The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood: With Some Account of the Author. In Four Volumes, Volum 3

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Little, Brown, 1863

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Side 29 - Even is come ; and from the dark Park, hark, The signal of the setting sun — one gun ! And six is sounding from the chime, prime time To go and see the Drury-Lane Dane slain, — Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out, — Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade, Denying to his frantic clutch much touch...
Side 232 - ... such as come forth with the dawn, or somewhat earlier, with ,their little professional notes sounding like the peep peep of a young sparrow...
Side 151 - Said Mr. Bray to Mr. Clay, You choose to rival me, And court Miss Bell, but there your court No thoroughfare shall be. Unless you now give up your suit, You may repent your love ; I, who have shot a pigeon match, Can shoot a turtle dove.
Side 51 - Now the dreadful thunder's roaring, Peal on peal contending clash, On our heads fierce rain falls pouring, In our eyes blue lightnings flash. One wide water all around us, All above us one black sky, Different deaths at once surround us : Hark ! what means that dreadful cry ? The foremast's gone...
Side 30 - Sal, Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs. Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash, Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep, But frightened by Policeman B 3, flee, And while they're going, whisper low, "No go!" Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads, And sleepers waking grumble, " Drat that cat ! " Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will.
Side 32 - You'll give me longer measure; Nay — I shall see you down the stairs — (With most uncommon pleasure!) "Good-bye ! good-bye ! remember all, Next time you'll take your dinners ! (Now, David, mind I'm not at home In future to the Skinners...
Side 12 - s such a blunderin' drunken old dog ; The last time he was fetched to find a lost child he was guzzling with his bell at the Crown, And went and cried a boy instead of a girl, for a distracted Mother and Father about Town. Billy — where are...
Side 30 - Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will. Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor Georgy, or Charley, or Billy, willy-nilly ; — But Nursemaid in a nightmare rest, chest-pressed, Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games, And that she hears — what faith is man's — Ann's banns And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice : White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out, That upward goes,...

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