―――― THE SHERIFF’S OFFICER. (_By the Great Unmentionable._) It is a Sheriff’s Officer And he stoppeth one of three. “By thy shocking bad hat, and quaint surtout, Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?” He collars him with his dirty hand, “There is a writ,” quoth he. “Hold off! unhand me, scoundrel, loon! Thou liest! it cannot be!” He holds him with his sparkling eye―― The arrestee stood still, And trembles like a rocking horse, The officer hath his will. The arrestee is dragged along; He cannot choose but stir; While thus spake on that awful man, The Sheriff’s Officer. The oath was drawn, the oath was sworn, The parchment pounced, and all that, The signer signed, and the sealer sealed, And lo, here is the Latitat. “I am the bailiff employed to nab, Out of the City I come, Where, the lawyers’ will tell you, there’s not a more Indefatigable Bum!” The arrestee then ’gan to see How the Bum he could give leg bail, And now he bethinks him of a plan, Which may, or may not fail. “Santa Maria, you’ve made a mistake, My honour,” quoth he, “upon’t, My name, gentle Bum, is White, not Wright, I’m not the person you want.” “Oh, yes, _you’re_ the gentleman that I want,” Was the wary Bum’s reply; Said the arrestee, “it cannot be, No gentleman am I.” But it wouldn’t do, the writ was true, And so was the bailiff eke, In the lock-up house he hath got his man, A prisoner safe and meek. * * * * * The arrestee is at Calais now, Out of the Bench came he, Genteelly dres’t, like a buck of the west, Who the deuce could he be? At first they saw him every day, And then a week him missed; He went and came, and came and went, He was a _Do_, I wist. A do, a hum, a cheat I wist, Gramercy, observe his grin; He’s taking himself of the city out, After taking the citizens in. “Oh, tic, it is a useful thing, Beloved from pole to pole; The Insolvent’s Court cuts the matter short, And calms the troubled soul.” Thus thought the arrestee, as on The deck of a steamer he stood, Oblivious quite of his Calais debts, Having made his retreat thence good. He went to the Fleet, and one night came out, Of his debts and his character shorn, A free and unencumbered man He rose the morrow morn. _The Comic Magazine._ Fourth Series. 1834. ―――― LE LECTURÉ MALGRÉ LUI. (_A lay for Cantabs._) It is a Trinity Lecturer, And he stoppeth one of eight; By thy lantern jaws and spindle shanks. Why dost thou make me wait? The breakfast’s set, the men are met, And I am peckish――very. It’s late already――hark! that roar! May’st hear them getting merry.