_Cris._ No, no; you, who love me as well as the lord of the manor himself, must drink with me, or I shall take it unkind, and perhaps give my vote where I think I am more respected. _Sir B._ Resistance is in vain--to get his vote I must submit and take the poison. (_aside._) Well, friend Crispin, to show that I respect you, here’s yours and the King’s good health. (_drinks._) Pshaw, pshaw, it’s a nauseous draught, (_aside._) _Cris._ That’s well (_throws his arms round Dibble’s neck._) My dear friend, that loves me as well as the mayor himself, kiss my cheek, and then I will believe you are sincere in your friendship. _Sir B._ There, Crispin. Pshaw, how he stinks of those vile spirits and tobacco. (_aside._) _Cris._ Give us your fist again (_holding him by the hand_), my dear friend, Sir Bilberry, who loves me as well as the mayor himself, who can descend to drink gin with, and kiss a poor cobbler in his stall. I heartily thank you, and now I’ll finish my shoe. _Sir B._ Well, honest Crispin! you promised to vote for me? _Cris._ Who told you so? _Sir B._ Oh! my dear, I understand you (_taking out his purse_) here are corianders that will purchase hides enough to heel-piece the whole borough--here Crispin. _Cris._ What! a bribe;----out of my stall, or by Jingo I’ll stick my awl to the head in your---- _Dibble leaves the stall, Crispin follows._ _Sir B._ Here’s a transition, Pander. _Cris._ What! shall Crispin Heel-tap, the cobbler of Steady-town, give his vote to such a thing as you? A mean-spirited rascal who can stoop to drink gin in a stall, and to kiss the sweaty cheek of a poor cobbler? No, no; to serve your purpose you would not mind stooping to kiss my----, make off while you’re safe. I’ll vote for none of your Jack-a-Dandy’s, but for my faithful master, Sir Thomas Trueman--so away, Sir Fop, you have your answer. _Exeunt Dibble and Pander._ RYLE & CO., Printers, 2 and 3, Monmouth Court, 7 Dials, London. _A New Edition of the Universal_ SPELLING BOOK, OR A Lesson for the Unions. TUTOR. Now my Scholars, all of you that renounce the Whigs and all their works, stand up, and I will hear you say your lessons.--Know my children, that those who we hailed as friends a short time back, were but wolves in lamb’s clothing, and are now about to attack you, the children of the Unions and members of the flock of the good Shepherd of Birmingham; but my good children, be firm, and you will yet escape their devouring jaws. Know you, my children, that ferocious wolf of Winchelsea is about to disunite you? PUPIL. (_Laughing._) Ah! ah! ah! T. What are you laughing at, you young dog? P. Why, sir, I really thought you was joking, when you said ferocious wolf, for I think he is more like a skulking Fox. T. Aye! you young dog, do you mean to call the big and noble animal of Winchelsea, a skulking Fox?--Did he not bravely challenge the Tiger of Waterloo at Battersea? P. That he did, sir, and bravely skulked away.