ut 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 bold--
I have been so damn'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!" cries 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_."[2]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE KNIGHT AND THE FRIAR.

PART FIRST.

IN our Fifth Harry's reign, when 'twas the fashion
To thump the French, poor creatures! to excess;--
Tho' Britons, now a days, shew more compassion,
And thump them, certainly, a great deal less;--

In Harry's reign, when flush'd Lancastrian roses
Of York's pale blossoms had usurp'd the right;[3]
As wine drives Nature out of drunkards' noses,
Till red, triumphantly, eclipses white;--
In Harry's reign--but let me to my song,
Or good king Harry's reign may seem too long.

SIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM, a gallant knight,
When this king Harry went to war, in France,
Girded a sword about his middle;
Resolving, very lustily, to fight,
And teach the Frenchmen how to dance,
Without a fiddle.

And wond'rous bold Sir Thomas prove'd in battle,
Performing prodigies, with spear and shield;
His valour, like a murrain among cattle,
Was reckon'd very fatal in the field.
Yet, tho' Sir Thomas had an iron fist,
He was, at heart, a mild Philanthropist.

Much did he grieve, when making Frenchmen die,
To any inconvenience to put 'em:
"It quite distress'd his feelings," he would cry,
"That he must cut their throats,"--and, then he cut 'em.

Thus, during many a Campaign,
He cut,