Tell me, knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?

Did some rich man tyrannically use you?

Was it the squire? or parson of the parish?

Or the attorney?

Was it the squire for killing of his game? or Covetous parson for his t.i.thes 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 compa.s.sion tremble on my eyelids, Ready to fall as soon as you have told your Pitiful story.

_Knife-grinder_.

Story! G.o.d 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 the scuffle.

Constable 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 would give me sixpence; But, for my part, I never love to meddle With politics, sir.

_Friend of Humanity_.

_I_ give thee sixpence! I will see thee d.a.m.ned first-- Wretch! whom no sense of wrong 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_.]

LIII. SONG BY ROGERO THE CAPTIVE.

This is a satirical imitation of many of the songs current in the romantic dramas of the period. It is contained in the _Rovers, or the Double Arrangement_, act i. sc. 2, a skit upon the dramatic literature of the day.

Whene'er with haggard eyes I view This dungeon, that I'm rotting in, I think of those companions true Who studied with me in the U- -niversity of Gottingen-- -niversity of Gottingen.

[_Weeps, and pulls out a blue 'kerchief, with which he wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds_.

Sweet 'kerchief check'd with heavenly blue, Which once my love sat knotting in, Alas, Matilda then was true, At least I thought so at the U- -niversity of Gottingen-- -niversity of Gottingen.

[_At the repet.i.tion of this line Rogero clanks his chain in cadence_.

Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift ye flew, Her neat post-waggon trotting in!

Ye bore Matilda from my view; Forlorn I languish'd 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 I first entered at the U- -niversity of Gottingen-- -niversity of Gottingen.

There first for thee my pa.s.sion grew, Sweet; sweet Matilda Pottingen!

Thou wast the daughter of my tutor, 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 doom'd to starve on water-gruel, never shall I see the U- -niversity of Gottingen!-- -niversity of Gottingen!

[_During the last stanza Rogero dashes his head repeatedly against the walls of his prison; and, finally, so hard as to produce a visible contusion. He then throws himself on the floor in an agony. The curtain drops--the music still continuing to play till it is wholly fallen_.

COLERIDGE AND SOUTHEY.

(1772-1834.) (1774-1843.)

LIV. THE DEVIL'S WALK.

Originally written in an alb.u.m belonging to one of the Misses Fricker, the ladies whom the two poets married. What was the extent of the collaboration of the respective writers in the poem is unknown, but the fact is beyond a doubt that it was written by them in conjunction.

From his brimstone bed at break of day A-walking the Devil is gone, To visit his snug little farm upon earth, And see how his stock goes on.

Over the hill and over the dale, And he went over the plain, And backward and forward he switched his long tail, As a gentleman switches his cane.

And how, then, was the Devil drest?

Oh, he was in his Sunday best; His jacket was red, and his breeches were blue, And there was a hole where his tail came through.

He saw a lawyer killing a viper On a dunghill hard by his own stable; And the Devil smiled, for it put him in mind Of Cain and his brother Abel.

He saw an apothecary on a white horse Ride by on his own vocations; And the Devil thought of his old friend Death in the Revelations.

He saw a cottage with a double coach-house, A cottage of gentility; And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin Is the pride that apes humility.

He went into a rich bookseller's shop, Quoth he! we are both of one college, For I myself sate like a cormorant once, Fast by the tree of knowledge.

Down the river there plied, with wind and tide, A pig, with vast celerity, And the Devil looked wise as he saw how the while It cut its own throat. There! quoth he, with a smile, Goes "England's commercial prosperity".

As he went through Cold-Bath Fields he saw A solitary cell; And the Devil was pleased, for it gave him a hint For improving his prisons in h.e.l.l.

General Gascoigne's burning face He saw with consternation; And back to h.e.l.l his way did take, For the Devil thought by a slight mistake It was a general conflagration.

SYDNEY SMITH.

(1771-1845.)

LV. THE LETTERS OF PETER PLYMLEY--ON "NO POPERY".

In 1807 the _Letters of Peter Plymley_ to his brother Abraham on the subject of the Irish Catholics were published. "The letters", as Professor Henry Morley says, "fell like sparks on a heap of gunpowder. All London, and soon all England, were alive to the sound reason recommended by a lively wit." The example of his satiric force and sarcastic ratiocination cited below is the Second Letter in the Series.

DEAR ABRAHAM,