His last, it was said, and his only resource; And the landlord was careful to put us in mind That hell and destruction were riding behind: He often had told him, "Do, Saunders, take care, This swilling of gin is a cursed affair: Indeed--and it puts a man off from his legs, And brings us at last to be pelted with eggs-- The wit of your noddle should carry you through,-- Break your bottle of rum--give the devil his due! Keep the reason about you that nature designed, And you have the respect and regard of mankind!" This steed of poor Saunders' was woefully lean, And he looked, as we thought, like the flying machine; And, in short, it appeared, by the looks of his hide, That the stables he came from were poorly supplied: A bundle of bones--and they whispered it round, That he came from the hole where the Mammoth was found.[E] They stuff'd him with hay, and they crammed him with oats While Saunders was gaming and drinking with sots: (For the de'il in the shape of a bottle of rum Deceived him with visions of fortune to come;) His landlady had on the horse a sheep's-eye, So Saunders had plenty of whiskey and pye: He had gin of the best, and he treated all round, 'Till care was dismissed and solicitude drowned, And a reckoning was brought him of more than three pound. As he had not a groat in his lank looking purse, The landlord made seizure of saddle and horse:-- Scalpella, the hostess, cried, "Fly from this room, Or I'll sweep you away with my hickory broom!" Thus Saunders sneaked off in a sorrowful way, And the Falls were his fall--to be beggar next day.-- The lady of ladies that governed the inn Was a sharper indeed, and she kept such a din!-- Scalpella!--and may I remember the name!-- Could scratch like a tyger, or play a tight game. A bludgeon she constantly held in her hand, The sign of respect, and a sign of command: She could scream like a vulture, or wink like an owl; Not a dog in the street like Scalpella could howl.-- She was a Scalpella!--I am yet on her books, But, oh! may I never encounter her looks!-- I owe her five pounds--I am that in her debt, And my dues from the stars have not cleared it off yet. If she knew where I am!--I should fare very ill; Instead of some beer she would drench me with swill; I should curse and reflect on the hour I was born.-- If she thought I had fixed on the pitch of Cape Horn, She would find me!--Scalpella! set down what I owe In the page of bad debts--due to Scalpy and Co!-- Her boarders she hated, and drove with a dash, And nothing about them she liked but their cash; Except they were Tories--ah, then she was kind-- And said to their honours, "You are men to my mind! Sit down, my dear creatures--I hope you've not dined!"-- She talked of the king, and she talked of the queen, And she talked of her floors--that were not very clean:--