NO.  II.—­THE POISON MURDER.

[Illustration]

  Sit close to your friend, for a frightful end
    Is at hand for the miser Jew! 
  Sit tight to your seat while the pulses beat—­
    Nestle close to your neighbour, do! 
      For he’ll perish, alas! 
      From a property glass
    Filled with nothing whatever—­neat!

  He’s there by himself, counting piles of pelf
    Of a counterfeit gamboge hue. 
  He’s wizened and dried like old Arthur Gride,
    That the novelist DICKENS drew. 
      In the midst of his heaps,
      He conveniently sleeps
    With his glass at his right-hand side!

  Keep watch on the door while he snores his snore—­
    See it open a foot or two! 
  Oh! well is it planned! for the wobbling hand
    Of the villain, with bottle blue,
      Knows at once where to pass
      To the property glass
    Of the melodramatic brand!

  The murderer goes; the Jew’s eyes unclose,
    And they look for his liquor true! 
  Sit tight while the treat is at fever heat;
    For I saw by that bottle blue,
    And I knew by its label too,
      That the stuff it contained,
      If by anyone drained,
    Must prove fatal if taken neat!

  The poison he lifts, and the lot he shifts! 
    Oh! unfortunate miser Jew! 
  What use is your gold, now your time is told,
    And your moments in life are few? 
      You may writhe where you sit
      Like an eel in a fit,
    But you’ll die like the Jews of old! 
      You may struggle a lot,
      And get awfully hot,
    But you’ll have to lie stiff and cold! 
      You may wriggle no end,
      But you’re a dead ’un, my friend—­
    Till the Curtain is quite unrolled!

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