David felt when his wife cried, "Look at the Some trifling correction was just what he meant;— Clock!"


The rest, he assured them, was "quite accidental!”

For the hands stood as crooked as crooked might be,
The long at the Twelve, and the short at the Three!

That self-same clock had long been a bone
Of contention between this Darby and Joan;
And often, among their pother and rout,
When this otherwise amiable couple fell out,
Pryce would drop a cool hint
With an ominous squint

At its case, of an "Uncle" of his, who'd a

That horrid word "Spout"
No sooner came out,

Than Winifred Pryce would turn her about,
And with scorn on her lip,

Mr. David has since had a "serious call,”
He never drinks ale, wine, or spirits, at all,
And they say he is going to Exeter Hall
To make a grand speech,
And to preach and to teach

People that "they can't brew their malt liquor
too small!"
That an ancient Welsh Poet, one PYNDAR AP

And a hand on each hip,

"Spout " herself till her nose grew red at the tip, Was right in proclaiming "ARISTON men Udor!" Which means "The pure Element Is for Man's belly meant !"

"You thundering Willin,

I know you'd be killing

Your wife ―ay, a dozen of wives - fora shilling! And that Gin's but a Share of Old Nick the de

luder !

You may do what you please,
You may sell my chemise,
(Mrs. P. was too well bred to mention her stock,)
But I never will part with my Grandmother's

of a stick.
Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenient,
But walking just then was n't very convenient,
So he threw it, instead,
Direct at her head;

It knocked off her hat;
Down she fell flat;

Mrs. Pryce's tongue ran long and ran fast;
But patience is apt to wear out at last,
And David Pryce in temper was quick,
So he stretched out his hand, and caught hold By calling aloud to the Landlady's daughter,

Mr. Pryce, if he's there,
Will get into "The Chair,"
And make all his quondam associates stare

"Patty, bring a cigar, and a glass of Spring Water!"

Her case, perhaps, was not much mended by that;
But whatever it was, whether rage and pain
Produced apoplexy, or burst a vein,
Or her tumble induced a concussion of brain,
I can't say for certain, · but this I can,
When, sobered by fright, to assist her he ran,
Mrs. Winifred Pryce was as dead as Queen Anne.


And then came Mr. Ap Thomas, the Coroner,
With his jury to sit, some dozen or more, on her.
Mr. Pryce, to commence
His "ingenious defence,"
Made a "powerful appeal" to the jury's "good


The jury, in fine, having sat on the body
The whole day, discussing the case and gin toddy,
Returned about half past eleven at night
The following verdict, "We find, Sarve herright!”

And “still on each evening when pleasure fills up,"

At the old Goat-in-Boots, with Metheglin, each cup,

The dial he constantly watches; and when
The long hand's at the "XII," and the short at
the "X,"

He gets on his legs,

Drains his glass to the dregs,

Takes his hat and great-coat off their several pegs,
With his President's hammer bestows his last

And says solemnly, - "Gentlemen! LOOK AT


THE Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!
Bishop and abbot and prior were there;

Many a monk, and many a friar,
Many a knight, and many a squire,
With a great many more of lesser degree,


The unlucky lick

From the end of his stick

But, really, her prating
Was so aggravating :

He "deplored," he was "apt to be rather too In sooth, a goodly company;


And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee.

Never, I ween,

Was a prouder seen,

Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, And nobody seems to know what they 're about, Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims ! But the monks have their pockets all turned inIn and out

side out; Through the motley rout,

The friars are kneeling,
That little Jackdaw kept hopping about :

And hunting and feeling
Here and there,

The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling.
Like a dog in a fair,

The Cardinal drew
Over comfits and cates,

Off each plum-colored shoe,
And dishes and plates,

And left his red stockings exposed to the view ; Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall !

He peeps, and he feels
Mitre and crosier ! he hopped upon all.

In the toes and the heels.
With a saucy air,

They turn up the dishes, — they turn up the
He perched on the chair

plates, Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat, They take up the poker and poke out the grates, In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat;

They turn up the rugs,
And he peered in the face

They examine the mugs ;
Of his Lordship's Grace,

But, no ! — no such thing,
With a satisfied look, as if he would say,

They can't find the RING ! “We Two are the greatest folks here to-day!” And the Abbot declared that “when nobody And the priests, with awe,

twigged it, As such freaks they sa iv,

Some rascal or other had popped in and prigged it!" Said, “The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw!"

The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, The feast was over, the board was cleared,

He called for his candle, his bell, and his book ! The flawns and the custards had all disappeared,

In holy anger and pious grief And six little Singing-boys — dear little souls

He solemnly cursed that rascally thief ! In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles

He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed ;

From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head; Came, in order due,

He cursed him in sleeping, that every night Two by two,

Heshould dream ofthedevil, and wake in a fright. Marching that grand refectory through !

