Now I've gone through all the village-ay, from end to end, save and except one more house, But I haven't come to that-and I hope I never shall-and that's the village poor-house! HOOD. Surnames. MEN once were surnamed for their shape or estate (You all may from history worm it), There was Louis the Bulky, and Henry the Great, John Lackland, and Peter the Hermit: But now, when the door-plates of misters and dames Are read, each so constantly varies; From the owner's trade, figure, and calling, surnames Seem given by the rule of contraries. Mr. Wise is a dunce, Mr. King is a whig, At Bath, where the feeble go more than the stout (A conduct well worthy of Nero), Over poor Mr. Lightfoot, confined with the gout, Mr. Heavyside danced a bolero. Miss Joy, wretched maid, when she chose Mr. Love, She now holds in wedlock, as true as a dove, Mr. Oldcastle dwells in a modern-built hut; Mr. Child, in a passion, knock'd down Mr. Rock; Mr. Stone like an aspen-leaf shivers; Miss Poole used to dance, but she stands like a stock Ever since she became Mrs. Rivers. Mr. Swift hobbles onward, no mortal knows how, He moves as though cords had entwined him; Mr. Barker's as mute as a fish in the sea, Mr. Penny, whose father was rolling in wealth, Mr. Cruikshank stept into three thousand a year Now I hope you'll acknowledge I've made it quite clear, Surnames ever go by contrarics. JAMES SMITH. The Old Man in the cod. THERE was an old man who liv'd in a wood, As you shall plainly see, He thought he could do more work in one day Than his wife could do in three. "With all my heart," the old woman said, "And if you will allow, You shall stay at home to-day, And I'll go follow the plough. "And you must milk Tiny the cow, Lest she should go a dry; And you must feed the little pigs That are within the sty; "And you must watch the speckled hen, Lest she should go astray; Not forgetting the spool of yarn That I spin every day." The old woman took her stick in her hand, But Tiny she winced, and Tiny she flinch'd, And Tiny she toss'd her nose; And Tiny gave him a kick on the shin, Till the blood ran down to his toes. And a "Ho, Tiny!" and a "Lo, Tiny!" And then he went to feed the pigs He knock'd his nose against the shed, And then he watch'd the speckled hen, But he quite forgot the spool of That his wife spun every day. yarn And when the old woman came home at night, He said he could plainly see, That his wife could do more work in a day Than he could do in three. And when he saw how well she plough'd, And made the furrows even, Said his wife could do more work in a day King John and the Abbot. PART THE FIRST. AN ancient story Ile tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called King John; And he ruled England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, An hundred men the king did heare say, “How now, father abbot, I heare it of thec, "My liege," quo' the abbot, "would it were I spend not a piece, but what is my owne; "Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highs, "And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead, With my crowne of golde so faire on my head, Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe. "Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride the whole world about. |