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VI.

Oh! hapless sage, his ears they stun,

And curse him o'er and o'er—
"You bloody-minded dog! cries one,
"To slit your windpipe were good fun,—
"'Od blast you for an ^[1]impious son
"Of a presbyterian w—re."

VII.

"You'd have him gore the parish-priest,

"And run against the altar—
"You fiend!" The sage his warnings ceas'd,
And north and south, and west and east,
Halloo! they follow the poor beast,
Mat, Dick, Tom, Bob and Walter.

VIII.

Old Lewis, ('twas his evil day)

Stood trembling in his shoes;
The Ox was his—what could he say?
His legs were stiffened with dismay,
The Ox ran o'er him mid the fray,
And gave him his death's bruise.

1. One of the many fine words which the most uneducated had about this time a constant opportunity of acquiring, from the sermons in the pulpit and the proclamations in the———corners.