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Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just;
And he but naked, though locked up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted:
The very weight of Richard's guilt shall crush him.
Then, let us on, my friends, and boldly face him.
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man
As mild behaviour and humanity;
But, when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Let us be tigers in our fierce deportment.
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
Shall be this body on the earth's cold face;
But, if we thrive, the glory of the action
The meanest soldier here shall share his part of.
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords,
Sound drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully;
The word's "St. George, Richmond, and Victory!"
Ir chanced one day, so I've been told,
(The story is not very old,)
As Will and Tom, two servants able,
Were waiting at their master's table,
Tom brought a fine fat turkey in,
The sumptuous dinner to begin:
Then Will appeared-superbly cooked,
A tongue upon the platter smoked;
When, oh! sad fate! he struck the door,
And tumbled flat upon the floor;
The servants stared, the guests looked down,
When quick uprising with a frown,
The master cried, "Sirrah! I say
"Begone, nor wait a single day,
"You stupid cur! you've spoiled the feast,
"How can another tongue be dressed ?"
While thus the master stormed and roared,
Will, who with wit was somewhat stored,
(For he by no means was a fool,
Some Latin too he'd learned at school,)
Said, (thinking he might change disgrace
For laughter, and thus save his place,)
"Oh! call me not a stupid cur,
""T was but a lapsus linguæ, Sir."
"A lapsus lingua?" one guest cries,
"A pun!" another straight replies.
The joke was caught-the laugh went round-
Nor could a serious face be found.
The master, when the uproar ceased,
Finding his guests were all well pleased,
Forgave the servant's slippery feet,
And quick revoked his former threat.
Now Tom had all this time stood still,
And heard the applause bestowed on Will;
Delighted, he had seen the fun,
Of what his comrade late had done,
And thought, should he but do the same,
An equal share of praise he'd claim.
As soon as told the meat to fetch in,
Bolted like lightning to the kitchen,
And seizing there a leg of lamb,
(I am not certain, perhaps 'twas ham,
No matter which,) without delay,
Off to the parlour marched away,
And stumbling as he turned him round,
Twirled joint and dish upon the ground.
For this my lord was ill-prepared;
Again the astonished servants stared.
Tom grinned-but seeing no one stir,
"Another lapsus linguæ, Sir!"
Loud he exclaimed-no laugh was raised,
No "clever fellow's" wit was praised.
Confounded, yet not knowing why
His wit could not one laugh supply;
And fearing lest he had mistook
The words, again thus loudly spoke ;
(Thinking again it might be tried,)
"Twas but a lapsa linguus," cried.
My lord, who long had quiet sat,
Now clearly saw what he was at ;
In wrath this warning loud he gave,-
"When next thou triest, unlettered knave,
"To give, as thine, another's wit,
"Mind well thou knowest what's meant by it;
"Nor let a lapsus linguæ slip
"From out thy pert assuming lip,
"Till well thou knowest thy stolen song,
"Nor think a leg of lamb, a tongue."
He said and quickly from the floor,
Straight kicked him through the unlucky door.
Let each pert coxcomb learn from this,
True wit will never come amiss;
But should a borrowed phrase appear,
Derision's always in the rear.
COLIN AND LUCY.
Of Leinster, famed for maidens fair
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so sweet a face:
Till luckless love, and pining care,
Impaired her rosy hue,
Her coral lips, and damask cheeks,
And eyes of glossy blue.
Oh! have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend?
So drooped the slow-consuming maid,
Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warned, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair :
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured swains, beware.
Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And shrieking at her window thrice,
The raven flapped his wing.
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
The solemn boding sound;
And thus, in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round:
"I hear a voice you cannot hear,
"Which says, I must not stay;
"I see a hand you cannot see,
"Which beckons me away.
By a false heart, and broken vows,
"In early youth I die:
"Was I to blame, because his bride
"Was thrice as rich as I?
"Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows, "Vows due to me alone:
"Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, "Nor think him all thy own.
"To-morrow, in the church to wed, "Impatient, both prepare!
"But know, fond maid; and know, false man, "That Lucy will be there!
Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear,
"This bridegroom blithe to meet,
"He in his wedding-trim so gay,
"I in my winding-sheet."
She spoke, she died, her corse was borne
The bridegroom blithe to meet,
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.
Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts?
How were these nuptials kept?
The bridesmen flocked round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,
At once his bosom swell :
The damps of death bedewed his brow,
He shook, he groaned, he fell.
From the vain bride-ah, bride no more!
The varying crimson fled,
When, stretched before her rival's corse,
She saw her husband dead :
Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Conveyed by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,
For ever he remains.
Oft at this grave, the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots,
They deck the sacred green :
But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallowed spot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there,