He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Embossed and filled with water, as pure


He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in As any that flows between Rheims and Namur,

winking; Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch

He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying ; In a fine golden hand-basin made to match.

He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying ; Two nice little boys, rather more grown, Carried lavender-water and eau de Cologne ;

He cursed him living, he cursed him dying !

Never was heard such a terrible curse ! And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap,

But what gave rise
Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope.

To no little surprise,
One little boy more

Nobody seemed one penny the worse !
A napkin bore,
Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink,

The day was gone,
Anda Cardinal's Hat marked in "permanentink.”

The night came on,

The Monks and the Friars they searched till dawn; The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight

When the Sacristan saw,
Of these nice little boys dressed all in white;

On crumpled claw,
From his finger he draws

Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw !
His costly turquoise :

No longer gay,
And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws,

As on yesterday ;
Deposits it straight

His feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong
By the side of his plate,

way ; While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait ; His pinions drooped, - he could hardly stand, Till, when nobody 's dreaming of any such thing, His head was as bald as the palm of your hand ; That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring !

His eye so dim,

So wasted each limb,
There's a cry and a shout,

That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, “THAT
And a deuce of a rout,

's HIM!



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That's the scamp that has done this scandalous |

That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's

The poor little Jackdaw,

When the Monks he saw,

Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw;
And turned his bald head as much as to say,
"Pray be so good as to walk this way!"
Slower and slower

He limped on before,

Till they came to the back of the belfry-door,
Where the first thing they saw,
Midst the sticks and the straw,

Was the RING, in the nest of that little Jack-

Then the great Lord Cardinal called for his book,
And off that terrible curse he took ;

The mute expression

Served in lieu of confession,

And, being thus coupled with full restitution,
The Jackdaw got plenary absolution!

When those words were heard,
That poor little bird

Was so changed in a moment, 't was really absurd:

He grew sleek and fat;

In addition to that,

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A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat!

His tail waggled more
Even than before;

But no longer it wagged with an impudent air,
No longer he perched on the Cardinal's chair.
He hopped now about
With a gait devout;

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["The Vicar of Bray in Berkshire, England, was Simon Alleyn, or Allen, and held his place from 1540 to 1588. He was a Papist under the reign of Henry the Eighth, and a Protestant under Edward the Sixth. He was a Papist again under Mary, and once more became a Protestant in the reign of Elizabeth. When this scandal to the gown was reproached for his versatility of religious creeds, and taxed for being a turn-coat and an inconstant changeling, as Fuller expresses it, he replied: "Not so, neither; for if I changed my religion, I am sure I kept true to my principle, which is to live and die the Vicar of Bray." D'ISRAELI.

At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out;
And, so far from any more pilfering deeds,
He always seemed telling the Confessor's beads.
If any one lied, or if any one swore,

The idea seems to have been adapted to some changelings of a later date. In a note in Nichols's "Select Poems," 1782, Vol. VIII. p. 234, it is stated that "the song of the Vicar of Bray" is said to have been written by an officer in Colonel Fuller's regiment, in

Or slumbered in prayer-time and happened to the reign of King George the First. It is founded on an historical


fact; and though it reflects no great honor on the hero of the poem, is humorously expressive of the complexion of the times, in the suc cessive reigns from Charles the Second to George the First."]

That good Jackdaw

Would give a great "Caw!"

As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!"
While many remarked, as his manners they saw,
That they never had known such a pious Jack-


Or knight of the shire,

Lives half so well as a holy friar?


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

He long lived the pride
Of that country side,

And at last in the odor of sanctity died;

When, as words were too faint
His merits to paint,

The Conclave determined to make him a Saint.
And on newly made Saints and Popes, as you know,
It's the custom at Rome new names to bestow,
So they canonized him by the name of Jem Crow !



To teach my flock I never missed:
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 possessed 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, etc.

And he wore green “specs,” with a tortoise

shell rim, And his hat was remarkably broad in the brim, And she was uncommonly fond of him,

And they were a loving pair !

And the name and the fame

Of the Knight and his Dame, Were everywhere hailed with the loudest acclaim.

When William was our king declared,

To ease the nation's grievance ; With this new wind about I steered,

And swore to him allegiance ;
Old principles I did revoke,

Set conscience at a distance ;
Passive obedience was a joke,
A jest was non-resistance.

And this is law that I'll maintain, etc.

