Fragment -

FRAGMENT
" Well — well!" quoth I, As I heaved a sigh,
And a tear-drop fell from my twinkling eye,
" My vastly good man, as I scarcely doubt
That some day or other you'll find it out,
Should he come in your way,
Or ride in your " shay "
(As perhaps he may), Be so good as to say
That a Visitor, whom you drove over one day,

Netley Abbey -

A LEGEND OF HAMPSHIRE .

I SAW thee, Netley, as the sun
Across the western wave
Was sinking slow, And a golden glow
To thy roofless towers he gave;
And the ivy sheen, With its mantle of green,
That wrapt thy walls around,
Shone lovelily bright, In that glorious light,
And I felt 'twas holy ground.

The Ingoldsby Penance

A LEGEND OF PALESTINE AND — WEST KENT

FYTIE I .

Out and spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray,
A stalwart knight, I ween, was he,
" Come east, come west, Come lance in rest,
Come falchion in hand, I'll tickle the best
Of all the Soldan's Chivalrie!"

Oh! they came west, and they came east,
Twenty-four Emirs and Sheiks at the least,
And they hammer'd away. At Sir Ingoldsby Bray,

The Auto-da-fe

A LEGEND OF SPAIN .

CANTO I .

With a moody air, from morn till noon,
King Ferdinand paces the royal saloon;
From morn till eve, He does nothing but grieve;
Sighings and sobbings his midriff heave,
And he wipes his eyes with his ermined sleeve,
And he presses his feverish hand to his brow,
And he frowns and he looks I can't tell you how;

The Merchant of Venice

I BELIEVE there are few
But have heard of a Jew,
Named Shylock, of Venice, as arrant a " screw"
In money transactions as ever you knew;
An exorbitant miser, who never yet lent
A ducat at less than three hundred per cent,
Insomuch that the veriest spendthrift in Venice,
Who'd take no more care of his pounds than his pennies,
When press'd for a loan, at the very first sight
Of his terms, would back out, and take refuge in Flight .
It is not my purpose to pause and inquire
If he might not, in managing thus to retire,

Sir Rupert the Fearless -

A LEGEND OF GERMANY .

Sir RUPERT THE FEARLESS , a gallant young knight,
Was equally ready to tipple or fight,
Crack a crown, or a bottle, Cut sirloin, or throttle!
In brief, or, as Hume says, " to sum up the tottle,"
Unstain'd by dishonour, unsullied by fear,
All his neighbours pronounced him a preux chevalier .

Despite these perfections, corporeal and mental,
He had one slight defect, viz, a rather lean rental;

The Black Mousquetaire

A LEGEND OF FRANCE .

CANTO I .

F RANÇOIS XAVIER AUGUSTE was a gay Mousquetaire,
The Pride of the Camp, the delight of the Fair:
He'd a mien so distingue and so debonnaire ,
And shrugg'd with a grace so recherche and rare,
And he twirl'd his moustache with so charming an air,
— His moustaches I should say, because he'd a pair, —
And, in short, show'd so much of the true sçavoir faire ,
All the ladies in Paris were wont to declare,

Appendix -

Since penning this stanza, a learn'd Antiquary
Has put my poor Muse in no trifling quandary,
By writing an essay to prove that he knows a
Spot which, in truth is, The real " Bermoothes,"
In the Mediterranean, — now called Lampedosa;
— For proofs, having made, as he farther alleges, stir,
An entry was found in the old Parish Register,
The which at his instance the excellent Vicar extracted: viz. " Caliban, base son of Sycorax."
— He had rather, by half, Have found Prospero's " Staff;"

Mr. Peters's Story — The Bagman's Dog -

IT was a litter, a litter of five,
Four are drown'd, and one left alive,
He was thought worthy alone to survive,
And the Bagman resolved upon bringing him up,
To eat of his bread and drink of his cup,
He was such a dear little cock-tail'd pup!
The Bagman taught him many a trick;
He would carry, and fetch, and run after a stick,
Could well understand. The word of command,
And appear to doze. With a crust on his nose
Till the Bagman permissively waved his hand:

Some Account of a New Play -

IN A FAMILIAR EPISILE TO MY BROTHER-IN-LAW, LIEUT. SEAFORTH, H.P., LATE OF THE HON E.I.C.'S 2D REGI OF BOMBAY FENCIBLES .

Dear C HARLES , T AVISTOCK H OTEL , Nov 1839.
— In reply to your letter, and Fanny's,
Lord Brougham, it appears, isn't dead, — though Queen Anne is;
'Twas a " plot" and a " farce" — you hate farces, you say —
Take another " plot," then, viz the plot of the Play

The Countess of Arundel, high in degree,
As a lady possess'd of an earldom in fee,
Was imprudent enough, at fifteen years of age,

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