STEADY and a skilful toiler, He worked and sang from morn till night. E'en during meals his notes were heard, And to his beer were oft preferred; Born in Hamburgh in 1708; studied law, and in 1729 he came to England as secretary of the Danish Legation, and made himself master of our language. In 1733 he was appointed secretary of the English factory at Hamburgh, and in 1754 he died suddenly. The Merry Soap-boiler. At breakfast, and at supper, too, Had learned the tunes that cheered his labor, Where merry John was wont to dwell. At reading he was rather slack, To know when holy days were nigh. But sang the more on vacant days, To waste the less his means and ways, Tis always well to live and learn. The owner of the soap concern— A fat and wealthy burgomaster, Who drank his hock, and smoked his knaster, At marketing was always apter Than any prelate in the chapter. And thought a pheasant in sour krout But woke at times before daybreak "Master, I never thought of counting To what my earnings are amounting At the year's end: if every Monday I've paid my meat and drink for Sunday, And something in the box unspent The Merry Soap-boiler. I've husbanded the needful scot, And feel quite easy with my lot. The maker of the almanac Must, like your worship, know no lack, Else a red letter carnless day Would oftener be struck away." "John, you've been long a faithful fellow, I must forego my morning doze." John blushes, bows, and stammers thanks, And steals away on bended shanks, As had it been a stolen seizure. At home he bolts his chamber door, Views, counts, and weighs his tinkling store, Till he has screw'd on double locks. One day, he to his master went Master," says he, "I've heard of old, The Merry Soap-boiler. Take back your present, and restore ON BUTLER'S MONUMENT. REV. SAMUEL WESLEY, HILE Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive, Νο generous patron would a dinner give. See him, when starved to death and turn'd to dust, Presented with a monumental bust. The poet's fate is here in emblem shown— N good King Charles's golden days, Kings were by God appointed, And this is law that I'll maintain Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir. In Berkshire. Nichols says, in his Select Poems, that the song of the Vicar of Bray" was written by a soldier in Colonel Fuller's troop of Dragoons, in the reign of George I." |