For though the master of the inn,
He for so many years had been,
He loudly vow'd he ne'er had heard
Such a complaint as this preferr'd:
For none before who sought his house,
E'er heard a rat or saw a mouse.
Pat long'd full sore to say he lied;
But he refrain'd, and thus replied:
"This is most strange, for where I slept,
They, I am sure, their councils kept:
There are these vermin beasts in plenty,
If I saw one, faith I saw twenty.
But I don't mind them, no, not I,—
I've had them oft for company.
I've been where rats and all their
cousins,
Have run across my bed by dozens."
"It is an animal I hate;
Its
very sight I execrate :
A viper I would rather see,
Than one of this dire family.
That they suck eggs I may allow,
But I ne'er heard I do declare, [know;
That they munch grain we all must
That these same vermin feed on hair."
"No, no, your Rev'rence, Old Nick
They suck the oil and the pomatum ; And when in scrambling they grew
O, they were fighting for the powder. But still 'tis shocking past enduring, For the wig's maim'd 'beyond all
-If they could but have eat the brains Once covered by these sad remains,
"O yes, what can be done by art, DICK RAZOR's knowledge will impart; A clever hand as you have seen; And who in London oft has been. At certain seasons of the year Our 'Squires hold a Sessions here, And then he doth display his trade By combing ev'ry Lawyer's head: I doubt not, Sir, that to a hair, He will your mangled wig repair." Dick Razor came, the Peruke saw, Lift up his eyes, hung down his jaw; And said at once-"Whoever wore it, No art of man can e'er restore it; But I've a wig, I know will do, Which, Sir, within an hour or two, I'll trick and furbish up for you. -It was a Councillor's, a tye, That did a solemn air supply, When he let loose his hacknied tongue To prove wrong right, and rightful
But if that wig which deck'd his brain Could speak and with clear words explain
How many lies came from that head,
Which its fine flowing curls o'erspread,
I do believe, nay, I could swear,
There'd be a lie for every hair.
Before-the curls are well confin'd,
The tails fall gracefully behind;
While a full wilderness of friz
'Tis true, for upwards of a year
Became a Lawyer's cunning phiz.
But though he ne'er forgot his fee,
I dress'd his wig and shaved him here;
He walked off without paying me.
Three years and more are past and gone
Since the voracious bird is flown;
And no harm's done to this said elf,
To sell his wig and pay myself.
The wig is good,-in London made-
Work'd up by one who knew his trade:
Cut off its tails, and when 'tis shewn,
You'll scarcely know it from your own."
"I've heard enough, my honest
friend,
And, as I seek my journey's end,
I wish you to your shop would walk,
I want my wig, and not your talk.
Go with the tonsor, Pat, and try
To aid his hand, and guide his eye."
They left the room, and straight the
Was brought the Doctor to peruse.With night-cap grac'd he sat him down,
To see how this world waddled on.
The fragrant tea his thirst supplied,
The triple toast was not denied ;
And as he drank, and as he eat,
Big with the comforts of the treat,
The night and all its horrid plot,
The Wig, the Vermin were forgot:
For while he did his bev'rage quaff,
He conn'd each various paragraph;
And as he did the columns scan,
Review'd the Epitome of Man;
Nay, as he ran the pages o'er,
He made his flight from shore to shore:
The North, the South, the East, the
West,
Were on his busy mind imprest:
The striking images of things
Were borne along on Fancy's wings;
And, with a glowing ardour fraught,
Hethus proclaim'd each rising thought.
The Newspaper Soliloquy. What now I read, I well may say, Is what men hear of ev'ry day : Of all the paths that lead through Life, Of joy and sorrow, peace and strife: Of stations proud and splendid state, Of what is good, of what is great; Of what is base, of what is mean, The strut of Pride, the look serene, The comic and the tragic scene: Of those who 'neath the portals proud Disdain to join the vulgar crowd, While at ambition's splendid shrine They bend and call the thing divine; Or those, who, by their airs and graces, Their smiling looks, their painted faces, Strive some gay glitt'ring toy to gain, And often strive and toil in vain. The haughty stride of bloated power, Gay pleasure's couch in gilded bower; The warrior's spear bedipp'd in blood, And discord wild in angry mood: Of all the scenes where fancy ranges, Its sportive tricks, its endless changes, Of rival foes, who, big with hate, Give and receive the stroke of fate; Of Cupid's fond and doleful ditties, Which passion sings and reason pities; Of Love requited or forlorn,
Of fortune, with her smiling train,
Or down-cast, ne'er to rise again;
Or those by fate ordain'd to feel
Th' alternate whirlings of its wheel;
Of virtue to each duty just,
Of fraud, low rankling in the dust;
Of friendship's strong, unbroken tie,
Affection's heart-felt sympathy;
Of hatred's fierce and scowling frown,
And jealousy that does not own
Its weakful pang; of pallid fear,
Or cunning's shrewd, insidious leer;
Of honeymoons that speed so fast,
They're gone before ten days are past;
Of ignorance that never knows
From whence it comes or where it
goes:
Of folly in its motley coat,
That acts and thinks and talks by rote;
And yet howe'er by fortune hurl'd,
Skips on, and laughs throughout the
world;
[save
While wisdom, though 'tis known to
A sinking nation from the grave;
Though she alone can form the plan
Of real happiness to man;
Will often see her sons neglected,
While knaves and blockheads are
protected.
But still the mind that loves her laws,
Whose courage dare support her cause,
Though fools may scoff and knaves
may grin,
And join the senseless rabble's din,
May for base ends, roar loud and bel-
For any factious Punchinello; [low
He that by virtue is endued,
Will win th' applauses of the good,
And more, although the crowd may
frown,
He will be sure to have his own,
And what by kings can ne'er be given,
Of faith return'd or mock'd with scorn; He will possess the smiles of Heaven:—
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