THE LEGEND OF ST. MEDARD.
As the hail bounds off from the pent-house slope,— As the cannon recoils when it sends its shot,— As the finger and thumb Of an old woman come From the kettle she handles, and finds too hot;—
—Or, as you may see, in the Fleet, or the Bench,— —Many folks do in the course of their lives,— The well-struck ball Rebound from the wall, When the Gentlemen jail-birds are playing at "fives:"
All these,—and a thousand fine similes more,— Such as all have heard of, or seen, or read Recorded in print, May give you a hint How the stone bounced off from St. Medard's head!
—And it curl'd, and it twirl'd, and it whirl'd in air, As this great big stone at a tangent flew!— —Just missing his crown, It at last came down Plump upon Nick's Orthopedical shoe!
Oh! what a yell and a screech were there!— How did he hop, skip, bellow, and roar! —"Oh dear! oh dear!"— You might hear him here, Though we're such a way off from the Red-Sea shore!
It smash'd his shin, and it smash'd his hoof, Notwithstanding his stout Orthopedical shoe; And this is the way That, from that same day, Old Nick became what the French call Boiteux!
Quakers, and Bakers, Grisettes, and Friars, And Cardinal's Nieces,—wherever ye be, St. Medard bless; You can scarcely do less If you of your corps possess any esprit.—