He thought her fairest of all fares, And often, among twelve outsides, One day as she was sitting down Said she, my taste will never learn So I must beg you will come here But still he stoutly urged his suit, In vain he wooed, in vain he sued; He fretted all the way to Stroud, At last her coldness made him pine O Mary, view my wasted back, Alas! in vain he still assailed, Worn out, at last he made a vow Now some will talk in water's praise, The cruel maid that caused his love, Some say his spirit haunts the Crown, But that is only talk For after riding all his life, His ghost objects to walk. NUMBER ONE. VERSIFIED FROM THE PROSE OF A YOUNG LADY. IT'S very hard-and so it is, To live in such a row, And witness this that every Miss But me, has got a Beau. For Love goes calling up and down, I'm sick of all the double knocks And one in blue, at Number Two, It's very hard they come so near Miss Bell I hear has got a dear By sitting at the window pane But I go in the balcony, Which she has never done, Yet arts that thrive at Number Five Don't take at Number One! "Tis hard with plenty in the street, And plenty passing by, There's nice young men at Number Ten, But only rather shy; And Mrs. Smith across the way Has got a grown-up son, But la! he hardly seems to know There is a Number One! There's Mr. Wick at Number Nine And though he's pious will not love His neighbour as himself. At Number Seven there was a sale The goods had quite a run! And here I've got my single lot On hand at Number One! My mother often sits at work The very maids about the house The sweethearts all belong to them Once only when the flue took fire, Young Mr. Long came kindly in I am not old! I am not plain! But even beauty has no chance, At Number Six they say Miss Rose And Cupid, for her sake, has been The Imp they show with bended bow But if he had, he'd never deign To shoot with Number One. It's very hard, and so it is To live in such a row! And here's a ballad singer come To aggravate my woe; O take away your foolish song, There is "Nae luck about the house," THE DROWNING DUCKS. AMONGST the sights that Mrs. Bond “It's very hard," she used to moan, "That other people have their ducklings To grace their waters-mine alone Have never any pretty chucklings." For why!—each little yellow navy Went down-all downy-to old Davy! She had a lake-a pond I mean Its wave was rather thick than pearly— She had two ducks, their napes were greenShe had a drake, his tail was curly,Yet spite of drake, and ducks, and pond, No little ducks had Mrs. Bond! The birds were both the best of mothersThe nests had eggs-the eggs had luck— The infant D.'s came forth like others But there, alas! the matter stuck! For when, as native instinct taught her, They were web-footed, too to see, |