{ SALLY SIMPKIN'S LAMENT. "You know I once was all your own "Alas! death has a strange divorce Effected in the sea, It has divided me from you, And even me from me! "Don't fear my ghost will walk o' nights My ghost can't walk, for, oh! my legs "Lord! think when I am swimming round "One half is here, the other half, "But now, adieu-a long adieu! I've solved death's awful riddle, JOHN DAY. A PATHETIC BALLAD. "A Day after the Fair!"-OLD PROVERE. JOHN DAY he was the biggest man Of all the coachman-kind, With back too broad to be conceived The very horses knew his weight To come but once a year. Alas! against the shafts of love, Soon Cupid sent an arrow through The bar-maid of the Crown he loved He thought her fairest of all fares, One day as she was sitting down Said she, my taste will never lean 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 But still he loved like one resolved Oh Mary, view my wasted back, Alas, in vain he still assailed, Her heart withstood the dint; Though he had carried sixteen stone He could not move a flint. Worn out, at last he made a vow At nothing he could shrink. Now some will talk in water's praise, But John, though he drank nothing else— The cruel maid that caused his love, The butt-end of his woes. Some say his spirit haunts the Crown, But that is only talk For after riding all his life, POMPEY'S GHOST. A PATHETIC BALLAD. "Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.” COWIER. "T WAS twelve o'clock, not twelve at night But twelve o'clock at noon; Because the sun was shining bright And not the silver moon. A proper time for friends to call, Or Pots, or Penny Post; She saw her Pompey's Ghost! Now when a female has a call But Pompey's spirit would not come But of all unexpected things So Phoebe screamed an awful scream "Oh, Phoebe dear! oh, Phoebe dear! Behind the heels of Lady Lambe I walked while I had breath ; But that is past, and I am now A-walking after Death! "No murder, though, I come to tell By base and bloody crime; To some more fitting time. No Coroner, like a boatswain's mate, My body need attack, With his round dozen to find out Why I have died so black. |