Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,

One took the other briskly by the hand;

“Hark-ye,” said he, “’tis an odd story, this,

About the crows!” “I don’t know what it is,”

Replied his friend. “No! I’m surprised at that;

Where I came from it is the common chat;

But you shall hear—an odd affair indeed!

And that it happened, they are all agreed.

Not to detain you from a thing so strange,

A gentleman, that lives not far from ’Change,

This week, in short, as all the alley knows,

Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows.”

“Impossible!” “Nay, but it’s really true;

I have it from good hands, and so may you.”

“From whose, I pray?” So, having named the man,

Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.

“Sir, did you tell”—relating the affair.

“Yes, sir, I did; and, if it’s worth your care,

Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me.

But, by the bye, ’twas two black crows—not three.”

Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,

Whip, to the third, the virtuoso went;

“Sir”—and so forth. “Why, yes; the thing is fact,

It was not two black crows—’twas only one;

The truth of that you may depend upon;

The gentleman himself told me the case.”

“Where may I find him?” “Why, in such a place.”

Away goes he, and, having found him out,

“Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt.”

Then to his last informant he referred,

And begged to know if true what he had heard.

“Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?” “Not I.”

“Bless me! how people propagate a lie!

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one;

And here, I find, all comes, at last, to none.

Did you say nothing of a crow at all?”

“Crow—crow—perhaps I might, now I recall

The matter over.” “And pray, sir, what was’t?”

“Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last,

I did throw up, and told my neighbor so,

Something that was—as black, sir, as a crow.”