The youth did ride, and soon did meet But not performing what he meant, Away went Gilpin, and away Went postboy at his heels, The postboy's horse right glad to miss Six gentlemen upon the road Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With postboy scampering in the rear, 'Stop thief!-stop thief! —a highwayman!' Not one of them was mute; And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space : And so he did, and won it too, Nor stopp'd till where he had got up Now let us sing, long live the king, And, when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see. W. Cowper Ο LXXVI THE MILKMAID NCE on a time a rustic dame, (No matter for the lady's name,) 'Please heaven but to preserve my health, No doubt I shall have store of wealth; I shall have store of lovers too. O, how I'll break their stubborn hearts What suitors then will kneel before me ! Lords, Earls, and Viscounts shall adore me. When in my gilded coach I ride, Action, alas! the speaker's grace, R. Lloyd LXXVII G SIR SIDNEY SMITH ENTLEFOLKS, in my time, I've made many a rhyme, But the song I now trouble you with Lays some claim to applause, and you'll grant it, because The subject's Sir Sidney Smith, it is; The subject's Sir Sidney Smith. We all know Sir Sidney, a man of such kidney, Give him one ship or two, and without more ado, He'd engage if he met a whole fleet, he would; He'd engage if he met a whole fleet. Thus he took, every day, all that came in his way, Order'd accidents so, that, while taking the foe, His captors, right glad of the prize they now had, And swore he should stay, lock'd up till doomsday, But he swore he 'd be hang'd if he did, he did; But he swore he 'd be hang'd if he did. So Sir Sid got away, and his gaoler next day Mon prisonnier 'scape, I 'ave got in von scrape, LXXVIII T. Dibdin THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN H AMELIN Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser deep and wide Washes its walls on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin, was a pity. Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in their cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats, At last the people in a body To the Town-hall came flocking: "'T is clear,' cried they, 'our Mayor's a noddy: Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!' An hour they sat in council, At length the Mayor broke silence: |