At last, conceive her, rising from the ground, Weary of sitting on her russet clothing; And looking round Where rest was to be found, There was no house--no villa there--no nothing! No house! The change was quite amazing; It made her senses stagger for a minute, The riddle’s explication seem’d to harden; But soon her superannuated _nous_ Explained the horrid mystery;--and raising Her hand to heaven, with the cabbage in it, On which she meant to sup,-- “Well! this _is_ Fairy Work! I’ll bet a farden, Little Prince Silverwings has ketch’d me up, And set me down in some one else’s garden!” THE FALL OF THE DEER. [FROM AN OLD MS.] Now the loud Crye is up, and harke! The barkye Trees give back the Bark; The House Wife heares the merrie rout, And runnes,--and lets the beere run out, Leaving her Babes to weepe,--for why? She likes to heare the Deer Dogges crye, And see the wild Stag how he stretches The naturall Buck-skin of his Breeches, Running like one of Human kind Dogged by fleet Bailiffes close behind-- As if he had not payde his Bill For Ven’son, or was owing still For his two Hornes, and soe did get Over his Head and Ears in Debt;-- Wherefore he strives to paye his Waye With his long Legges the while he maye:-- But he is chased, like Silver Dish, As well as anye Hart may wish Except that one whose Heart doth beat So faste it hasteneth his feet;-- And runninge soe, he holdeth Death Four Feet from him,--till his Breath Faileth, and slacking Pace at last, From runninge slow he standeth faste, With hornie Bayonettes at baye, To Baying Dogges around, and they Pushing him sore, he pusheth sore, And goreth them that seeke his Gore, Whatever Dogge his Horne doth rive Is dead--as sure as he’s alive! Soe that courageous Hart doth fight With Fate, and calleth up his might, And standeth stout that he maye fall Bravelye, and be avenged of all, Nor like a craven yeeld his Breath Under the Jawes of Dogges and Death! TIM TURPIN, A PATHETIC BALLAD. I. Tim Turpin he was gravel blind, And ne’er had seen the skies: For Nature, when his head was made, Forgot to dot his eyes. II. So, like a Christmas pedagogue, Poor Tim was forced to do-- Look out for pupils, for he had A vacancy for two. III. There’s some have specs to help their sight Of objects dim and small: But Tim had _specs_ within his eyes, And could not see at all. IV. Now Tim he woo’d a servant maid, And took her to his arms; For he, like Pyramus, had cast A wall-eye on her charms. V. By day she led him up and down Where’er he wish’d to jog, A happy wife, altho’ she led The life of any dog. VI.