Soe whenne her good man waxed him wood She mervailed much to here The hejeous sound of othes full round The which her lord did swere. "Now, pray thee, speke and tell me eke What thing hath vexed thee soe?" The wiffe she cried; but he replied By swereing moe and moe. Her sweren zounds which be Gog's wounds, By bricht Marie and Gis, By sweit Sanct Ann and holie Tan And by Bryde's bell, ywis. By holie grails, by 'slids and 'snails, By old Sanct Dunstan bauld, The virgin faire that him did beare, By him that Judas sauld; By Arthure's sword, by Paynim horde, By holie modyr's teir, By Cokis breath, by Zooks and 's death, And by Sanct Swithen deir; By divells alle, both greate and smalle, And in hell there be, By bread and salt, and by Gog's malt, And by the blody tree; By Him that worn the crown of thorn And by the sun and mone, By deir Sanct Blanc and Sanct Fillane, And three kings of Cologne; By the gude Lord and His sweit word, By him that herryit hell, By blessed Jude, by holie rude, And eke be Gad himsell! He sweren soe (and mickle moe) It made man's flesch to creepen, The air ben blue with his ado And sore his wiffe ben wepen. Giff you wold know why sweren soe The goodman high Sir Hoten, He ben full wroth, because, in soth, He leesed his coler boten. AN OLD SONG REVISED. John Hamilton, my Jo John, When first we were acquaint You were as lavish as could be With your vermillion paint; But now the head that once was red Seems veiled in sable woe, And clouds of gloom obscure your boom, John Hamilton, my Jo. Oh, was it Campbell's hatchet wrought The ruin we deplore? Or was it Abnor Taylor's thirst For your abundant gore? Or was it Hank's ambitious pranks That laid our idol low? Come, let us know how came you so, John Hamilton, my Joe! We pine to know the awful truth. So, pray, be pleased to tell The story--full of tragic fire-- How one great statesman fell; How dives' hand stalked in the land And dealt a crushing blow At one proud name--which you're the same, John Hamilton, my Jo! THE GRATEFUL PATIENT. The doctor leaned tenderly over the bed And looked at the patient 's complexion, And felt of the pulse and the feverish head, Then stood for a time in reflection. "A strange complication! My recommendation Is morphia by hypodermic injection." The patient looked up with a leer in his eye And winked in the doctor's direction-- "Well, Doc," he remarked, "since you say I must die, I'm grateful to you for protection-- I'm now in position To ask the commission T' excuse me from serving as judge of election." THE BEGINNING AND THE END.