THE SECOND PART.

THE Painter so pious, all praise had acquired
For defying the malice of hell;

The monks the unerring resemblance admired;
Not a lady lived near, but her portrait desired
From one who succeeded so well.

One there was to be painted the number among,
Of features most fair to behold;

The country around of fair Marguerite rung,-
Marguerite she was lovely, and lively, and young,
Her husband was ugly and old.

O, Painter, avoid her! O, Painter take care!
For Satan is watchful for you;

Take heed lest you fall in the wicked one's snare,
The net is made ready: 0, Painter, beware
Of Satan and Marguerite too.

She seats herself now, now she lifts

On the Artist she fixes her eyes;

up

her head,

The colours are ready, the canvas is spread,
He lays on the white, and he lays on the red,
And the features of beauty arise.

He is come to her eyes, eyes so bright and so blue!
There's a look that he cannot express ;-

His colours are dull to their quick-sparkling hue,
More and more on the lady he fixes his view,
On the canvas he looks less and less.

In vain he retouches, her eyes sparkle more,

And that look that fair Marguerite gave! Many devils the Artist had painted of yore, But he never attempted an angel before,St. Anthony help him, and save!

He yielded, alas! for the truth must be told,
To the woman, the tempter, and Fate.
It was settled, the lady so fair to behold,
Should elope from her husband so ugly and old,
With the Painter so pious of late!

Now Satan exults in his vengeance complete,
To the husband he makes the scheme known;
Night comes, and the lovers impatiently meet,
Together they fly, they are seized in the street,
And in prison the Painter is thrown.

With Repentance, his only companion, he lies,
And a dismal companion is she!

On a sudden, he saw the old serpent arise,

Now, you villanous dauber!" Sir Beelzebub cries, "You are paid for your insults to me!

"But my tender heart it is easy to move,

If, to what I propose, you agree;

That picture-be just-the resemblance improve, Make a handsomer portrait, your chains I'll remove, And you shall this instant be free."

Overjoyed, the conditions so easy he hears,

"I'll make you quite handsome!" he said,— He said, and his chain on the devil appears; Releas'd from his prison, releas'd from his fears, The Painter is snug in his bed.

At morn he arises, composes his look,

And proceeds to his work as before :
The people beheld him, the culprit they took;
They thought that the Painter his prison had broke.
And to prison they led him once more.

They open the dungeon-behold! in his place,
In the corner, old Beelzebub lay.

He smirks, and he smiles, and he leers, with a grace,

That the Painter might catch all the charms of his

Quoth the Painter, "I trust you'll suspect me no more,
Since you find
my assertions were true.
But I'll alter the picture above the church-door;
For I never saw Satan so closely before,.
And I must give the devil his due."

ST. MICHAEL'S CHAIR,

AND WHO SAT THERE.

MERRILY, merrily rung the bells,

The bells of St. Michael's tower,
When Richard Penlake, and Rebecca, his wife,
Arrived at the church door.

Richard Penlake was a cheerful man,

Cheerful, and frank, and free,

But he led a sad life with Rebecca, his wife,
For a terrible shrew was she.

Richard Penlake a scolding would take,
Till patience availed no longer,

Then Richard Penlake his crab-stick would take,
And show her that he was the stronger.

Rebecca, his wife, had often wish'd

To sit in St. Michael's chair;
For she should be the mistress then
If she had once sat there.

It chanced that Richard Penlake fell sick,
They thought he would have died;
Rebecca, his wife, made a vow for his life,
As she knelt by his bedside.

"Now hear my prayer, St. Michael, and spare My husband's life," quoth she;

"And to thine altar we will go,

Six marks to give to thee.'

Richard Penlake repeated the vow, For woundily sick was he; "Save me, St. Michael, and we will go,

Six marks to give to thee."

When Richard grew well, Rebecca, his wife, Teazed him by night and by day:

"O, mine own dear! for you I fear, If we the vow delay."

Merrily, merrily rung the bells,

The bells of St. Michael's tower,

When Richard Penlake, and Rebecca, his wife, Arrived at the church door.

Six marks they on the altar laid,
And Richard knelt in prayer ;
She left him to pray, and stole away,
To sit in St. Michael's chair.

Up the tower Rebecca ran,

Round, and round, and round;
'Twas a giddy sight to stand a-top,
And look upon the ground.

"A curse on the ringers for rocking
The tower!" Rebecca cried,'
As over the church battlements

She strode with a long stride.

"A blessing on St. Michael's chair!"
She said, as she sat down.
Merrily, merrily rung the bells,

And out Rebecca was thrown.

Tidings to Richard Penlake were brought, That his good wife was dead : "Now shall we toll for her poor soul

The great church-bell?" they said.

"Toll at her burying," quoth Richard Penlake; "Toll at her burying," quoth he; "But don't disturb the ringers now, In compliment to me."

A BALLAD,

OF A YOUNG MAN THAT WOULD READ UNLAWFUL BOOKS.

AND HOW HE WAS PUNISHED.

VERY PITHY AND PROFITABLE.

CORNELIUS AGRIPPA went out one day,
His study he lock'd ere he went away,
And he gave the key of the door to his wife,
And charg'd her to keep it lock'd, on her life.

"And if any one ask my study to see,
I charge you trust them not with the key;
Whoever may beg, and intreat, and implore,
On your life let nobody enter that door."

There liv'd a young man in the house, who in vain
Access to that study had sought in obtain;