XLVI.

Epics are somewhat at a discount now,—

The last was knocked down at a farthing; yet

Eight large editions crown the starry brow

Of stern" Orion,"-no mean coronet!

But, after all, the price was very low,
And to my dying day I shan't forget
When epics"four a-penny" at the shops,
Brought down the price of taws and lollypops.

XLVII.

I like this better than his late Romances,
Termed by him Ballads,-neither fowl nor fish,

But a strange mixture of poetic fancies,
By no means to my taste a dainty dish.
With it, howe'er, he modestly advances,

And, little caring for his reader's wish,
Insists upon their gulping " jangle see,
"Rantangle fum" as genuine poetry!

XLVIII.

I'll now return, and ne'er digress again;
Just as a sinner (when fallen ill from sinning,
And being for the time in frightful pain,)

A virtuous life determines on beginning:
But next day growing well, he can't refrain

From Folly's path; for Wisdom, ever dinning His old dull lessons in our ears, makes youth Stuff his tired fingers there,—and so choke Truth.

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XLIX.

"Father!" said Gertrude, "I thought you a saint;

I never dreamed that you could feel so naughty. Upon my word I'm half inclined to faint,

To think that one so very far past forty

Should talk to ladies in a way so quaint.

How is it that you can't let sense or law tie Your passions down to a correcter level?

Pray, are you moved by wine, or by the Devil?”

L.

"Be not amazed," the Abbot quoth,

"fair dame,

That I have passions like a human creature; Call me not old, nor of an ugly frame,

But rather of a free and comely feature.

Methinks, my daughter, you'll be much to blame, If you decline to let me have the key to your Affections; for whatever I may do,

I can but have your future good in view.

LI.

"So while my friend Ferando's being cured
In Purgatory of his jealous folly,
And your eternal happiness secured,

I'll comfort you, or share your melancholy, Deeming, for your sweet sake, all pain endured With perfect joy, and resignation wholly.

No one shall know our love, so don't be cruel,— Allow me to present you with this jewel."

LII.

At this he slipped a bracelet on her hand

Of finest gold, with glittering diamond graced ; A language this all women understand,

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And I confess that I admire their taste.

Nay, pause no more: the holiest in the land

Would yield, were they in such position placed. You know I am a priest of too much virtue

To do a thing that could in conscience hurt you."

LIII.

The lady cast her eyes upon the floor,

And seemed uncertain rather, and uneasy;

But loving costly jewels somewhat more

Than virtue, which ofttimes is made to teaze ye, She thought, as many a dame has thought before, (Not knowing that the path to sin is greasy,) That she'd defeat the Abbot's plan, yet gain

His jewels to reward her for her pain!

LIV.

She told him she'd take time-that she'd consider:

At all events he need not pine to Hades.

She thought how she should make a pretty widow, For weeds are an announcement from the ladies, "The wearer is for sale: the highest bidder

To be the buyer,-when the duty paid is!" An old divine once said,--and not in fun he, "That matrimony is a matter o' money."

LV.

We left the lady with the Abbot's ring
Upon her finger, leaving him in doubt
Whether he had not done a foolish thing,
In thus investing property without
Security. Next time, he thought, he'd fling
His jewels to regale a fish's snout:

In Stepney church, upon a marble slab,
You'll read this wondrous story of a crab!