The THIEF AND THE CORDELIER, A BALLAD. 

Who has e'er been at Paris, must needs know the Greve,
 The fatal Retreat of th'unfortunate Brave;
 Where Honor and Justice most odly contribute,
 To ease Hero's Pains by a Halter and Gibbet. 

There Death breaks the Shackles, which Force had put on;
 And the Hangman compleats, what the Judge but begun:
 There the 'Squire of the Pad, and the Knight of the Post,
 Find their Pains no more balk'd, and their Hopes no more crost. 

Great Claims are there made, and great Secrets are known;
 And the King, and the Law, and the Thief has His own:
 But my Hearers cry out; What a duce dost Thou ayl? 
Cut off thy Reflections; and give Us thy Tale. 

'Twas there, then, in civil Respect to harsh Laws,
 And for want of false Witness, to back a bad Cause,
 A Norman, tho' late, was oblig'd to appear:
 And Who to assist, but a grave Cordelier? 

The 'Squire, whose good Grace was to open the Scene,
 Seem'd not in great Haste, that the Show shou'd begin:
 Now fitted the Halter, now travers'd the Cart;
 And often took Leave; but was loath to Depart. 

What frightens You thus, my good Son? says the Priest:
 You Murther'd, are Sorry, and have been Confest. 
O Father! My Sorrow will scarce save my Bacon:
 For 'twas not that I Murther'd, but that I was Taken. 

Pough! pr'ythee ne'er trouble thy Head with such Fancies:
 Rely on the Aid You shall have from Saint Francis:
 If the Money You promis'd be brought to the Chest;
 You have only to Dye: let the Church do the rest. 

And what will Folks say, if they see You afraid? 
It reflects upon Me; as I knew not my Trade:
 Courage, Friend; To-day is your Period of Sorrow;
 And Things will go better, believe Me, To-morrow. 

To-Morrow? our Hero reply'd in a Fright:
 He that's hang'd before Noon, ought to think of To-night. 
Tell your Beads, quoth the Priest, and be fairly truss'd up:
 For You surely To-night shall in Paradise Sup. 

Alas! quoth the 'Squire, howe'er sumptuous the Treat,
 Parblew, I shall have little Stomach to Eat:
 I should therefore esteem it great Favor, and Grace;
 Wou'd You be so kind, as to go in my Place. 

That I wou'd, quoth the Father, and thank you to boot;
 But our Actions, You know, with our Duty must suit. 
The Feast, I propos'd to You, I cannot taste:
 For this Night, by our Order, is mark'd for a Fast. 

Then turning about to the Hangman, He said;
 Dispatch me, I pr'ythee, this troublesome Blade:
 For Thy Cord, and My Cord both equally tie;
 And We Live by the Gold, for which other Men Dye.