She saw the spareness of her habits, And round her loins put on a striped And, by the time she had got a meat- (Tho' they reform'd the royal fauces,) That turn'd the spit, to chop up Dagon !— THE MERMAID OF MARGATE, "Alas! what perils do inviron That man who meddles with a siren!" HUDIBRAS. ON Margate beach, where the sick one roams, And the sentimental reads ; Where the maiden flirts, and the widow comes Like the ocean-to cast her weeds ;— Where urchins wander to pick up shells, There's a maiden sits by the ocean brim, But woe, deep water and woe to him That she snareth like Peter Fin! 1 Her head is crown d with pretty sea-wares, And, all day long, she combeth them well, And her mouth is just like a rose-lipp'd shell, And the Fishmonger, humble as love may be, She turn'd about with her pearly brows, And then she gave him a siren kiss, No honeycomb e'er was sweeter: Poor wretch how little he dreamt for this And away with her prize to the wave she leapt, Not walking, as damsels do, With toe and heel, as she ought to have stept, But she hopt like a Kangaroo! One plunge, and then the victim was blind, One half on the sand, and half in the sea, For when he look'd where her feet should be, But a scaly tail, of a dolphin's growth, 'You crimpt my father, who was a skate ;And my sister you sold—a maid ; So here remain for a fishlike fate, For lost you are, and betray'd!" And away she went, with a seagull's scream, The sun went down with a blood-red flame, Ah, me! it had been a beautiful scene, But the green water-hillocks all seem'd to him, And Christians love in the turf to lie, Nay, the very fishes will sooner die And whilst he stood, the watery strife And the ground decreas'd-his moments of life And still the waters foam'd in, like ale, A little more, and a little more, The surges came tumbling in ; He sang the evening hymn twice o'er, Each flounder and plaice lay cold at his heart, As cold as his marble slab; And he thought he felt, in every part, The pincers of scalded crab. The squealing lobsters that he had boil'd, All the horny prawns, he had ever spoil'd, And the billows were wandering to and fro, Had there been but a smuggler's cargo adrift, One tub, or keg, to be seen, It might have given his spirits a lift Or an anker where Hope might lean! But there was not a box or a beam afloat, Not a skiff, not a yawl, or a mackarel boat, At last, his lingering hopes to buoy, He saw a sail and a mast, And called "Ahoy!"- but it was not a hoy, And so the vessel went past. And with saucy wing that flapp'd in his face, The wild bird about him flew, With a shrilly scream, that twitted his case, "Why, thou art a sea-gull too!" And lo! the tide was over his feet; He was deafen'd amidst the mountain-tops, But just as his body was all afloat, And the surges above him broke, He was saved from the hungry deep by a boat, Of Deal-(but builded of oak). The skipper gave him a dram, as he lay, And the Angel return'd that was flying away U |