And now the roast beef had been blest by the priest, To cram now the guests had begun; Tooth and nail, like a wolf, fell the bride on the feast, Nor yet had the clash of her knife and fork ceas’d, When a bell (’twas a dustman’s) toll’d “One!” Then first, with amazement Brown Sally Green found That a stranger was stuck by her side; His cravat and his ruffles with snuff were embrown’d; He ate not, he drank not, but turning him round, Sent some pudding away to be fried!!! His wig was turn’d forwards, and short was his height, His apron was dirty to view; The women (oh! wond’rous) were hush’d at his sight; The cats, as they ey’d him, drew back, (well they might) For his body was pea-green and blue! Now as all wish’d to speak, but none knew what to say, They look’d mighty foolish and queer; At length spoke the bride, while she trembled, “I pray, “Dear sir, your peruke that aside you wou’d lay, “And partake of some strong or small beer!” The sempstress is silent; the stranger complies, And his wig from his phiz deigns to pull; Adzooks! what a squall Sally gave thro’ surprize! Like a pig that is stuck, how she open’d her eyes, When she recogniz’d Jollup’s bare skull! Each miss! then exclaim’d, while she turn’d up her snout, “Sir, your head isn’t fit to be seen!” The pot-boys ran in, and the pot-boys ran out, And could not conceive what the noise was about, While the doctor address’d Sally Green. “Behold me! thou jilt-flirt! behold me!” he cried, “You have broken the faith which you gave! “God grants, that to punish your falsehood and pride, “Over-eating should give you a pain in your side; “Come, swallow this rhubarb! I’ll physic the bride, “And send her well dosed to the grave!” Thus saying, the physic her throat he forc’d down, In spite of whate’er she could say, Then bore to his chariot the damsel so brown; Nor ever again was she seen in that town, Or the doctor who whisk’d her away. Not long liv’d the Brewer; and none since that time, To make use of the brewhouse presume; For ’tis firmly believ’d that, by order sublime, There Sally Green suffers the pain of her crime, And bawls to get out of the room. At midnight, four times in each year, does her sprite With shrieks make the chamber resound, “I won’t take the rhubarb!” she squalls in affright, While, a cup in his left hand, a draught in his right, Giles Jollup pursues her around! With wigs so well powder’d, their fees while they crave, Dancing round them, twelve doctors are seen; They drink chicken broth, while this horrible stave Is twang’d thro’ each nose,――“To Giles Jollup the Grave, “And his patient, the sick Sally Green!” M. G. LEWIS. ―――― ST. GEORGE AND CAROLINE.