CABINET OF MOMUS. NO TRICKS UPON TRAVELLERS. A TALE.-(PENWARNE.) A CORNISH Miner, high in wrestling fame, To London city Tom would fain be packing; The journey was a long one to be sure; The weary way he cheer'd with many a song; But now he ceased to be so cheery, The night was dark and Tom was weary; * Handkerchief, B 2 NO TRICKS UPON TRAVELLERS. When soon he saw and loudly hail'd a coach: 'Hoa!-Maister Coachman, have'e room for me? 'Can'st taak a body in that's mighty tir'd?' 'Yes,' replied Coachee, I have only three :' The price agreed for soon the place was hired. 'Twas pitchy dark, Tom could not see a face; But 'twixt two passengers he took his place. Tom was a social fellow-lov'd to chatter, A man who sat Tom's vis-a-vis, 'I am the tutor, sir, to that young lad, The Russian's Nephew, and sure man ne'er had 'A wickeder young rogue to teach, by jingo.' 6 Why, sir,' says Tom, 'tis my belief, "The Nephew is a little thief; 'Ave steal'd away my tatey pasty ;* Sich tricks in junsters, sir, be nasty; And begg'd the Gem'men to get out, Potatoe Pasty. NO TRICKS UPON TRAVELLERS. And now along the road they're walking, 'Knows skilful how to turn to hip ;* Giving your heels the cleanest trip, Will lay you on your back so snug.' 'Will 'a'? quoth Tom, ef sir, you'll caal And make the Coachman stop--we'll try a faal; For tho' 'tis dark, and we can't see, 'Yet 'tis as vair for him as me.' Now matters being settl'd thus, He rais'd our hero from the ground; And--hop'd, his friend—the Russian there,' (Making a formal bow profound) 'Had, like a Gem'man play'd him fair.’ "Why, in his way-I must allow The Gentleman play'd vair enow, 'But lord! sich strength before I never feel'd! 6 6 Why, es a Liant!!† A bugg'd me up-as thof wor a cheeld, "And he a Giant! A term made use of amongst wrestlers.. + Ision: THE COUNTRY BUMPKIN But now the day began to dawn, Tricks upon Travellers-wont do for me! 'D'ye sarve me so you son o' bitch!" 6 Lie there,' quoth Tom, you fiddling lout, THE COUNTRY BUMPKIN AND THE FORBEAR, my friends, to sacrifice your fame To sordid gain, unless that you are starving! . I own, that hunger will indulgence claim, For hard stone heads, and landscape-carving, In order to make haste to sell and eat; |