Just like a hedger cutting furze :
'T was a vile razor!-then the rest he tried,All were impostors !-"Ah!" Hodge sighed, "I wish my eighteen pence within my purse."
In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces,
He cut and dug, and winced, and stamped, and swore, Brought blood and danced, blasphemed and made wry faces, And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er.
His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff,
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff;
So kept it, laughing at the steel and suds.
Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws,
Vowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws,
On the vile cheat that sold the goods.
"Razors !—a vile, confounded dog,—
Not fit to scrape a hog!"
Hodge sought the fellow,-found him, and begun,
"Perhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you 't is fun,
That people flay themselves out of their lives:
You rascal for an hour have I been grubbing,
Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing,
With razors just like oyster-knives.
"Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave,
To cry up razors that can't shave."
"Friend," quoth the razor man, "I'm not a knave:
As for the razors you have bought,
Upon my soul, I never thought
"Not think they'd shave?" quoth Hodge, with wondering And voice not much unlike an Indian yell;
"What were they made for, then, you dog?" he cries. "Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile,-" to sell.”
O! THEN, I see, queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watʼry beams:
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film:
Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight:
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice;
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear; at which he starts and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again.
THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN.
So goes the world; if wealthy, you may call
This friend, that-brother :-friends and brothers all;
Though you are worthless, witless,-never mind it;
You may have been a stable boy,—what then?
'Tis wealth, my friends, makes honorable men.
You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.
But if you are poor, heaven help you! though your sire Had royal blood in him, and though you
Possess the intellect of angels too,
'Tis all in vain ;-the world will ne'er inquire
On such a score :—why should it take the pains?
'Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.
I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever,
Witty and wise;—he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him, and no one ever
Gave him a welcome. "Strange," cried I, "whence is it?"
He walked on this side, then on that,
He tried to introduce a social chat;
Now here, now there, in vain he tried;
Some formally and freezingly replied,
And some said by their silence,-"Better stay at home."
A rich man burst the door,
As Croesus rich;-I'm sure
He could not pride himself upon his wit;
And as for wisdom, he had none of it;
He had what's better, he had wealth.
What a confusion !—all stand up erect,-
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in honest duty and respect;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these conduct him there.
"Allow me, sir, the honor ;"-then a bow Down to the earth,-is 't possible to show Meet gratitude for such kind condescension?
The poor man hung his head,
And to himself he said,
"This is indeed beyond my comprehension."
Then looking round, one friendly face he found,
And said, "Pray tell me why is wealth preferred
To wisdom?"—"That's a silly question, friend!”
Replied the other," have you never heard,
A man may lend his store
But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?"
WHO has e'er been in London, that overgrown place,
Has seen 66
Lodgings to Let" stare him full in the face.
Some are good, and let dearly; while some, 't is well known,
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.
Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only:
But Will was so fat he appeared like a tun,
Or like two single gentlemen rolled into one.
He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated,
But all the night long he felt fevered and heated;
And though heavy to weigh as a score of fat sheep,
He was not by any means heavy to sleep.
Next night 't was the same; and the next, and the next;
He perspired like an ox; he was nervous and vexed;
Week passed after week, till, by weekly succession,
His weakly condition was past all expression.
In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him, For his skin like a lady's loose gown" hung about him;
He sent for a doctor, and cried like a ninny:
"I have lost many pounds,―make me well,—there's a guinea.”
The doctor looked wise; "A slow fever," he said;
Prescribed sudorifics and going to bed.
"Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, "are humbugs!
I've enough of them there without paying for drugs !"
Will kicked out 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've been so very 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."
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