'The sabre of the Sultaun in its sheath Too long has slept, nor own'd the work of death; Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle, Others opined that through the realms a dole Be made to holy men, whose prayers might profit Bang the loud gong, and raise the The Sultaun's weal in body and in And next came forth the reverend His mother she, a dame who once Convocation, was beauteous, Bald heads, white beards, and many And still was called so by each subject Imaum and Mollah there of every Now, whether Fatima was witch in patients roam Enough of turbans,' said the weary King, 'These dolimans of ours are not the thing; And live abroad, when sure to die at Try we the Giaours, these men of home; Or if she thought, that, somehow or But, says the Chronicle (who will, go look it), That such was her advice. The Sultaun took it. XI. All are on board-the Sultaun and his train, coat and cap, I Incline to think some of them must be happy; At least, they have as fair a cause as any can, They drink good wine and keep no Ramazan. Then northward, ho!' The vessel cuts the sea, And fair Italia lies upon her lee. In gilded galley prompt to plough the Long from her throne of domination main. tumbled, Lay, by her quondam vassals, sorely humbled; The Pope himself look'd pensive, pale, and lean, And was not half the man he once had been. 'While these the priest and those the noble fleeces, Our poor old boot',' they said, 'is torn to pieces. 2 Its tops the vengeful claws of Austria The Sultaun answer'd him with a cross Monsieur Baboon, after much late Replied the Frenchman, after a brief Besides, some tumours on his noddle Dat is for Englishman,-m'entendez His sugar-loaves and bales about heIn that case, signior, I may take my threw, And on his counter beat the devil's tattoo. His wars were ended, and the victory won, But then, 'twas reckoning-day with honest John; And authors vouch, 'twas still this Worthy's way, 'Never to grumble till he came to pay; And then he always thinks, his temper's such, leave; I came to ask a favour-but I grieve'— 'Favour?' said John, and eyed the Sultaun hard, 'It's my belief you come to break the yard! But, stay, you look like some poor foreign sinner,— Take that to buy yourself a shirt and dinner.' With that he chuck'd a guinea at his head; But, with due dignity, the Sultaun said, The work too little, and the pay too 'Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline; much 1.' A shirt indeed I seck, but none of thine. Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind and Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare hearty, That when his mortal foe was on the floor, And past the power to harm his quiet more, you well.' Poor John had wellnigh wept for Next door to John there dwelt his Bonaparte ! Such was the wight whom Solimaun salaam'd, 'And who are you,' John answer'd, ' and be d-d?' XVI. sister Peg, Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg When the blithe bagpipe blew-but, soberer now, She doucely span her flax and milk'd her cow. 'A stranger, come to see the happiest And whereas erst she was a needy slattern, Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern, Yet once a month her house was partly swept, And once a week a plenteous board she kept. And whereas, eke, the vixen used her claws And teeth, of yore, on slender provocation, She now was grown amenable to laws, A quiet soul as any in the nation; The sole remembrance of her warlike joys Was in old songs she sang to please her boys. John Bull, whom, in their years of Until the Sultaun strain'd his princely early strife, She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life, throttle, And hollo'd, Ma'am, that is not what I ail. Now found the woman, as he said, Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this And of her absent bairns, puir The Sultaun's royal bark is steering, Highland hearts! If peace brought down the price of tea and pepper, And if the nitmugs were grown ony cheaper ; Were there nae speerings of our Mungo Park Ye'll be the gentleman that wants the sark? The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy dwells, The cousin of John Bull, as story tells. For a long space had John, with words of thunder, Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy under, Till the poor lad, like boy that's flogg'd unduly, unruly. If ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's Had gotten somewhat restive and spinnin', I'll warrant ye it's a weel-wearing Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll linen!' XIX. allow, A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow; Then up got Peg, and round the His landlord, and of middle-men two house 'gan scuttle In search of goods her customer to nail, brace, Had screw'd his rent up to the starving-place; |