Now, this old sage, thro' many a year, had never thought of self, Before he used the specs: in fear, his mirror, on a shelf, He set, with face down evermore, lest by a glance, that he Should pry into the evil store, of his own villainie. But, fishing in a pool one day, the sage forgot his specs-- To take it from his nose,--and hey! a horror, to perplex His soul with fear, was under him; for, in the glassy wave, He saw his heart reflected grim! he saw his new-made grave: He saw, that he himself was worst, of all that he had seen; By sight of conscience, he was curst, the evil deeds, had been Dry rotting in his blackened heart, the place he feared to search, And self-reproach, did send a dart, that knocked him off his perch; The rod and line, fell from his hand, the specs fell off his nose: And he was drowned, in sight of land, in all his Sunday clothes. [Illustration] [Illustration: Ye Curious Tayle of Ye Uncivil Fight of Ye Civil Warre] ODDZOOKS! ye civil war was rough, 'Twixt cavalier, and roundhead tough, Thence, for thy pale Of cheek, and wail, Now hearken, to ye curious tayle, Ah! me. [Illustration: Ye Fanatick Fytte] THEY met, to meet, was cause for strife And hunger, for each other's life! Alack ah! me, That such should be, Where posies, pied beneath ye tree, Ah! me. [Illustration: Ye Fytte of ye Blude Thurst] IN derring do, they straightway play, And cut, and slash, ye time away; Ye evil grue, This derring do, When earth, was wide enough for two, Ah! me. LO! one at length, in bonds did pine, Ye squirrel came, and nipped ye twine; Reproof of spite, From woodland mite, For truce to ye fanatic fight, Ah! me. [Illustration: Ye Refreshment Fytte] BUT hey alack! again they rise, And swish their blades, in murderous wise; 'Tis pain, to sing, Of sword, in swing, Where butterflies, did spread ye wing, Ah! me. [Illustration: Ye Fytte of ye Seconde Bout.] [Illustration: Ye Retaliation Fytte.] AT length, one trussed his foe, but lo! A bat, did cut ye cord, ho! ho! Ye moral flat, Of gracious bat, That men, should drop ye hate, like that-- Ah! me. YE wrath of wrong, is still to do, Ye loathsome vengeance, starts anew, O pity! wrong, Should wreak so strong, Where birds, did pipe ye evensong, Ah! me. [Illustration: Ye Nervous Fytte.]