Because thy appetite has fail'd,

And from the Well the trout I haled.'

'How didst thou dare to violate

Heaven's strict behest, rash reprobate?
Go-fling them both into the Well!'
Then on his knees Saint Neot fell,
While with the savoury dish cook ran,
By the way cursing pot and pan,

And with a splash threw both fish in ;
And instantly life stirr'd each fin,
The boil'd grew frisky as the fried,

And three fish frolick'd in the tide.

The cook rush'd back and was forgiven,
And the Saint render'd thanks to Heaven;
Then, feeling peckish, sent the cook
Back to the Well, who one fish took,

One of the three, but still left three
Fine trout there swimming merrily.
The fish was either fried or boil'd,
Unless, as some suggest, 'twas broil'd;
And then Saint Neot broke his fast,

Hoping his next less time would last,

Got well, gave thanks, lived long on fish,
But had one only on his dish;

And, when to Heaven he was promoted,
In the clear Well three live trout floated.

་

The well remains, and, if you doubt,
Come, and perhaps you'll see the trout,
And learn to cypher to your gain,

Take One from Three and Three remain;
Much like substracting None from None,
Or multiplying One times One,

Which last rule Faust learnt from the witch in

The magic circle in her kitchen.

In this long, narrow strip of land
The folk still by their legends stand,
For miracles have ostrich gizzards,
Believe in charms, consult grey wizards,
See ghosts, hear many a mystic sound,
And will not whistle underground.

But, if for supernatural lore

You have a taste, you'll get much more
From Couch, Hunt, Hawker, and their fellows,

For whom I may not heave the bellows.

A LAWYER OF THE OLD TYPE.

1

Yes, still I sigh for days gone by,

Though not for those blest times of old When thirsty bards found Castles nigh, And were not left out in the cold, And when the pilgrim and the poor Wide open found the Convent door.

2

No, many centuries less will do

To satisfy my retrospection,

When Counsel rode, as if in view,

From shire to shire, with a selection

Of flasks and cases at their cruppers,
Baited-spurr'd on-and got their suppers.

3

Judges in coaches you would see,
As large as waggons and as slow;
The pace became their dignity,

The people bow'd to them full low,
The Sheriff with his trumpets shrill
And Troop received them on the hill.

4

What of the Attorneys? On stout nags

They did to the Assizes trot

Astride on their wide saddle-bags,

Which held briefs, shirts, cravats—what not?

They also baited on the road,

And let their cork'd up mirth explode.

5

One of their cloth I knew right well,

A shrewd, well-read, and jovial man, Who could take oysters from the shell,

And pick the grain out from the bran; Good at the desk, but at the board

Still better when the liquor pour'd.