ROOM IN THE INN. 71 



Christian in thy wishes. Of a verity, would it rejoice 

 thee to have me under thy beak, my jaw torn up with 

 thy torture-iron my nerves straightened, and hot 

 with agony my frame striving against exhaustion, 

 and yet weaker becoming, and weaker, until the power 

 and the spirit within it were both vanquished, and it 

 floated into thy very grasp, only to receive its cruel 

 death-stroke at those unsparing hands. Oh ! wretch 

 pitiless and unfeeling, insensate as marble, cold as 

 lead ! 



Otter. A truce, worthy Doctor, a truce ! Thou art 

 bitter in thy usage of words, like a certain parson I 

 know of, who wars, eloquently by mouth, and abuses 

 his hearers, right and left, without check or reason. 

 Give us a stave, Hackle, and help to restore the 

 Doctor's good humour. 



[HACKLE sings.] 

 toith me ike spring -tfte blanb. 



Bless with me the spring- tide bland, 

 All ye anglers of the valley ! 



Wave aloof the slender wan^, 

 And around the oak-tree rally. 



ii. 



Bless the birds, that all along 



Send us such a cheerful greeting ; 



To those measures of kind song 

 Joyously our hearts are beating. 



