SCENE X.


SEPTEMBER 1ST,--AN ONLY OPPORTUNITY.

"I begin to think I may as well go back."


MY vig! vat a pelter this is--
Enough all my hardour to tame;
In veather like this there's no sport,
It's too much in earnest for game!

A ladle, I might as well be,
Chain'd fast to a hold parish pump,
For, by goles! it comes tumbling down,
Like vinking,--and all of a lump.


The birds to their nestes is gone,
I can't see no woodcock, nor snipe;
My dog he looks dogged and dull,
My leggins is flabby as tripe!

The moors is all slipp'ry slush,
I'm up to the neck in the mire;
I don't see no chance of a shot,
And I long-how I long for a fire!