THE dinner served; the dean at table placed; Their conversation various points embraced; To state the whole would clearly endless be; In this no doubt the reader will agree. They changed and changed, and healths went round and round; No time for scandal while such cheer was found; The first and second course away were cleared, Dessert served up, yet still no pike appeared. The dinner o'er without th' expected dish, Or even a shadow of the promised fish. When William learned the present Anne had made, His wish, to have it cancelled, with her weighed. The rector was surprised, you may suppose, And, soon as from the table all arose, He went to Anne, and called her fool and knave, And, in his wrath, could scarcely secrets wave, But nearly her reproached the bathing scene; What, treat, said he, your priest like base and mean? ANNE archly answered, with expression neat:-- The sight is just the same as if you eat! THE DEVIL OF POPE-FIG ISLAND BY master Francis clearly 'tis expressed: The folks of Papimania are blessed; True sleep for them alone it seems was made With US the copy only has been laid; And by Saint John, if Heav'n my life will spare, I'll see this place where sleeping 's free from care. E'en better still I find, for naught they do: 'Tis that employment always I pursue. Just add thereto a little honest love, And I shall be as easy as a glove. ON t'other hand an island may be seen, Where all are hated, cursed, and full of spleen. We know them by the thinness of their face Long sleep is quite excluded from their race. SHOULD you, good reader, any person meet, With rosy, smiling looks, and cheeks replete, The form not clumsy, you may safely say, A Papimanian doubtless I survey. But if, on t'other side, you chance to view, A meagre figure, void of blooming hue, With stupid, heavy eye, and gloomy mien Conclude at once a Pope-figir, you've seen. POPE-FIG 'S the name upon an isle bestowed, Where once a fig the silly people showed, As like the pope, and due devotion paid:-- By folly, blocks have often gods been made! These islanders were punished for their crime; Naught prospers, Francis tells us, in their clime; To Lucifer was giv'n the hateful spot, And there his country house he now has got. His underlings appear throughout the isle, Rude, wretched, poor, mean, sordid, base, and vile; With tales, and horns, and claws, if we believe, What many say who ought not to deceive.