so like _invasion_,--
You would have sworn, to smell him, 'twas no rat,
But a dead, putrified, old civet-cat.

He reach'd the spot, anticipating blisses,
Soft murmurs, melting sighs, and burning kisses,
Trances of joy, and mingling of the souls;
When, whack! Sir Thomas hit him on the joles.

Now, on his head it came, now on his face,
His neck, and shoulders, arms, legs, breast, and back;
In short, on almost every place
We read of in the Almanack.

Blows rattle'd on him thick as hail;
Making him rue the day that he was born;--
Sir Thomas plied his cudgel like a flail,
And thrash'd as if he had been thrashing corn.

At length, a thump,--(painful the facts, alas!
Truth urges us Historians to relate!)--
Took Friar John so smart athwart the pate,
It acted like a perfect _coup de grace_.

Whether it was a random shot,
Or aim'd maliciously,--tho' Fame says _not_--
Certain his soul (the Knight so crack'd his crown)
Fled from his body; but which way it went,
Or whether Friars' souls fly up, or down,
Remains a matter of nice argument.

Points so abstruse I dare not dwell upon;
Enough, for me, his body is not gone;

For I have business, still, in my narration,
With the fat carcass of this holy porpus;
And Death, tho' sharp in his Administration,
Never suspended such an _Habeas Corpus_.

END OF PART I.

[Illustration]

THE KNIGHT AND THE FRIAR.

PART THE SECOND.

READER! if you have Genius, you'll discover,
Do what you will to keep it cool,
It, now and then, in spite of you, boils over,
Upon a fool.

Haven't you (lucky man if _not_) been vex'd,
Worn, fretted, and perplex'd,
By a pert, busy, would-be-clever knave,
A forward, empty, self-sufficient slave?

And haven't you, all christian patience gone,
At last, put down the puppy with your wit;--
On whom it seem'd, tho' you had Mines of it,
Extravagance to spend a jest upon?--

And haven't you, (I'm sure you have, my friend!)
When you have laid the puppy low,--
All little pique, and malice, at an end,--
Been sorry for the blow?
And said, (if witty, so would say your Bard,)
"Damn it! I hit that meddling fool too hard?"

Thus did the brave Sir Thomas say;--
Whose Genius didn't much disturb his pate:
It rather, in his bones, and muscles, lay,--
Like many other men's of good estate:

Thus did Si