In melting verse your charms I drew,
The charms in which my muse delighted—
Alas! the lay, I thought was new,

Spoke only what had been indicted!

Oh! when that form, a lovely one,
Hung on the neck its arms had flown to,
I little thought that you had run

A chance of hanging on your own too.

You said you picked me from the world,
My vanity it now must shock it—
And down at once my pride is hurled,

You've picked me--and you've picked a pocket!

Oh! when our love had got so far,

The banns were read by Dr. Daly,

Who asked if there was any bar—

Why did not some one shout "Old Bailey?"

But when you robed your flesh and bones
In that pure white that angel garb is,
Who could have thought you, Mary Jones,
Among the Joans that link with Darbies?

And when the parson came to say,

My goods were yours, if I had got any,

And you should honor and obey,

Who could have thought-"O Bay of Botany."

But, oh-the worst of all your slips
I did not till this day discover-
That down in Deptford's prison-ships,
Oh, Mary! you've a hulking lover!

HE has shaved off his whiskers and blackened his brows, Wears a patch and a wig of false hair—

But it's him-Oh it's him!-we 've exchanged lovers' vows,
When I lived up in Cavendish Square.

He had beautiful eyes, and his lips were the same,
And his voice was as soft as a flute-

Like a Lord or a Marquis he looked, when he came,
To make love in his master's best suit.

If I lived for a thousand long years from my birth,
I shall never forget what he told;

How he loved me beyond the rich women of earth,
With their jewels and silver and gold!

When he kissed me and bade me adieu with a sigh,
By the light of the sweetest of moons,

Oh how little I dreamt I was bidding good-bye
To my Missis's tea-pot and spoons!

No. III.

I'd be a Parody.”—BAILEY.

WE met―'t was in a mob—and I thought he had done me
I felt I could not feel-for no watch was upon me;
He ran the night was cold—and his pace was unaltered,
I too longed much to pelt-but my small-boned legs faltered,
I wore my bran new boots-and unrivalled their brightness,
They fit me to a hair-how I hated their tightness!
I called, but no one came, and my stride had a tether
Oh thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather!

And once again we met—and an old pal was near him,
He swore a something low-but 't was no use to fear him;
I seized upon his arm, he was mine and mine only,
And stept as he deserved to cells wretched and lonely:
And there he will be tried--but I shall ne'er receive her,
The watch that went too sure for an artful deceiver;
The world may think me gay-heart and feet ache together,
Oh thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather.

POEMS, BY A POOR GENTLEMAN.