For men mought Get their Bread a great many ways
Without taking ourn-aye, and Moor to your Prays
You might go and skim the creme off Mr. Muck-Adam's
milky ways-that's what you might,

Or bete Carpets or get into Parleamint or drive Crabrolays from morning to night,

Or, if you must be of our sects, be Watchmen, and slepe upon a poste!

(Which is an od way of sleping, I must say—and a very hard pillow at most,)

Or you might be any trade, as we are not on that I'm

awares,

Or be Watermen now, (not Water-wommen) and roe peple up and down Hungerford stares,

Or if You Was even to Turn Dust Men a dry sifting Dirt! But you oughtint to Hurt Them as never Did You no Hurt! Yourn with Anymocity,

BRIDGET JONES.

ODE

TO CAPTAIN PARRY.'

By the North Pole, I do challenge thee!"

LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST,

PARRY, my man! has thy brave leg
Yet struck its foot against the peg
On which the world is spun?
Or hast thou found No Thoroughfare
Writ by the hand of Nature there
Where man has never run!

Hast thou yet traced the Great Unknown
Of channels in the Frozen Zone,

Or held at Icy Bay,

Hast thou still missed the proper track
For homeward Indian men that lack
A bracing by the way?

Still hast thou wasted toil and trouble
On nothing but the North-Sea Bubble
Of geographic scholar?

Or found new ways for ships to shape,
Instead of winding round the Cape,

A short cut thro' the collar!

Hast found the way that sighs were sent to*
The Pole-tho' God knows whom they went to!

*"And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole."

Eloisa to Abelard.

That track revealed to Pope-
Or if the Arctic waters sally,
Or terminate in some blind alley,
A chilly path to grope?

Alas! tho' Ross, in love with snows,
Has painted them couleur de rose,
It is a dismal doom,

As Claudio saith, to Winter thrice,
"In regions of thick-ribbed ice"-

All bright-and yet all gloom!

'Tis well for Gheber souls that sit Before the fire and worship it

With pecks of Wallsend coals, With feet upon the fender's front, Roasting their corns-like Mr. HantTo speculate on poles.

'Tis easy for our Naval Board—
'Tis easy for our Civic Lord

Of London and of ease,
That lies in ninety feet of down,
With fur on his nocturnal gown,
To talk of Frozen Seas!

'Tis fine for Monsieur Ude to sit,
And prate about the mundane spit,
And babble of Cook's track-
He'd roast the leather off his toes,
Ere he would trudge thro' polar snows,
To plant a British Jack!

Oh, not the proud licentious great,
That travel on a carpet skate,

Can value toils like thine!
What 'tis to take a Hecla range,
Through ice unknown to Mrs. Grange,
And alpine lumps of brine!

But we, that mount the Hill o' Rhyme,
Can tell how hard it is to climb

The lofty slippery steep.

Ah! there are more Snow Hills than that
Which doth black Newgate, like a hat,
Upon its forehead keep.

Perchance thou 'rt now-while I am writing-
Feeling a bear's wet grinder biting

About thy frozen spine!

Or thou thyself art eating whale,
Oily, and underdone, and stale,

That, haply, crossed thy line!

But I'll not dream such dreams of ill

Rather will I believe thee still

Safe cellared in the snow
Reciting many a gallant story,

Of British kings and British glory,
To crony Esquimaux—

Cheering that dismal game where Night

Makes one slow move from black to white

Thro' all the tedious year

Or smitten by some fond frost fair,
That combed out crystals from her hair,
Wooing a seal-skin Dear!

So much a long communion tends,
As Byron says, to make us friends

With what we daily view

God knows the daintiest taste may come

To love a nose that 's like a plum
In marble, cold and blue!

To dote on hair, an oily fleece!

As tho' it hung from Helen o' Greece-
They say that love prevails
Ev'n in the veriest polar land—
And surely she may steal thy hand
That used to steal thy nails!

But ah, ere thou art fixt to marry,
And take a polar Mrs. Parry,

Think of a six months' gloom-
Think of the wintry waste, and hers,
Each furnished with a dozen furs,
Think of thine icy dome!

Think of the children born to blubber! Ah me! hast thou an Indian rubber

Inside!-to hold a meal

For months-about a stone and half
Of whale, and part of a sea calf—
A fillet of salt veal!

Some walrus ham-no trifle but
A decent steak—a solid cut

Of seal-no wafer slice!

A reindeer's tongue and drink beside! Gallons of Sperm-not rectified!

And pails of water-ice !

Oh, canst thou fast and then feast thus ? Still come away, and teach to us