heir achievements in theft; not a viand they had
fed on but had its appropriate legend; even the old rabbit, which had
been as tough as old rabbit can well be, had not been honestly taken
from his burrow; no less a person than Mim himself had purloined it from
a widow's footman who was carrying it to an old maid from her nephew the
Squire.

"Silence," cried the host, who loved talking as well as the rest, and
who for the last ten minutes had been vainly endeavouring to obtain
attention. "Silence! my maunders, it's late, and we shall have the queer
cuffins [magistrates] upon us if we keep it up much longer. What, ho,
Mim, are you still gabbling at the foot of the table when your betters
are talking? As sure as my name's King Cole, I'll choke you with your
own rabbit skin, if you don't hush your prating cheat,--nay, never look
so abashed: if you will make a noise, come forward, and sing us a gypsy
song. You see, my young sir," turning to his guest, "that we are not
without our pretensions to the fine arts."

At this order, Mim started forth, and taking his station at the right
hand of the soi-disant King Cole, began the following song, the chorus
of which was chanted in full diapason by the whole group, with the
additional force of emphasis that knives, feet, and fists could
bestow:--

THE GYPSY'S SONG.

The king to his hall, and the steed to his stall,
And the cit to his bilking board;
But we are not bound to an acre of ground,
For our home is the houseless sward.
We sow not, nor toil; yet we glean from the soil
As much as its reapers do;
And wherever we rove, we feed on the cove
Who gibes at the mumping crew.
CHORUS.--So the king to his hall, etc.

We care not a straw for the limbs of the law,
Nor a fig for the cuffin queer;
While Hodge and his neighbour shall lavish and labour,
Our tent is as sure of its cheer.
CHORUS.--So the king to his hall, etc.

The worst have an awe of the harman's [constable] claw,
And the best will avoid the trap; [bailiff]
But our wealth is as free of the bailiff's see
As our necks of the twisting crap. [gallows]
CHORUS.--So the king to his hall, etc.

They say it is sweet to win the meat
For the which one has sorely wrought;
But I never could find that we lacked the mind
For the food that has cost us nought!
CHRUS.--So the king to his hall, etc.

And when we have ceased from our fearless feast
W