At morn he arises, composes his look,

And proceeds to his work as before; The people beheld him, the culprit they took; They thought that the Painter his prison had broke, And to prison they led him once more.

They open the dungeon ;.. behold in his place
In the corner old Beelzebub lay.

He smirks and he smiles and he leers with a grace,
That the Painter might catch all the charms of his face
Then vanish'd in lightning away.

Quoth the Painter, I trust you'll suspect me no more,
Since you find my assertions were true.

But I'll alter the picture above the Church-door,
For I never saw Satan so closely before,
And I must give the Devil his due.

ST. MICHAEL'S CHAIR,

AND WHO SAT THERE.

Merrily merrily rung the bells,

The bells of St. Michael's tower,

When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife
Arrived at the church-door.

Richard Penlake was a chearful man,

Chearful and frank and free,

But he led a sad life with Rebecca his wife,
For a terrible shrew was she.

Richard Penlake a scolding would take,
Till patience availed no longer,

Then Richard Penlake his crab-stick would take,
And shew her that he was the stronger.

Rebecca his wife had often wish'd
To sit in St. Michael's chair;
For she should be the mistress then
If she had once sat there.

It chanced that Richard Penlake fell sick,
They thought he would have died;
Rebecca his wife made a vow for his life
As she knelt by his bed-side.

Now hear my prayer, St. Michael! and spare
My husband's life, quoth she;

And to thine altar we will go,
Six marks to give to thee.

Richard Penlake repeated the vow,
For woundily sick was he;
Save me St. Michael and we will go
Six marks to give to thee.

When Richard grew well Rebecca his wife

Teized him by night and by day :

O mine own dear! for you I fear,

If we the vow delay.

Merrily merrily rung the bells,

The bells of St. Michael's tower,

When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife Arrived at the church door.

Six marks they on the altar laid,
And Richard knelt in prayer:
She left him to pray and stole away
To sit in St. Michael's chair.

Up the tower Rebecca ran,
Round and round and round;
'Twas a giddy sight to stand a-top
And look upon the ground.

A curse on the ringers for rocking
The tower! Rebecca cried,
As over the church battlements
She strode with a long stride.

A blessing on St. Michael's chair!
She said as she sat down :
Merrily merrily rung the bells

And out Rebecca was thrown.

Tidings to Richard Penlake were brought
That his good wife was dead :

Now shall we toll for her poor soul
The great church-bell? they said.

Toll at her burying, quoth Richard Penlake,
Toll at her burying, quoth he;
But don't disturb the ringers now
In compliment to me..