XV.

One evil many sober sages tell,

Is ever closely followed by another, And so on this occasion out it fell:

A challenge came next day from Charlotte's brother; To whom the fugitive her sorrows carried,

At last grown desperate through not being married.

XVI.

What could be done?-Why nothing that I know of,
But see his pistols were prepared for action;
So as to make it certain they would go off
To give his adversary satisfaction.

They met then, as the latter had desired,

Took aim, (pretending they did not,) and fired.

XVII.

Both miss'd. 'Tis very common in such cases

For seconds civilly to interfere,

And set 'gainst new hostilities their faces,

Declaring after what has pass'd' 'tis clear,

Though right before could but to one belong,
That neither now can possibly be wrong.

XVIII.

But here 'twas different-neither was content,
And so they stood up for another round,
And now the bullet Charlotte's brother sent

The shoulder of the college hero found.
It lodged indeed so very near his breast,
All sublunary cares it put at rest.

XIX.

Flat as a flounder, down upon the ground,
His length Tom measured without more ado;
His foe came up-regretted that he found

Accomplished, that, which he had tried to do; Hoped an improvement soon in his condition, Then fled with all convenient expedition.

XX.

And here apparently in dangerous state,
I leave him as I something have to say,
About another.-Tom awhile may wait;

The reader knows he cannot run away.
But then some tender nymph may say
"O fie!"
Suppose while you neglect him he should die!

XXI..

But Tom resembles so the generality

Of those who swell romances, poems, plays, His friends may be consoled; for his vitality Would baffle death in fifty different ways. The Pelican or Eagle might ensure

His life at quarter price, and be secure.

XXII.

And poor Eliza! we must not forget her;
When we beheld her time the first and last,

"Twill be remember'd she was not much better

Than Tom seems now, as from the pit she pass'd: And so it is but rational and fair,

To let her have a little of our care.

XXIII.

Borne from the opera,-where it matters not,
Water et cetera brought her round of course,

And she next morning in her mother's cot,

Seemed, not recover'd, but not much the worse, Though certainly her appetite might fail, And her mild countenance grew very pale.