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And authors vouch, 't was still this Worthy's way,
"Never to grumble till he came to pay;
And then he always thinks, his temper 's such,
The work too little, and the pay too much."

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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?"

XVI.

"A stranger, come to see the happiest man,— So, signior, all avouch,—in Frangistan.”

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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.

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1 See the True-Born Englishman, by Daniel De Foe.

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Europe.

Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare you well." "Kiss and be d-d," quoth John, "and go to hell!"

XVII.

Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg,
Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg
When the blithe bagbipe blew—but, soberer now,
She doucely span her flax and milk'd her cow.
And whereas erst she was a needy slattern,
Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern,
Yet once a-month her house was partly swept,
And once a week a plenteous board she kept.
And whereas, eke, the vixen used her claws

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
Was in old songs she sang to please her boys.
John Bull, whom, in their years of early strife,
She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life,
Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbour,
Who look'd to the main chance, declined no labour,
Loved a long grace, and spoke a northern jargon,
And was d-d close in making of a bargain.

XVIII.

The Sultaun enter'd, and he made his leg,
And with decorum curtsey'd sister Peg;
(She loved a book, and knew a thing or two,
And guess'd at once with whom she had to do.)
She bade him "Sit into the fire," and took
Her dram, her cake, her kebbuck from the nook;

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Ask'd him "about the news from Eastern parts;
And of her absent bairns, puir Highland hearts!
If peace brought down the price of tea and pepper,
And if the nitmugs were grown ony cheaper;
Were there nae speerings of our Mungo Park-
Ye'll be the gentleman that wants the sark?
If ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's spinning,
I'll warrant ye it's a weel-wearing linen."

XIX.

Then up got Peg, and round the house 'gan scuttle
In search of goods her customer to nail,
Until the Sultaun strain'd his princely throttle,

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,

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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.

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XX.

Now, for the land of verdant Erin,

The Sultaun's royal bark is steering,

The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy dwells,
The cousin of John Bull, as story tells.

For a long space had John, with words of thunder,
Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy under,
Till the poor lad, like boy that's flogg❜d unduly.
Had gotten somewhat restive and unruly.

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Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow,
A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow;
His landlord, and of middle-men two brace,
Had screw'd his rent up to the starving-place;
His garment was a top-coat, and an old one,
His meal was a potato, and a cold one;
But still for fun or frolic, and all that,
In the round world was not the match of Pat.

XXI.
The Sultaun saw him on a holiday
Which is with Paddy still a jolly day:

When mass is ended, and his load of sins

Confess'd, and Mother Church hath from her binns
Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit,
Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and spirit!
To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free,

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And dance as light as leaf upon the tree.
By Mahomet," said Sultaun Solimaun,
"That ragged fellow is our very man!
Rush in and seize him- do not do him hurt,
But, will he nill he, let me have his shirt."

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XXII.

Shilela their plan was wellnigh after balking,
(Much less provocation will set it a-walking,)
But the odds that foil'd Hercules foil'd Paddy Whack;
They seized, and they floor'd, and they stripp'd him-
Alack!

Up-bubboo! Paddy had nota shirt to his back!!
And the King, disappointed, with sorrow and shame,
Went back to Serendib as sad as he came.

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EPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL.'

SPOKEN BY MRS. HENRY SIDDONS,

1

FEB. 16, 1818.

A CAT of yore (or else old Æsop lied)
Was changed into a fair and blooming bride,
But spied a mouse upon her marriage-day,
Forgot her spouse, and seized upon her prey;
Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw,
Threw off poor me, and pounced upon papa.
His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose,
He twisted round my sire's the literal noose.
Such are the fruits of our dramatic labour,
Since the New Jail became our next-door neighbour.2

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.

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