The verger met them in his blue silk gown, And humbly bowed his neck with reverence down, Low as an ass to lick a lock of hay: Looking the frightened verger through and through, And with his eye-glass--"Well, sir, who are you? What, what, sir?--hey, sir?" deigned the king to say. "I am the verger here, most mighty king: In this cathedral I do every thing; Sweep it, an't please ye, sir, and keep it clean." "Hey? verger! verger!--you the verger?--hey?" "Yes, please your glorious majesty, I BE," The verger answered, with the mildest mien. Then turned the king about toward the peer, And winked, and laughed, then whispered in his ear, "Hey, hey--what, what--fine fellow, 'pon my word: I'll knight him, knight him, knight him--hey, my lord?" [It is a satire-royal: and if any thing were yet wanting to convince us that Master Pindar is no turncoat, here is proof sufficient.] Then with his glass, as hard as eye could strain, He kenned the trembling verger o'er again. "He's a poor verger, sire," his lordship cried: "Sixpence would handsomely requite him." "Poor verger, verger, hey?" the king replied: "No, no, then, we won't knight him--no, won't knight him." Now to the lofty roof the king did raise His glass, and skipped it o'er with sounds of praise! For thus his marveling majesty did speak: "Fine roof this, Master Verger, quite complete; High--high and lofty too, and clean, and neat: What, verger, what? MOP, MOP it once a week?" "An't please your majesty," with marveling chops, The verger answered, "we have got no mops In Salisbury that will reach so high." "Not mop, no, no, not mop it," quoth the king-- "No, sir, our Salisbury mops do no such thing; They might as well pretend to scrub the sky." MORAL. This little anecdote doth plainly show That ignorance, a king too often lurches; For, hid from art, Lord! how should monarchs know The natural history of mops and churches? [Illustration with caption: BYRON.] STORY THE SECOND. From Salisbury church to Wilton House, so grand, Returned the mighty ruler of the land-- "My lord, you've got fine statues," said the king. "A few! beneath your royal notice, sir," Replied Lord Pembroke--"Sir, my lord, stir, stir; Let's see them all, all, all, all, every thing, "Who's this? who's this?--who's this fine fellow here? "Sesostris," bowing low, replied the peer. "Sir Sostris, hey?--Sir Sostris?--'pon my word! Knight or a baronet, my lord? One of my making?--what, my lord, my making?" This, with a vengeance, was mistaking? "SE-sostris, sire," so soft, the peer replied-- "A famous king of Egypt, sir, of old." "Oh, poh!" th' instructed monarch snappish cried, "I need not that--I need not that be told."