To Bath they went to Lansdowne Crescent, Where good Sir John he did provide No end of teas and balls incessant, And hosses both to drive and ride. He was so Ospitably busy, When Miss was late, he'd make so bold Upstairs to call out, "Missy, Missy, Come down, the coffy's getting cold!" But O! 'tis sadd to think such bounties Should meet with such return as this; O Barring of Saint Bart, O Countess Grabrowski, and O cruel Miss! He married you at Bath's fair Habby, Saint Bart he treated like a son-- And wasn't it uncommon shabby To do what you have went and done! My trembling And amost refewses To write the charge which Sir John swore, Of which the Countess he ecuses, Her daughter and her son-in-lore. My Mews quite blushes as she sings of The fatle charge which now I quote: He says Miss took his two best rings off, And pawned 'em for a tenpun note. "Is this the child of honest parince, To make away with folks' best things? Is this, pray, like the wives of Barrins, To go and prig a gentleman's rings?" Thus thought Sir John, by anger wrought on, And to rewenge his injured cause, He brought them hup to Mr. Broughton, Last Vensday veek as ever waws. If guiltless, how she have been slandered! If guilty, wengeance will not fail: Meanwhile the lady is remanded And gev three hundred pouns in bail. JACOB HOMNIUM'S HOSS. A NEW PALLICE COURT CHANT. One sees in Viteall Yard, Vere pleacemen do resort, A wenerable hinstitute, 'Tis call'd the Pallis Court. A gent as got his i on it, I think 'twill make some sport. The natur of this Court My hindignation riles: A few fat legal spiders Here set & spin their viles; To rob the town theyr privlege is, In a hayrea of twelve miles. The Judge of this year Court Is a mellitary beak, He knows no more of Lor Than praps he does of Greek, And prowides hisself a deputy Because he cannot speak. Four counsel in this Court-- Misnamed of Justice--sits; These lawyers owes their places to Their money, not their wits; And there's six attornies under them, As here their living gits. These lawyers, six and four, Was a livin at their ease, A sendin of their writs abowt, And droring in the fees, When their erose a cirkimstance As is like to make a breeze. It now is some monce since, A gent both good and trew Possest an ansum oss vith vich He didn know what to do: Peraps he did not like the oss; Peraps he was a scru. This gentleman his oss At Tattersall's did lodge; There came a wulgar oss-dealer, This gentleman's name did fodge, And took the oss from Tattersall's Wasn that a artful dodge? One day this gentleman's groom This willain did spy out, A mounted on this oss A ridin him about; "Get out of that there oss, you rogue," Speaks up the groom so stout.