But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face,

I durst no more upon them gaze,

Than on a Sun in July.

Her mouth so small, when she does speak,

Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, That they might passage get;

But she so handled still the matter,

They came as good as ours, or better,
And are not spent a whit.

Passion, oh me! how I run on !
There's that that would be thought upon,

I trow, besides the bride.

The business of the kitchen's great ;

For it is fit that men should eat,

Nor was it there denied.

Just in the nick the Cook knock'd thrice,

And all the waiters in a trice

His summons did obey;

Each serving man, with dish in hand,

March'd boldly up like our train'd band,
Presented, and away.

When all the meat was on the table,

What man of knife, or teeth, was able

To stay to be entreated?

And this the very reason was,

Before the parson could say grace

The company was seated.

Now hats fly off, and youths carouse ;
Healths first go round, and then the house,

The bride's came thick and thick ;
And when 'twas named another's health,
Perhaps he made it hers by stealth,
(And who could help it, Dick?)

O' th' sudden, up they rise and dance;
Then sit again, and sigh, and glance:
Then dance again, and kiss:

Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass,
Till ev'ry woman wish'd her place,
And ev'ry man wish'd his.

By this time all were stol'n aside
To counsel and undress the bride;

But that he must not know:

But yet 'twas thought he guest her mind,
And did not mean to stay behind
Above an hour or so.

LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.

GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER.

WHO has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, Has seen 'Lodgings to let' stare him full in the face: Some are good, and let dearly; while some, 'tis well known,

Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only;
But Will was so fat he appear'd like a ton,
Or like two single gentlemen roll'd into one.

He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated;
But, all the night long, he felt fever'd and heated;
And, though heavy to weigh as a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.

Next night 'twas the same. And the next. And the

next :

He perspired like an ox; he was nervous and vex'd; Week past after week; till, by weekly succession, His weakly condition was past all expression.

In six months, his acquaintance began much to doubt him :

For his skin, like a lady's loose gown, hung about him. He sent for a doctor; and cried, like a ninny,

'I have lost many pounds. Make me well. There's a guinea.'

The doctor look'd wise :-'A slow fever,' he said:
Prescribed sudorifics,-and going to bed.

'Sudorifics in bed,' exclaim'd Will, are humbugs! I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!'

Will kick'd out the doctor :-but, when ill indeed,
E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed;
So, calling his host, he said :-'Sir, do you know,
I'm the fat single gentleman, six months ago?

'Look'e, landlord, I think,' argued Will, with a grin, 'That with honest intentions you first took me in : But from the first night—and to say it I'm boldI have been so d―d hot, that I'm sure I caught cold.'

Quoth the landlord, Till now, I ne'er had a dispute;
I've let lodgings ten years; I'm a baker, to boot;
In airing your sheets, Sir, my wife is no sloven;
And your bed is immediately over my oven.'

'The oven!' says Will. Says the host, 'Why this passion?

In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. Why so crusty, good Sir?'-'Zounds!' cried Will, in a taking,

Who wouldn't be crusty, with half a year's baking?'

Will paid for his rooms :-cried the host, with a sneer, 'Well, I see you've been going away half a year.' 'Friend, we can't well agree,-yet no quarrel'---Will

said ;

'But I'd rather not perish while you make your

bread.'

THE VICAR OF BRAY.

The village of Bray, in Berkshire, is celebrated for the vacillation of principles displayed by one of its incumbents, and 'The Vicar of Bray' has now become a proverbial expression for a man who can alter his opinions and views so as to suit the times. According to Thomas Fuller, the Vicar of Bray retained his

living under Henry VIII., Edward VI., Mary, and Elizabeth, being first a Papist, then a Protestant, then a Papist, then a Protestant again. This song is supposed to have been written by a soldier in Colonel Fuller's troop of dragoons, in the reign of George I.

IN good King Charles's golden days,
When loyalty no harm meant,
A zealous high-churchman was I,
And so I got preferment.

To teach my flock I never miss'd.
Kings were by God appointed,
And lost are those that dare resist
Or touch the Lord's anointed.
And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,

That whatsoever King shall reign,
Still I'll be the Vicar of Bray, sir

When Royal James possess'd the crown,
And Popery grew in fashion,
The penal laws I hooted down,

And read the Declaration :

The Church of Rome I found would fit

Full well my constitution;

And I had been a Jesuit,

But for the Revolution.

And this is law that I'll maintain

Until my dying day, sir,

That whatsoever King shall reign,

Still I'll be the Vicar of Bray, sir.