Says he, "They've only taken him To the Tender-ship, you see";-- "The Tender-ship," cried Sally Brown, What a hard-ship that must be! "O! would I were a mermaid now, For then I'd follow him; But, oh! I'm not a fish-woman, And so I cannot swim. "Alas! I was not born beneath 'The virgin and the scales,' So I must curse my cruel stars, And walk about in Wales," Now Ben had sail'd to many a place That's underneath the world; But in two years the ship came home, And all the sails were furl'd. But when he call'd on Sally Brown, To see how she went on, He found she'd got another Ben, Whose Christian name was John. "O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown, How could you serve me so, I've met with many a breeze before, But never such a blow!" Then reading on his 'bacco box, He heaved a heavy sigh, And then began to eye his pipe, And then to pipe his eye. And then he tried to sing "All's Well," But could not, though he tried; His head was turn'd, and so he chew'd His pigtail till he died. His death, which happen'd in his berth, At forty-odd befell: They went and told the sexton, and The sexton toll'd the bell. "AS IT FELL UPON A DAY." Oh! what's befallen Bessy Brown, She stands so squalling in the street; She's let her pitcher tumble down, And all the water's at her feet! The little school-boys stood about, And laugh'd to see her pumping, pumping; Now with a curtsey to the spout, And then upon her tiptoes jumping. Long time she waited for her neighbors, To have their turns:--but she must lose The watery wages of her labors,-- Except a little in her shoes! Without a voice to tell her tale, And ugly transport in her face; All like a jugless nightingale, She thinks of her bereaved case. At last she sobs--she cries--she screams! And pours her flood of sorrows out, From eyes and mouth, in mingled streams, Just like the lion on the spout. For well poor Bessy knows her mother Must lose her tea, for water's lack, That Sukey burns--and baby-brother Must be dryrubb'd with huck-a-back! THE STAG-EYED LADY. A MOORISH TALE. Scheherazade immediately began the following story. I. Ali Ben Ali (did you never read His wond'rous acts that chronicles relate,-- How there was one in pity might exceed The Sack of Troy?) Magnificent he sate Upon the throne of greatness--great indeed! For those that he had under him were great-- The horse he rode on, shod with silver nails, Was a Bashaw--Bashaws have horses' tails. II. Ali was cruel--a most cruel one! 'Tis rumored he had strangled his own mother-- Howbeit such deeds of darkness he had done, 'Tis thought he would have slain his elder brother And sister too--but happily that none Did live within harm's length of one another, Else he had sent the Sun in all its blaze To endless night, and shorten'd the Moon's days. III.