"The clashing of my armour in my ears

Sounds like a passing bell; my buckler puts me
In mind of a bier; this, my broadsword, a pickaxe
To dig my grave."

I. .

-THE LOVER'S PROGRESS.

WAS in that memorable year
France threaten'd to put off in
Flat-bottom'd boats, intending each

To be a British coffin,

To make sad widows of our wives,

"The clashing of my armour in my ears

Sounds like a passing bell; my buckler puts me
In mind of a bier; this, my broadsword, a pickaxe
To dig my grave."

I.

-THE LOVER'S PROGRESS.

WAS in that memorable year
France threaten'd to put off in
Flat-bottom'd boats, intending each

To be a British coffin,

To make sad widows of our wives,

And every babe an orphan :

V.

There is some one-I see a dark shape
At that window, the hottest of all,-
My good woman, why don't you escape?
Never think of your bonnet and shawl:
If your dress isn't perfect, what is it
For once in a way to your hurt?
When your husband is paying a visit
There, at Number Fourteen, in his shirt!

VI.

Only see how she throws out her chaney!
Her basons, and teapots, and all
The most brittle of her goods--or any,
But they all break in breaking their fall:
Such things are not surely the best

From a two-story window to throw—
She might save a good iron-bound chest,
For there's plenty of people below!

VII.

O dear! what a beautiful flash!

How it shone thro' the window and door; We shall soon hear a scream and a crash, When the woman falls thro' with the floor! There! there! what a volley of flame,

And then suddenly all is obscured!-Well-I'm glad in my heart that I came ;— But I hope the poor man is insured!

"The clashing of my armour in my ears

Sounds like a passing bell; my buckler puts me
In mind of a bier; this, my broadsword, a pickaxe
To dig my grave."

I.

-THE LOVER'S PROGRESS.

WAS in that memorable year

France threaten'd to put off in

Flat-bottom'd boats, intending each

To be a British coffin,

To make sad widows of our wives,

And every babe an orphan :

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