When royal Anne became our queen,

The Church of England's glory, Another face of things was seen,

And I became a Tory ;
Occasional conformists base,

I blamed their moderation ;
And thought the church in danger was,
By such prevarication.

And this is law that I'll maintain, etc.

Now Sir Thomas the Good,

Be it well understood,
Was a man of very contemplative mood,

He would pore by the hour,

O'er a weed or a flower, Or the slugs that come crawling out after a

shower; Black-beetles and Bumble-bees, Blue-bottle flies And Moths, were of no small account in his

eyes ; An“Industrious Flea" he'd by no means despise, While an

“Old Daddy-long-legs," whose “long

legs" and thighs Passed the common in shape or in color or size, He was wont to consider an absolute prize.

Well, it happened one day,

I really can't say The particular month ; but I think ’t was in

May, 'T was, I know, in the Springtime, -- when

“Nature looks gay,” As the Poet observes, and on tree-top and spray The dear little dickey-birds carol away ; When the grass is so green, and the sun is so

bright, And all things are teeming with life and with

light, — That the whole of the house was thrown into

affright, For no soul could conceive what was gone with

the Knight!

When George in pudding-time came o'er,

And moderate men looked big, sir, My principles I changed once more,

And so became a Whig, sir ; And thus preferment I procured

From our new faith's defender ; And almost every day abjured The pope and the pretender.

And this is law that I'll maintain, etc.

The illustrious house of Hanover,

And Protestant succession,
To these I do allegiance swear —

While they can keep possession :
For in my faith and loyalty

I nevermore will falter,
And George my lawful king shall be —
Until the times do alter.

And this is law that I'll maintain, etc.



It seems he had taken

A light breakfast, – bacon, Anegg, — with a little broiled haddock, - at most A round and a half of some hot buttered toast, With a slice of cold sirloin from yesterday's roast.

And then – let me see !

He had two, perhaps three, Cups (with sugar and cream) of strong gunpowder

tea, With a spoonful in each of some choice eau de vie, Which with nine out of ten would perhaps dis

In fact, I and my son

Mix “ black" with our “Hyson," Neither having the nerves of a bull or a bison, And both hating brandy like what some call



"Hail, wedded love! mysterious tie!"

Thomson - or Somebody. The Lady Jane was tall and slim,

The Lady Jane was fair, And Sir Thomas, her lord, was stout of limb, And his cough was short, and his eyes were dim,

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With the crutch-handled top, which he used to His sustain

His steps in his walks, and to poke in the shrubs And the grass, when unearthing his worms and his grubs.

Thus armed, he set out on a ramble, - alack! He set out, poor dear soul !- but he never came back!

The morning dawned,
the next,
And all in the mansion were still perplexed;

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By pointing,

"T was e'en so,


An "

Up came running a man, at a deuce of a pace,
With that very peculiar expression of face
Which always betokens dismay or disaster,
Crying out, 't was the gardener, "O Ma'am!
we 've found Master!"
"Where? where?" screamed the lady; and
Echo screamed, "Where?"
The man could n't say "There!"
He had no breath to spare,

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But, gasping for air, he could only respond

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And the gardener himself had secreted a few,
As well we may suppose;
and the next, and For when he came running to give the alarm
He had six in the basket that hung on his


he pointed, alas! TO THE POND.
- poor dear knight ! - with his
specs" and his hat

But Lady Jane was tall and slim,

And Lady Jane was fair, And, ere morning came, that winsome dame He'd gone poking his nose into this and to that, Had made up her mind, or what's much the When, close to the side


Of the bank, he espied

uncommon fine" tadpole, remarkably fat!
He stooped; and he thought her
His own; he had caught her!
Got hold of her tail, and to land almost brought


When he plumped head and heels into, fifteen feet water!

The Lady Jane was tall and slim,
The Lady Jane was fair,

Alas, for Sir Thomas!-she grieved for him.
As she saw two serving-men, sturdy of limb,
His body between them bear:

But, when she " comes to,"
O, 't is shocking to view
The sight which the corpse reveals!
Sir Thomas's body,

It looked so odd, — he

Was half eaten up by the eels! waistcoat and hose, and the rest of his clothes,

Were all gnawled through and through!
And out of each shoe

An eel they drew ;

And from each of his pockets they pulled out two!

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She sobbed and she sighed, she lamented and


For of sorrow brimful was her cup;

She swooned, and I think she'd have fallen down

and died

supplied, And managed to hold her up.

If Captain MacBride

Had not been by her side,
With the gardener; they both their assistance



SIR MARMADUKE was a hearty knight,
Good man! old man!

He's painted standing bolt upright,

With his hose rolled over his knee;

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