Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1858-07-08
9musing 8ea6ing.
THE RHYMING LOAFER.

THE RHYMING LOAFER.
Edward Merlin was charged with being
drunk and noisy ina house in Baxter street
and it was also intimated by the complainant
that Ned was in all probability little crack
ed. Mr.. Merlin was considerably out at the
knees and elbows, and his shirt seemed as il
it might be the identical two napkins, sewed
together, which belonged to the second most
fortunate of Sir John Falstatf's country
troopers. In short, Mr.. Merlin appeared to
be a regular ~loafer, from his pimple cover tc
his shanks mares, with this sole exception,
that his tongue went like a perpetual motion,
whereas it is one of the peculiarities of the
fraternity, that they are too lazy to talk
The most interesting feature, however, OF
Mr.. Merlin's character is, that he's a poet,
and that too of so unadulterated a complex
ion, that whatever he says run into rhyme
as naturally as if it was bespoke and paid
for at a penny a line.
Mrs. Donovan, the complainant, is a little
Irish woman, who keeps one of those "hole
in the walr' shauties, where they purport to
sell "the best of good liquors, at three cents
a glass;" and it appeared in evidence that
Mr.. Merlin had done every justice to her
sbest good liquors"-but had ventured no
farther in her favor, for when she began to
remind him of the ethree cents a glass"
part of the ceremony, he went into a blaze
of indignation, and let the arrows of his
wrath fly around him like a fen de jote of
Congreve rockets, a la Clancy.
"Faix, yer Honor" continued Mrs. Don
ovan, at the conclusion of long drawn story
of her woes, "he drunk me brandy wild as
little conjunction as if it was nothin' but so
much water, for the divil a sup ov a pint
an a nail he left behind to sarVe another
customer"
Magistrate-Did he take it by force
Mrs. Donovau-Musha, no, your honor,
but he whit on like a play acther until l
thought he was raisin' the devil, and bad win
to me if I wasn't afeard to say a single word
until the sorra a dhrop was left in the bottle.
In truth, yer honor, if he's not a witch-or
devil, or something in that line, think he
must be out of his seven senses.
Magistrate-Merlin, what have you to say
to this business?
Merlin-I say my lord, as quick as winking,
Theliquor was not worth the drinking;
And charge the bag I have my eye on
With selling drugs that's worse than poi
son.
Mrs. Douovan--that's the way he whit on
when he was dhrinkin' up all me beautiful
brandy without payin' for it, yer honor
Jaizes, you backyard, if you call me a bag
again, I'll smash your ugly mug"in smithcr-
Gems.
Northumberland, good woman, say not so,
And we'll be friends, before we 60;
Though much l fear your liquor horrid,
Will bore a hole out through my forehead.
Mrs. Donovan-The divil mind you, or
anybody that spaiks in such an outlandish
language as that. Your honor, dear, do you
think he git it all outov a bog, or is it crack
ed wild larnin' he is?
Magistrate-He's either a fool or rogue.
Merlin, answer me plainly, what are you!
Merlin-A man, my lord, from hat to shoe,
Flesh, blood and bones, the same as you.
Magistrate II mean, what's your business?
Merlin-My business. Bah I scorn the name,
NV business is to seek for fame;
The muses., Sir, are my delight,
Iwoo them all from morn till night
Come, sweet Urania, heavenly maid,
Oh, come to thine own Merlin's grave.
Magistrate--No ~humbugging, sir; how do
you get your bread?
Merlin-My bread, Sir. Oh! my answers ripe;
1 live on suction like o snipe-
mean q woodcock-but you know
The rhyme says snipe, so let it 60.
Magistrate-Give over rhyming, sir, and
tell me plainly, where do you live?
Merlin-When the sun is bright and hot,
All around seek my lot,
Lolling in the sequestered nook,
Listening to the babbling brook,
Or, scorning blanket, sheet or rug,
Snoozing in the Park so snug;
But in cold weather It's my plan
To live my lord, where best l can.
Magistrate-Hang you, you rascal, speak
in prose.
Merlin-I will my lord-by all the gods,
Imeant no harm, but where's the odds.
O blest Urania, come along,
And give my lord q soul for song.
Mrs. Donovan-The Lord help the poor
craythur, but 1 believe he wants a sthrait
waiscoat worse nor brandy. Your honor,
darlint, I'll forgive the brandy, and the bra
kin ov me chair, but I think it would be a
charity to have him out somewhere that I'd
bring him to his %raisin, an purwint him from
spakin' in such onchristian language.
Merlin-Thus I am doomed, where'er I 60,
My jewels before swine to throw.
Mrs. Donovan-You blackguard, if you
call me a swine I'll make you pay for me
brandy if you were as mad as a march hare.
Magistrate-Does any one here know this
man?
Policeman-Yes, Sir, I do; he's called the
mad poet, and is always drinking brandy and
talking nonsense; he does nothing for a liv-
ing, and lives nowhere ; l believe he couldn't
speak like another man if he tried.
Merlin-'Tis true, l am before my time,
For oil men yet shall speak in rhyme,