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And authors vouch, 't was still this Worthy's way,
Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind and hearty, That when his mortal foe was on the floor, And past the power to harm his quiet more,
Poor John had wellnigh wept for Bonaparte! Such was the wight whom Solimaun salam'd,— "And who are you," John answer'd, "and be d-d?"
"A stranger, come to see the happiest man,— So, signior, all avouch,—in Frangistan.”
Happy? my tenants breaking on my hand; Unstock'd my pastures, and untill'd my land; Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths The sole consumers of my good broadclothsHappy?—Why, cursed war and racking tax Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs.""In that case, signior, I may take my leave; I came to ask a favour- -but I grieve""Favour?" said John, and eyed the Sultaun hard, "It's my belief you came to break the yard!— But, stay, you look like some poor foreign sinner,Take that to buy yourself a shirt and dinner."— With that he chuck'd a guinea at his head; But, with due dignity the Sultaun said, "Permit me, Sir, your bounty to decline;
A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine.
1 See the True-Born Englishman, by Daniel De Foe.
Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare you well." "Kiss and be d-d," quoth John, "and go to hell!"
Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg,
And teeth, of yore, on slender provocation, She now has grown amenable to laws,
A quiet soul as any in the nation;
The sole remembrance of her warlike joys
The Sultaun enter'd, and he made his leg,
Ask'd him "about the news from Eastern parts;
Then up got Peg, and round the house 'gan scuttle
And hallo'd," Ma'am, that is not what I ail. Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this snug glen?". "Happy?" said Peg; "What for d'ye want to ken? Besides, just think upon this by-gane year,
Grain wadna pay the yoking of the pleugh."— ،. What say you to the present?"—" Meal's sae dear, To mak their brose my bairns have scarce aneugh.""The devil take the shirt," said Solimaun,
I think my quest will end as it began.— Farewell, ma'am; nay, no ceremony, I beg”"Ye'll no be for the linen then?" said Peg.
Now, for the land of verdant Erin,
The Sultaun's royal bark is steering,
The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy dwells,
For a long space had John, with words of thunder,
Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow,
When mass is ended, and his load of sins
Confess'd, and Mother Church hath from her binns
And dance as light as leaf upon the tree.
Shilela their plan was wellnigh after balking,
Up-bubboo! Paddy had nota shirt to his back!!
EPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL.'
SPOKEN BY MRS. HENRY SIDDONS,
FEB. 16, 1818.
A CAT of yore (or else old Æsop lied)
Yes, times are changed; for, in your father's age, The lawyers were the patrons of the stage; However high advanced by future fate,
There stands the bench (points to the Pit) that first received their weight.
["The Appeal," a Tragedy, by John Galt, the celebrated author of the "Annals of the Parish," and other Novels, was played for four nights at this time in Edinburgh.]
2 It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this piece are all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience. The new prisons of the city, on the Calton Hill, are not far from the theatre.