sc. i.J TUE TIN rima IN ci ran, . ; I'd gladly change with. He ia a new lirother— Dimbtlttw jou know of him already? CHAIUIX. No, Praise God, wo know of nothing— CIUKLOT. Then I'll tell you ! A' yeatcr-night, when from tho bastion I Was coming back, and to Colosaa camo ;— Chaplain ! yii know, just where tho pretty ho*Ua»— ClIAILAlV. I ?—God forbid ! CHARIOT. Well, well, but hear me out ! As I rodo up to tho inn, a young «OJMI Had just arrived beforo me. Ho is son Of Poitou's Bcnoschnl, a rich old churl, Who in his stronghold quietly consumes Tho golden gain that in tho holy wars Ho plundered from tho Turks. Good Sirs, 'tis long Sinco such a head of game as this youth is Has run into our snares ! Just think of it ! Ho comes with ten Arabian steeds as rich In gear as is our I/ndy of Mulplaquct, More handsome tlinntlio Master's own dear Tartar. Ho has ten followers with him; strike mo dead ! Why on tho chapel altar tho St. John Is bnt an errand-boy compared with them ; So fino tiny nro! Himself, a student lad Of milk and blood complexion, so figged out, So hung with chains and bells, that by their tinkle He'd dance yon on Shrove Tuesday tho Cliaconno Without a fiddle. CHAPLAIN. Your preface end, and come To fact*.