THE ANGLER'S GUIDE. 165 



Or never would ye follow such a calling. 



Ye tools of tyrants' towering pride, avaunt I 



Nor let me e'er thine ugly faces, dress, or weapons see. 



Go to, and from thy caps those floating ribbons take, 



Nor dare another soldier while I live to make ! 



We peaceful go to kill jacks for our dinners, 



But you, the sons of Adam 0, you monstrous sinners ! 



The soldiers listened attentively to this, and 

 then set up a shout and passed on, and very 

 soon they were out of the sight of each other. 

 Our travellers had not gone far from this spot 

 before they came to a pot-house, on the road- 

 side, where a party of holiday-makers had 

 been carousing all night, and their dissipation 

 and excesses had made them wretched speci- 

 mens of human nature. Some were sleeping, 

 others yawning, and all seemed weary with 

 their own depraved doings. 



Rigings was just the person for them to see 

 and to make sport of, and as he and his com- 

 panions stopped to have a drop of heavy wet 

 to quench their thirst, there was a display of 

 jargon and jokes, in which the odds were very 

 much in favour of Rigings. 



" Who the dickings are you ?" said a fellow 

 who was lolling on the table with both arms, 

 his eyes half shut, and his face woefully long. 



" I'm his Majesty the King of Slang," said 



