"Sweet Rebecca! has your father,
Think you, made a deal of brass?"
And she answered—"Sir, I rather
Should imagine that he has."
Uwins then, his whiskers scratching,
Leered upon the maiden's face,
And, her hand with ardour catching,
Folded her in close embrace.
"La, Sir! let alone—you fright me!"
Said the daughter of the Jew:
"Dearest, how those eyes delight me!
Let me love thee, darling, do!"
"Vat is dish?" the Bailiff muttered,
Rushing in with fury wild;
"Ish your muffins so veil buttered,
Dat you darsh insult ma shild?"
"Honourable my intentions,
Good Abednego, I swear!
And I have some small pretensions,
For I am a Baron's heir.
If you'll only clear my credit,
And advance a thou * or so,
She's a peeress—I have said it:
Don't you twig, Abednego?"
* The fashionable abbreviation for a thousand pounds.
"Datsh a very different matter,"
Said the Bailiff, with a leer;
"But you musht not cut it fatter
Than ta slish will shtand, ma tear!
If you seeksh ma approbation,
You musht quite give up your rigsh,
Alsho you musht join our nashun,
And renounsli ta flesh of pigsh.
Fast as one of Fagin's pupils,
I. O. Uwins did agree!
little plagued with holy scruples
From the starting-post was he.