And now in England, just as gay

As in the battle brave,

Goes to a rout, review or play,
With one foot in the grave.

Fortune in vain here showed her spite,
For he will still be found,

Should England's sons engage in fight,
Resolved to stand his ground.

But Fortune's pardon I must beg;
She meant not to disarm,

For when she lopped the hero's leg,
She did not seek his harm,

And but indulg'd a harmless whim;
Since he could walk with one
She saw two legs were lost on him,
Who never meant to run.

SONG

From "The Rover; or the Double Arrangement."

WH

HENE'ER with haggard eyes I view
This dungeon that I'm rotting in,
I think of those companions true

Who studied with me at the U-
-niversity of Gottingen,
-niversity of Gottingen.

Sweet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue, Which once my love sat knotting in!

1

Alas! Matilda then was true!

At least I thought so at the U.
-niversity of Gottingen,
-niversity of Gottingen.

Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift you flew,
Her neat post-wagon trotting in!
Ye bore Matilda from my view;
Forlorn I languished at the U—
-niversity of Gottingen,
-niversity of Gottingen.

This faded form! this pallid hue!
This blood my veins is clotting in!
My years are many-they were few
When first I entered at the U
-niversity of Gottingen,
-niversity of Gottingen.

There first for thee my passion grew,
Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottingen !
Thou wast the daughter of my tu-
tor, law professor at the U-

-niversity of Gottingen,
-niversity of Gottingen.

Sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu!
That kings and priests are plotting in:
Here doomed to starve on water gru-
el, never shall I see the U-

-niversity of Gottingen,
-niversity of Gottingen.

1 This verse is said to have been added by the younger Pitt.

THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE

N

KNIFE-GRINDER

FRIEND OF HUMANITY

EEDY Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road; your wheel is out of order-
Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole
in't.

So have your breeches !

Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike
Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day, "Knives
and

Scissors to grind O!"

Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it some squire ? or parson of the parish?
Or the attorney?

Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or
Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit ?

Have you not read the "Rights of Man," by Tom
Paine ?

Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your
Pitiful story.

KNIFE-GRINDER

Story? God bless you! I have none to tell, sir:
Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.

Constables came up for to take me into
Custody; they took me before the justice;
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish
Stocks for a vagrant.

I should be glad to drink your honour's health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
But for my part, I never love to meddle
With politics, sir.

Wretch

FRIEND OF HUMANITY

I give thee sixpence ! I will see thee damned first – whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance!

Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,

Spiritless outcast!

[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.]

N

WILLIAM CANTON
(1845- )

LAUS INFANTIUM

God first made man, then found a better way
For woman, but his third way was the best.
Of all created things, the loveliest

And most divine are children. Nothing here
Can be to us more gracious or more dear.

And though, when God saw all his works were good,
There was no rosy flower of babyhood,

'Twas said of children in a later day

That none could enter Heaven save such as they.

The earth, which feels the flowering of a thorn,
Was glad, O little child, when you were born;
The earth, which thrills when skylarks scale the blue,
Soared up itself to God's own Heaven in you;
And Heaven, which loves to lean down and to glass
Its beauty in each dewdrop on the grass,-

Heaven laughed to find your face so pure and fair,
And left, O little child, its reflex there.