“And so I say to you unless Your passion quiet keeps, I who have shot and hit bulls’ eyes, May chance to hit a sheep’s.” Now gold is oft for silver changed, And that for copper red; But these two went away to give Each other change for lead. But first they sought a friend a-piece, This pleasant thought to give-- When they were dead, they thus should have Two seconds still to live. To measure out the ground not long The seconds then forbore, And having taken one rash step They took a dozen more. They next prepared each pistol-pan Against the deadly strife, By putting in the prime of death Against the prime of life. Now all was ready for the foes, But when they took their stands, Fear made them tremble so they found They both were shaking hands. Said Mr. C. to Mr. B., “Here one of us may fall, And like St. Paul’s Cathedral now, Be doom’d to have a ball. “I do confess I did attach Misconduct to your name; If I withdraw the charge, will then Your ramrod do the same?” Said Mr. B., “I do agree-- But think of Honour’s Courts! If we go off without a shot, There will be strange reports. “But look, the morning now is bright, Though cloudy it begun; Why can’t we aim above, as if We had call’d out the sun?” So up into the harmless air, Their bullets they did send; And may all other duels have That upshot in the end! DOG-GREL VERSES, BY A POOR BLIND. “Hark! hark! the dogs do bark, The beggars are coming...”--OLD BALLAD. Oh what shall I do for a dog? Of sight I have not got a particle, Globe, Standard, or Sun, Times, Chronicle--none Can give _me_ a good leading article. A Mastiff once led me about, But people appeared so to fear him-- I might have got pence Without his defence, But Charity would not come near him. A Blood-hound was not much amiss, But instinct at last got the upper; And tracking Bill Soames, And thieves to their homes, I never could get home to supper. A Fox-hound once served me as guide, A good one at hill and at valley; But day after day He led me astray, To follow a milk-woman’s tally. A turnspit once did me good turns At going and crossing, and stopping; Till one day his breed Went off at full speed, To spit at a great fire in Wapping. A Pointer once pointed my way, But did not turn out quite so pleasant, Each hour I’d a stop At a Poulterer’s shop To point at a very high pheasant. A Pug did not suit me at all, The feature unluckily rose up; And folks took offence When offering pence, Because of his turning his nose up.