But the moonlight, pale and broken, Pained at soul the baron's son; For he knew, by that soft token, That the larking had begun;-- That the stout and valiant Marquis {97} Then was leading forth his swells, Milling some policeman's carcass, Or purloining private bells. So he sat in grief and sorrow, Rather drunk than otherwise, Till the golden gush of morrow Dawned once more upon his eyes: Till the sponging Bailiff's daughter, Lightly tapping at the door, Brought his draught of soda-water, Brandy-bottomed as before. "Sweet Rebecca! has your father, Think you, made a deal of brass?" And she answered--"Sir, I rather Should imagine that he has." Uwins then, his whiskers scratching, Leered upon the maiden's face, And, her hand with ardour catching, Folded her in close embrace. "La, Sir! let alone--you fright me!" Said the daughter of the Jew: "Dearest, how those eyes delight me! Let me love thee, darling, do!" "Vat is dish?" the Bailiff muttered, Rushing in with fury wild; "Ish your muffins so vell buttered, Dat you darsh insult ma shild?" "Honourable my intentions, Good Abednego, I swear! And I have some small pretensions, For I am a Baron's heir. If you'll only clear my credit, And advance a _thou_ {99} or so, She's a peeress--I have said it: Don't you twig, Abednego?" "Datsh a very different matter," Said the Bailiff, with a leer; "But you musht not cut it fatter Than ta slish will shtand, ma tear! If you seeksh ma approbation, You musht quite give up your rigsh, Alsho you musht join our nashun, And renounsh ta flesh of pigsh." Fast as one of Fagin's pupils, I. O. Uwins did agree! Little plagued with holy scruples From the starting-post was he. But at times a baleful vision Rose before his shuddering view, For he knew that circumcision Was expected from a Jew. At a meeting of the Rabbis, Held about the Whitsuntide, Was this thorough-paced Barabbas Wedded to his Hebrew bride: All his previous debts compounded, From the sponging-house he came, And his father's feelings wounded With reflections on the same. But the sire his son accosted-- "Split my wig! if any more Such a double-dyed apostate Shall presume to cross my door! Not a penny-piece to save ye From the kennel or the spout;-- Dinner, John! the pig and gravy!-- Kick this dirty scoundrel out!" Forth rushed I. O. Uwins, faster Than all winking--much afraid That the orders of the master Would be punctually obeyed: Sought his club, and then the sentence Of expulsion first he saw; No one dared to own acquaintance With a Bailiff's son-in-law. Uselessly, down Bond Street strutting, Did he greet his friends of yore: Such a universal cutting Never man received before: Till at last his pride revolted-- Pale, and lean, and stern he grew; And his wife Rebecca bolted With a missionary Jew.