Commits her dearest boy;
Who bred him from a slender twig

To be the scourge of Troy :
But ere he lasht the Trojans, h' was

In Stygian waters steept; As birch is soaked first in piss,

When boys are to be whipt. With skin exceeding hard, he rose From lake, so black and muddy, As lobsters from the ocean rise, With shell about their body: And, as from lobster's broken claw, Pick out the fish you might : So might you from one unshell'd heel Dig pieces of the knight. His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns And hen-roosts, says the song;

*Braburn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln College, gave a silver arrow to be shot for by the archers of the University of Oxford.

Carried away both corn and eggs,

Like ants from whence they sprung. Himself tore Hector's pantaloons,

And sent him down bare-breech'd To pedant Radamanthus, in

A posture to be switch'd.

But George he made the dragon look, As if he had been bewitch'd.

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Full fatal to the Romans was

The Carthaginian Hanni

bal; him I mean, who gave them such A devilish thump at Cannæ : Moors thick, as goats on Penmen

mure,

Stood on the Alpes's front : Their one-eyed guide,*. like blinking mole,

Bor'd thro' the hind'ring mount: Who, baffled by the massy rock,

Took vinegar for relief;

Like plowmen, when they hew their

way

Thro' stubborn rump of beef. As dancing louts from humid toes

Cast atoms of ill savour

To blinking Hyatt,+ when on vile crowd
He merriment does endeavour,
And saws from suffering timber out
Some wretched tune to quiver:
So Romans stunk and squeak'd at sight
Of Affrican carnivor.

The tawny surface of his phiz

Did serve instead of vizzard :

But George he made the dragon have A grumbling in his gizzard.

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

*Hannibal had but one eye.

† A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fiddles as well as play on them, well known at that time in Oxford.

OF Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limped stream

Reflect so fair a face.

Till luckless love and pining care

Impair'd her rosy hue,

Her coral lip, and damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.

Oh! have you seen a lily pale,

When beating rains descend? So droop'd the slow-consuming maid; Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains Take heed, ye easy fair :

Of vengeance due to broken vows,

Ye perjured swains, beware.

Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, shrieking thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing.

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
That solemn boding sound;
And thus, in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round.

"I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says, I must not stay:
I see a hand you cannot see,

Which beckons me away.

"By a false heart, and broken vows,
In early youth I die.
Am I to blame, because his bride
Is thrice as rich as I?

"Ah, Colin! give her not thy vows;
Vows due to me alone :

Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,
Nor think him all thy own.

"To-morrow in the church to wed,

Impatient, both prepare ;

But know, fond maid, and know, false man, That Lucy will be there.

"Then, bear my corse, ye comrades, bear, The bridegroom blithe to meet ; He in his wedding-trim so gay,

I in my winding-sheet."

She spoke, she died;-her corse was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet ;
He in his wedding trim so gay,

She in her winding-sheet.

Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were those nuptials kept?
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.

Confusion, shame, remorse, despaire,

At once his bosom swell :

The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride (ah, bride no more!)
The varying crimson fled,

When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,
She saw her husband dead.

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,
For ever now remains.