St. Megrin had almost jumped out of his skin For joy that day when the post came in; He read the note through, Then began it anew, And thought it almost too good news to be true.-- He clapp'd on his hat, And a hood over that, With a cloak to disguise him, and make him look fat; So great his impatience, from half after Four He was waiting till Ten at De Guise's back-door. When he heard the great clock of St. Genevieve chime, He ran up the back staircase six steps at a time. He had scarce made his bow, He hardly knew how, When alas! and alack! There was no getting back, For the drawing-room door was bang'd to with a whack;-- In vain he applied To the handle and tried, Somebody or other had locked it outside! And the Duchess in agony mourn'd her mishap, "We are caught like a couple of rats in a trap." Now the Duchess's Page, About twelve years of age, For so little a boy was remarkably sage; And, just in the nick, to their joy and amazement, Popp'd the Gas-lighter's ladder close under the casement. But all would not do,-- Though St. Megrin got through The window,--below stood De Guise and his crew. And though never man was more brave than St. Megrin, Yet fighting a score is extremely fatiguing; He thrust _carte_ and _tierce_ Uncommonly fierce, But not Beelzebub's self could their cuirasses pierce: While his doublet and hose, Being holiday clothes, Were soon cut through and through from his knees to his nose. Still an old crooked sixpence the Conjuror gave him From pistol and sword was sufficient to save him, But, when beat on his knees, That confounded De Guise Came behind with the "fogle" that caused all this breeze, Whipp'd it tight round his neck, and, when backward he'd jerk'd him, The rest of the rascals jump'd on him and Burked him. The poor little Page, too, himself got no quarter, but Was served the same way, And was found the next day With his heels in the air, and his head in the water-butt; Catherine of Cleves Roar'd "Murder!" and "Thieves!" From the window above While they murder'd her love; Till, finding the rogues had accomplish'd his slaughter, She drank Prussic acid without any water, And died like a Duke-and-a-Duchess's daughter! MORAL. Take warning, ye Fair, from this tale of the Bard's, And don't go where fortunes are told on the cards, But steer clear of Conjurors,--never put query To "Wise Mrs. Williams," or folks like Ruggieri. When alone in your room, shut the door close, and lock it; Above all,--KEEP YOUR HANDKERCHIEF SAFE IN YOUR POCKET! Lest you too should stumble, and Lord Levenson Gower, he Be call'd on,--sad poet!--to tell your sad story! * * * * *