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BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY.
OF THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY.
This fearsome Old Woman was taken ill:
Of green-looking fluid, like laver diluted,
She made a wry face,
But, without saying Grace,
Toss'd it off like a dram-it improved not her case.
Still the little old woman continued in pain.
He calls to his aid
A bandy-legged neighbour, a 'Tailor by trade,'†
Tells him his fears,
Bids him lay by his shears,
Alack for poor William Linley to settle the point! His elucidation of Mac. beth's Hurlyburly' casts a halo around his memory. In him the world lost one of its kindliest spirits, and the Garrick Club its acutest commentator.
+ All who are familiar with the Police Reports, and other Records of our courts of Justice, will recollect that every gentleman of this particular profession invariably thus describes himself, in contradistinction to the Bricklayer, whom he probably presumes to be indigenous, and the Shoemaker born a Snob.
His thimble, his goose, and his needle, and hie
That he begs they'll all pray,
Viz.: The whole pious brotherhood, Cleric and Lay,
That some erudite Friar
Would run over at once, and examine, and try her;
A something that weigh'd on the Old Woman's mind,-
Now I'd have you to know
Which I'm telling you, happen'd a long time ago;
Described in these rhymes,
Were as fruitful in virtues as ours are in crimes;
Sometimes betray'd an occasional taint or two,
Went into hysterics,
While scarcely a Convent but boasted its Saint or two:
As since then the breed
Of Saints rarely indeed
With their dignified presence have darken'd our pew doors.
❝ One of
"An antient and most pugnacious family," says a learned F. S. A. their descendants, George Rose, Esq., late M. P. for Christchurch (an elderly gentle. man now defunct), was equally celebrated for his vocal abilities, and his wanton des "Sing, old Rose, and burn the truction of furniture when in a state of excitement. bellows!" has grown into a proverb.
The worthy Jesuit's polemical publisher.-I am not quite sure as to the orthography; it's idem sonans, at all events.
And the two now on duty were each, for their piety,
And well might have borne
By our Nulli Secundus' Club-poor dear lost muttons
A radish-bunch munch for a lunch, or a leek;
That garnish'd the nose of the good Father Hilary
-Some said spirituous compounds of viler distillery-
That with Friars, who say
Fifty Paters a night, and a hundred a day,
A very slight sustenance goes a great way-
The latter's concern
For a speedy return
Scarce left the Monk time to put on stouter sandals,
The wearing clean linen,
Which Friars must eschew at their very beginning,
E'en if time had not prest,
It didn't much matter how Basil was drest,
Nor could there be any great need for adorning,
Oh! sweet and beautiful is Night, when the silver Moon is high,
And one fond voice alone is heard-oh! Night is lovely then!
But when that voice, in feeble moans of sickness and of pain,