But the Duke de Guise Was, by many degrees,
Her senior, and not very easy to please;
He'd a sneer on his lip, and a scowl with his eye,
And a frown on his brow,--and he look'd like a Guy,--
So she took to intriguing With Monsieur St. Megrin,
A young man of fashion, and figure, and worth,
But with no great pretensions to fortune or birth;
He would sing, fence, and dance
With the best man in France,
And took his rappee with genteel _nonchalance_;
He smiled, and he flattered, and flirted with ease,
And was very superior to Monseigneur de Guise.
Now Monsieur St. Megrin was curious to know
If the lady approved of his passion or no;
So without more ado, He put on his _surtout_,
And went to a man with a beard like a Jew,
One Signor Ruggieri, A cunning man near, he
Could conjure, tell fortunes, and calculate tides,
Perform tricks on the cards, and Heaven knows what besides,
Bring back a stray'd cow, silver ladle, or spoon,
And was thought to be thick with the Man in the Moon.
The Sage took his stand With his wand in his hand,
Drew a circle, then gave the dread word of command,
Saying solemnly--"_Presto!--Hey, quick!--Cock-a-lorum!_"
When the Duchess immediately popp'd up before 'em.

Just then a conjunction of Venus and Mars,
Or something peculiar above in the stars,
Attracted the notice of Signor Ruggieri,
Who "bolted," and left him alone with his deary.--