With horror did his judges quake-- As for the tender-conscienced jury, They doomed him quickly to the stake, Such was their devilish pious fury. However, after calling him hard names, They asked if aught he had in vindication, To save his wretched body from the flames, And sinful soul from terrible damnation. The Soldier answered them with much sang froid, Which showed, of sin, a conscience void, That if they meant to kill him they might kill: As for the diamond which they found about him, He hoped they would by no means doubt him, That madam gave it him from pure good-will. The answer turned both judge and jury pale; The punishment was for a time deferred, Until his Holiness should hear the tale, And his infallibility be heard. The Pope, to all his counselors, made known This strange affair--to cardinals and friars, Good pious gentlemen, who ne'er were known To act like hypocrites, and thieves, and liars. The question now was banded to and fro, If Mary had the power to GIVE, or NO. That Mary COULD NOT give it, was to say The wonder-working lady wanted power-- This was the stumbling-block that stopped the way-- This made Pope, cardinals, and friars lower. To save the Virgin's credit, And keep secure the diamonds that were left; They said, she MIGHT, indeed, the gem bestow, And consequently it might be no theft: But then they passed immediately an act, That every one discovered in the fact Of taking presents from the Virgin's hand, Or from the saints of any land, Should know no mercy, but be led to slaughter, Flayed here, and fried eternally hereafter. Ladies, I deem the moral much too clear To need poetical assistance; Which bids you not let men approach too near, But keep the saucy fellows at a distance; Since men you find, so bold, are apt to seize Jewels from ladies, even upon their knees! A KING OF FRANCE AND THE FAIR LADY PETER PINDAR A king of France upon a day, With a fair lady of his court, Was pleased at battledore to play A very fashionable sport, Into the bosom of this fair court dame, Whose whiteness did the snow's pure whiteness shame, King Louis by odd mischance did knock The shuttlecock, Thrice happy rogue, upon the town of doves, To nestle with the pretty little loves! "Now, sire, pray take it out"--quoth she, With an arch smile,--But what did he? What? what to charming modesty belongs! Obedient to her soft command, He raised it--but not with his hand! No, marveling reader, but the chimney tongs, What a chaste thought in this good king! How clever! When shall we hear agen of such a thing? Lord! never, Nor were our princes to be prayed To such an act by some fair maid, I'll bet my life not one would mind it: But handy, without more ado, The youths would search the bosom through, Although it took a day to find it! THE EGGS. FROM THE SPANISH OF YRIARTE. G. H. DEVEREUX.