The roads were so dirty before I got in, I bespatter'd myself with the thick and the thin, Till I came to the sign of the Lamb and the Flag. And behav❜d very civil, it can't be disputed. Two more decent folks you've scarce seen in your life; To be canvass'd by people much younger than me. Lest the folks of the house should count me a scrub So I walk'd in the bar and sat down by the fire. Mr. Phillips, in short, thro' the kitchen did wheel With a boot on each leg and a spur on each heel Came forth and shook hands very cheerful and glad "Have you tin, sir, to day?" so I told him I had That it was not come forth (it was then about noon,) So, turning, he said he'd attend to the same, And was ready to weigh it whenever it came. I thought they were come, by the bustle I heard, And went into the office for pen, ink, and paper. I think 'twill be better to shorten my tale. Next the fire-men and carriers came round me like bees, And, according to custom, demanded their fees. To grasp at their money all people are eager ; So we enter'd the parlour, and each took his seat, The dinner was decent, and dress'd very nice, And the carver to each of us handed a slice. Thus seated together, the saint with the sinner, What the company drank, to write here 'tis no matter; But I took a rummer of brandy and water. There were two mining captains, but who they might be, I cannot set forth, they were strangers to me; They were talking of standers and gozzans and slides I thought to myself, I wont join their discourse, If I can't make it better, I wont make it worse. So I called for my bill; (but before it was paid, Took my leave of my friends, being determined to jog, Thro' rain, wind, and mire, I homeward did lag, I had tramping and scamping and vamping a plenty, *No price given for the black tin. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF SAINT AUBYN.* Saint Aubyn! thy fate we're deploring, Without the least hope of restoring Thy mem'ry, by sad recollection, Serves only to heighten the gloom, Saint Swithin is still held in favor, Tho' we ne'er by his saintship were bless'd; We would much rather use our endeavour To blot out his name from the list. But seeing 'tis useless to murmur, And vain our complaints to renew, And bid him a mournful adieu. *“Saint Aubyn,” a local term, used chiefly in Cornwall, to signify an after feast on the day succeeding a public or mineaccount dinner. |