My goodness!--the look that the old Palmer gave! And his frown!--'twas quite dreadful to witness--"Why, slave! You rascal!" quoth he, "This language to ME!! --At once, Mr. Nicholas! down on your knee, And hand me that curly-wig'd boy!--I command it-- Come!--none of your nonsense!--you know I won't stand it." Old Nicholas trembled,--he shook in his shoes, And seem'd half inclined, but afraid, to refuse. "Well, Cuthbert," said he, "If so it must be, --For you've had your own way from the first time I knew ye;-- Take your curly-wig'd brat, and much good may he do ye! But I'll have in exchange--"--here his eye flash'd with rage-- "That chap with the buttons--he _gave me_ the Page!" "Come, come," the Saint answer'd, "you very well know The young man's no more his than your own to bestow-- Touch one button of his if you dare, Nick--no! no! Cut your stick, sir--come, mizzle!--be off with you!--go!"-- The Devil grew hot-- "If I do I'll be shot! An you come to that, Cuthbert, I'll tell you what's what; He has _asked_ us to _dine here_, and go we will not! Why, you Skinflint,--at least You may leave us the feast! Here we've come all that way from our brimstone abode, Ten million good leagues, Sir, as ever you strode, And the deuce of a luncheon we've had on the road-- --'Go!'--'Mizzle!' indeed--Mr. Saint, who are you, I should like to know?--'Go!'--I'll be hang'd if I do! He invited us all--we've a right here--it's known That a Baron may do what he likes with his own-- Here, Asmodeus--a slice of that beef!--now the mustard!-- What have _you_ got?--oh, apple-pie--try it with custard!" The Saint made a pause As uncertain, because He knew Nick is pretty well "up" in the laws, And they _might_ be on _his_ side--and then, he'd such claws! On the whole, it was better, he thought, to retire With the curly-wig'd boy he'd pick'd out of the fire, And give up the victuals--to retrace his path, And to compromise--(spite of the Member for Bath). So to Old Nick's appeal, As he turn'd on his heel, He replied, "Well, I'll leave you the mutton and veal. And the soup _à la Reine_, and the sauce _Bechamel_. As The Scroope _did_ invite you to dinner, I feel I can't well turn you out--'twould be hardly genteel-- But be moderate, pray,--and remember thus much, Since you're treated as Gentlemen, shew yourselves such, And don't make it late, But mind and go straight Home to bed when you've finish'd--and don't steal the plate! Nor wrench off the knocker--or bell from the gate. Walk away, like respectable Devils, in peace, And don't 'lark' with the watch, or annoy the police!"