Look out you know, be ready, Bill--just when she takes the sand! MRS. F. The sand--O Lord! to stop my mouth! how every thing is plann’d! BOATMAN. The handspike, Bill--quick, bear a hand! now Ma’am, just step ashore! MRS. F. What! an’t I going to be kill’d--and welter’d in my gore? Well, Heaven be praised! but I’ll not go a-sailing any more! GOG AND MAGOG. A GUILDHALL DUET. MAGOG. WHY, Gog, I say, it’s after One, And yet no dinner carved; Shall we endure this sort of fun, And stand here to be starved? GOG. I really think our City Lords Must be a shabby set; I’ve stood here since King Charles’s time, And had no dinner yet! MAGOG. I vow I can no longer stay; I say, are we to dine to-day? GOG. My hunger would provoke a saint, I’ve waited till I’m sick and faint; I’ll tell you what, they’ll starve us both, I’ll tell you what, they’ll stop our growth. MAGOG. I wish I had a round of beef My hungry tooth to charm; I’ve wind enough in my inside To play the Hundredth Psalm. GOG. And yet they feast beneath our eyes Without the least remorse; This very week I saw the Mayor A feeding like a horse! MAGOG. Such loads of fish, and flesh, and fowl, To think upon it makes me growl! GOG. I wonder where the fools were taught, That they should keep a giant short! They’ll stop our growth, they’ll stop our growth; They’ll starve us both, they’ll starve us both! MAGOG. They said, a hundred years ago, That we should dine at One; Why, Gog, I say, our meat by this Is rather over-done. GOG. I do not want it done at all, So hungry is my maw, Give me an Alderman in chains, And I will eat him raw! MAGOG. Of starving weavers they discuss, And yet they never think of us. I say, are we to dine to-day; Are we to dine to-day? GOG. Oh dear, the pang it is to feel So mealy-mouthed without a meal! MAGOG. I’ll tell you what, they’ll stop our growth! GOG. I’ll tell you what, they’ll starve us both! BOTH. They’ll stop our growth, they’ll starve us both! THE SWEEP’S COMPLAINT. “I like to meet a sweep--such as come forth with the dawn, or somewhat earlier, with their little professional notes, sounding like the _peep, peep_ of a young sparrow.”--ESSAYS OF ELIA. ----“A voice cried Sweep no more! Macbeth hath murdered sweep.”--SHAKSPEARE.