THE DEVIL'S FEVER:

A POEM.

BY HENRY WARING, Esq,

"When the Devil was sick, the devil a monk would be, When the devil got well, the devil a monk was he,"

Old Rhyme.

THE DEVIL'S FEVER.

On his brimstone * couch, in the dead of night
The DEVIL he tossed him about ;-

He turn'd to the left, and he turn'd to the right,-
He kick'd off the clothes, and he blew out the light;-
Poor Devil! he had got the gout!

He tried to think of pleasant things—
Of his victims' crimes, and sufferings,-
Of Newgate, and the Recorder !—

But in vain did he seek a respite from pain, From his hoof to his horns-from his tail to his wings Fast had spread the infernal disorder.

His doctors were sent for, one-two-and three,-
And the summons they quickly obey'd.

Oh! it was pleasant to see their alacrity

For 'twas long since they'd attended on Majesty,

In need of medical aid.

The DEVIL Smil'd, in spite of his pain,

As they bustled about his bed;

And he mutter'd-"Ha! ha! you'll go feeless, my leeches, For here, doctors wear neither pockets nor breeches."

Then he held out his arm to be bled.

"From his brimstone bed at break of day." Porson's Devil's Walk. "A warm berth" according to Mr. Satan Montgomery, I think I have read somewhere, but am by no means certain, that brimstone beds are not uncommon in Scotland.-Z. P. V.

And they took from his arm a whole skinful of blood,* And scalded were all in the task!

'T was as hot as hot pitch,—and as thick as thick mud; And it fill'd a six gallon cask!

Now weak and forlorn the DEVIL lay,
Groaning with all his might;-

And he gnash'd his teeth with horrible spite,
As he thought of the souls that might get away
From his clutches, on that night.

And pray, how did the DEVIL look?

Oh, as warm as a Kamschatdale cook ! † His eyes were red, and his lips very blue, And his NOSE!-gleam'd like a candle-coal Cover'd with dew!

* Homer tells us, that the blood of the gods is not real blood, but only something like it. So, Saint Dunstan, in an account I have somewhere seen, of his personal encounter with His Satanic Majesty, declares, "that the blood he squeezed from the Devil's nose was not real blood, but only something like it."-Z. P. V.

+ Travellers have stated that when a Kamschatdale desires to make another his friend, he invites him to dinner. Mine host and his guest then shut themselves up in the former's but or kitchen, which is heated to a degree unknown to Fahrenheit! The landlord plays the part of cook, and while the guest devours the food set before him, the other is constantly stirring the fire. The stranger must bear the excess of heat, as well as find stomach-room for the repast. Ten times is his inward purse filled to the brim, and as many times is it emptied of its contents, before the brave eater will yield! At length, he purchases a respite by a present of dogs or clothes; for his entertainer threatens to heat the hut, and oblige him to gormandise till he dies. A pleasant mode this, of trying the constancy, appetite, and firmness of the person whose friendship is sought! The host, however, one would think, must suffer quite as much from the heat as his visitor.

A remarkable kind of coal, found in some of the Northern Counties of England, which, probably, may not be known here. It is capable of a fine polish, and standishes, tea-pots, &c., are frequently made of it.-Z. P. V.

And now-with visnomies long and blank,

His COURTIERS around him assembled;

But the Devil laugh'd,-as his medicine he quaff'd,
When he saw, how ill they dissembled.

And he thought him of a certain house
In a certain well known street,
Where devils might take a lesson from men
In the practise of deceit.

At the door now, was heard a loud hubbub :-
The minions fell back in a trice,—

To make way for BEELZEBUB,

BEELZEBUB-Hell's CHANCELlor,
And MULCIBER,* his Vice.

"Come hither, Beloved," the Devil cried,-
"Now stoop, and lend me your ears;
You, like good devils, have no grief to hide,
Or to show, in a puncheon of tears."

In a low hoarse voice-but in words few and choice,
His instructions were quickly given ;-

But what they were I cannot declare,
Tho' I wot they referr'd to his favorite spot,-
His dear little Isle-of Great Britain.†

* Mulciber, alias Mammon.

"In Ausonian Land

Men called him MULCIBER; and how he fell
From Heaven, they fabled, thrown by angry Jove
Sheer o'er the crystal battlement."

PARADISE LOST.

"His

+ Until of late years, it was believed that Germany was his Highness's favorite walking ground. It is not, however, doubted now, that he gives the preference to England. Her poets have proclaimed the fact in every direction. Walk," by the way, has been attributed to no less than three different and distinguished verse-makers, viz. :-Porson, Coleridge, and Southey. "The Devil's Visit,"-"The Devil in London," and several other pieces of which His Satanic