XXXVI.

And the beggar man's ghost besets my dreams, At night to make me madder,-- And my wretched conscience, within my breast, Is like a stinging adder;-- I sigh when I pass the gallows' foot, And look at the rope and ladder!--

XXXVII.

For hanging looks sweet,--but, alas! in vain, My desperate fancy begs,-- I must turn my cup of sorrows quite up, And drink it to the dregs,-- For there is not another man alive, In the world, to pull my legs!

FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN.[26]

[Footnote 26: These famous verses were first published as from an anonymous correspondent in the _London Magazine_. When Hood reprinted them, under his own name, in the first series of _Whims and Oddities_, he prefaced them with the following words:--

"I have never been vainer of any verses than of my part in the following Ballad. Dr. Watts, amongst evangelical nurses, has an enviable renown; and Campbell's Ballads enjoy a snug, genteel popularity. Sally Brown has been favored perhaps with as wide a patronage as the Moral Songs, though its circle may not have been of so select a class as the friends of 'Hohenlinden.' But I do not desire to see it amongst what are called Elegant Extracts. The lamented Emery, dressed as Tom Tug, sang it at his last mortal benefit at Covent Garden; and ever since it has been a great favorite with the watermen of Thames, who time their oars to it, as the wherrymen of Venice time theirs to the lines of Tasso. With the watermen it went naturally to Vauxhall, and over land to Sadler's Wells. The Guards--not the mail coach, but the Lifeguards--picked it out from a fluttering hundred of others, all going to one air, against the dead wall at Knightsbridge. Cheap printers of Shoe Lane and Cow Cross (all pirates!) disputed about the copyrights, and published their own editions; and in the meantime the authors, to have made bread of their song (it was poor old Homer's hard ancient case!), must have sung it about the streets. Such is the lot of Literature! the profits of 'Sally Brown' were divided by the Ballad Mongers;--it has cost, but has never brought me, a halfpenny."]

AN OLD BALLAD.

Young Ben he was a nice young man, A carpenter by trade; And he fell in love with Sally Brown, That was a lady's maid.

But as they fetch'd a walk one day, They met a press-gang crew; And Sally she did faint away, Whilst Ben he was brought to.

The Boatswain swore with wicked words, Enough to shock a saint.

That though she did seem in a fit, 'Twas nothing but a feint.

"Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head, He'll be as good as me; For when your swain is in our boat, A boatswain he will be."

So when they'd made their game of her, And taken off her elf, She roused, and found she only was A coming to herself.

"And is he gone, and is he gone?"

She cried, and wept outright: "Then I will to the water-side, And see him out of sight."

A waterman came up to her,-- "Now, young woman," said he, "If you weep on so, you will make Eye-water in the sea."

"Alas! they've taken my beau, Ben, To sail with old Benbow"; And her woe began to run afresh, As if she'd said Gee woe!

Says he, "They've only taken him To the Tender-ship, you see";-- "The Tender-ship," cried Sally Brown, What a hard-ship that must be!

"O! would I were a mermaid now, For then I'd follow him; But, oh! I'm not a fish-woman, And so I cannot swim.

"Alas! I was not born beneath 'The virgin and the scales,'

So I must curse my cruel stars, And walk about in Wales,"

Now Ben had sail'd to many a place That's underneath the world; But in two years the ship came home, And all the sails were furl'd.

But when he call'd on Sally Brown, To see how she went on, He found she'd got another Ben, Whose Christian name was John.

"O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown, How could you serve me so, I've met with many a breeze before, But never such a blow!"

Then reading on his 'bacco box, He heaved a heavy sigh, And then began to eye his pipe, And then to pipe his eye.

And then he tried to sing "All's Well,"

But could not, though he tried; His head was turn'd, and so he chew'd His pigtail till he died.

His death, which happen'd in his berth, At forty-odd befell: They went and told the sexton, and The sexton toll'd the bell.

"AS IT FELL UPON A DAY."

Oh! what's befallen Bessy Brown, She stands so squalling in the street; She's let her pitcher tumble down, And all the water's at her feet!

The little school-boys stood about, And laugh'd to see her pumping, pumping; Now with a curtsey to the spout, And then upon her tiptoes jumping.

Long time she waited for her neighbors, To have their turns:--but she must lose The watery wages of her labors,-- Except a little in her shoes!

Without a voice to tell her tale, And ugly transport in her face; All like a jugless nightingale, She thinks of her bereaved case.

At last she sobs--she cries--she screams!

And pours her flood of sorrows out, From eyes and mouth, in mingled streams, Just like the lion on the spout.

For well poor Bessy knows her mother Must lose her tea, for water's lack, That Sukey burns--and baby-brother Must be dryrubb'd with huck-a-back!

THE STAG-EYED LADY.

A MOORISH TALE.

Scheherazade immediately began the following story.

I.

Ali Ben Ali (did you never read His wond'rous acts that chronicles relate,-- How there was one in pity might exceed The Sack of Troy?) Magnificent he sate Upon the throne of greatness--great indeed!

For those that he had under him were great-- The horse he rode on, shod with silver nails, Was a Bashaw--Bashaws have horses' tails.

II.

Ali was cruel--a most cruel one!

'Tis rumored he had strangled his own mother-- Howbeit such deeds of darkness he had done, 'Tis thought he would have slain his elder brother And sister too--but happily that none Did live within harm's length of one another, Else he had sent the Sun in all its blaze To endless night, and shorten'd the Moon's days.