Now, in the Silly Isles such is the law, If Jurors should withdraw, They are to have no eating and no drinking, Till all are starved into one way of thinking. Thus Reynard's Jurors, who could not agree, Were lock'd up strictly, without bit or mummock, Till every Beast that only had _one_ stomach, Bent to the Camel, who was blest with _three_. To do them justice, they debated From four till ten, while dinner waited, When thirst and hunger got the upper, And each inclin'd to mercy, and hot supper: "Not Guilty" was the word, and Master Fox Was freed to murder other hens and cocks. MORAL. What moral greets us by this tale's assistance But that the Solon is a sorry Solon, Who makes the full stop of a Man's existence Depend upon a _Colon_? THE POACHER. A SERIOUS BALLAD. But a bold pheasantry, their country's pride When once destroyed can never be supplied. GOLDSMITH. Bill Blossom was a nice young man, And drove the Bury coach; But bad companions were his bane, And egg'd him on to poach. They taught him how to net the birds, And how to noose the hare; And with a wiry terrier, He often set a snare. Each "shiny night" the moon was bright, To park, preserve, and wood He went, and kept the game alive, By killing all he could. Land-owners, who had rabbits, swore That he had this demerit-- Give him an inch of warren, he Would take a yard of ferret. At partridges he was not nice; And many, large and small, Without Hall's powder, without lead, Were sent to Leaden Hall. He did not fear to take a deer From forest, park, or lawn; And without courting lord or duke, Used frequently to _fawn_. Folks who had hares discovered snares-- His course they could not stop: No barber he, and yet he made Their hares a perfect crop. To pheasant he was such a foe, He tried the keepers' nerves; They swore he never seem'd to have _Jam_ satis of _preserves_. The Shooter went to beat, and found No sporting worth a pin, Unless he tried the _covers_ made Of silver, plate, or tin. In Kent the game was little worth, In Surrey not a button; The Speaker said he often tried The _Manors_ about _Button_. No county from his tricks was safe; In each he tried his lucks, And when the keepers were in _Beds_, He often was at _Bucks_. And when he went to _Bucks_, alas! They always came to _Herts_; And even _Oxon_ used to wish That he had his deserts. But going to his usual _Hants_, Old _Cheshire_ laid his plots: He got entrapp'd by legal _Berks_, And lost his life in _Notts_. A WATERLOO BALLAD. To Waterloo, with sad ado, And many a sigh and groan, Amongst the dead, came Patty Head, To look for Peter Stone. "O prithee tell, good sentinel, If I shall find him here? I'm come to weep upon his corse, My Ninety-Second dear! "Into our town a sergeant came, With ribands all so fine, A-flaunting in his cap--alas! His bow enlisted mine!