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GAIETIES

AND

GRAVITI E S.

PETER PINDARICS.

The Mayor of Miroblais.

While he was laying plans for getting

The honours of the Chapeau rouge,
The Cardinal Du Bois was ever fretting ;
All his days and nights allotting
To bribes and schemes, intriguing, plotting,

Until his face grew yellow as gambouge,
His eyes sepulchral, dull, and gummy,
And his whole frame a walking mummy.
Meanwhile his steward, De la Vigne,

Seem'd to be fattening on his master;
For, as the one grew lank and lean,

The other only thrived the faster,
Enjoying, as he swell'd in figure,
Such constant spirits, laugh, and snigger,
That it e’en struck his Excellency,

Who call'd him up, and ask'd him whence he VOL. II.

B

Contrived to get so plump and jolly;
While he himself, a man of rank,

Visibly shrank,
And daily grew more melancholy.

Really, my lord,” the steward said, Though they drew forth as never-failing

“ There's nothing marvellous in that: You have a hat for ever in your head ; My head is always in my

hat.”

Du Bois, too wealthy to be marrd in all
His plots, was presently a Cardinal,

And wore what he had pined to win;
When pasquinades soon flew about,
Hinting his sconce was deeper red without,

Than 'twas within.
Perhaps it was, but that's no matter :
The Pope, like any other hatter,
Makes coverings, not heads; and this

With its new guest agreed so well,
That he soon wore an alter'd phiz,

Ate heartily, began to swell, Recover'd from his ails and ills, And got quite rosy in the gills.

'Tis strange, but true-our Worthy wore

Fine robes, and wax'd both plump and fresh, From the first moment he forswore

All pomps and appetites of flesh.
His Eminence, on this inflation
Both of his stomach and his station,

His old Château resolved to visit,
Accompanied by one Dupin,
A sandy-headed little man,

Who daily managed to elicit
Jokes from some French Joe Miller's

page, Old, and but little of their age;

A roar of laughter every time,

As if they were as new and prime
As those that we are now retailing:
To the Château in Languedoc,

Whole deputations
From the surrounding districts flock,

With odes, addresses, gratulations,

And long orations ;
And, among others, the Préfet

Of Miroblais,
Famed for its annual Fair of Asses,
Began a speech which, by its dull
Exordium, threaten’d to be full

As long and dry as fifty masses.
Dupin, who saw his yawning master
Somewhat annoy'd by this disaster,
And thought it might be acceptable
To quiz the Bore, and stop his gabble,
Abruptly cried—“ Pray, Mr. Mayor,
How much did asses fetch last Fair?"
“Why, Sir," the worthy Mayor replied,
As the impertinent he eyed
“ Small sandy ones, like you, might each

Sell for three crowns, and plenty too:”-
Then quietly résumed his speech,

And mouth'd it regularly through.

Rabelais and the Lampreys.

When the eccentric Rabelais was physician

To Cardinal Lorraine, he sat at dinner

Beside that gormandizing sinner, Not like the medical magician,

Who whisk'd from Sancho Panza's fauces
The evanescent meats and sauces,
But to protect his sacred master

Against such diet as obstructs
The action of the epigastre,

O'erloads the biliary ducts,
The peristaltic motion crosses,
And puzzles the digestive process.
The Cardinal, one hungry day,

First having with his eyes consumed

Some lampreys that before him fumed, Had plunged his fork into the prey, When Rabelais gravely shook his head, Tapp'd on his plate three times, and said

“ Pah!-hard digestion! hard digestion!” And his bile-dreading Eminence, Though sorely tempted, had the sense

To send it off without a question.
Hip! Hallo! bring the lampreys here !"

Cried Rabelais, as the dish he snatch'd;
And gobbling up the dainty cheer,

The whole was instantly dispatch'd. Redden'd with vain attempts at stifling

At once his wrath and appetite, His patron cried—“Your conduct's rude; This is no subject, Sir, for trifling; How dare you designate this food As indigestible and crude,

Then swallow it before my sight?”
Quoth Rabelais, “ It may soon be shewn

That I don't merit this rebuff:
I tapp'd the plate, and that you 'll own,

Is indigestible enough;
But as to this unlucky fish,

With you so strangely out of favour, Not only 'tis a wholesome dish,

But one of most delicious flavour.”

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