The Village Cobbler. Behind that door, by every filth defiled, Where live in common, parent, sow, and child, The Cobbler sits, in cap of greasy hue, And plies, with frequent rap, the bungled shoe ; His snuffy nose a sniv’ling cadence lends, And still at every rap the drop descends, O’er hand and seam a blackening plaster throws Which owns the origin of Parent Nose. And here his sulky mate, on tripod stool, O’er noisy wight exerts Pythonic rule— Of infant Brat the glowing bottom plies, With skelp responsive to its ceaseless cries, Bans, scolds, and capers, till her husband’s strap Around her shoulders walks, with sobering slap ! The veriest Imp, which scarce can mark its feet, Will curse its fellow, or its mother cheat, Deny the truth with shame-untroubled eye, And, though convicted, give the truth the lie, Scream o’er the Screamer, at its topmost pitch, And scatter filth about, and spread the itch !