They're only fit for window frames, and shutters, and street doors, David will paint 'em any day at Red Lions or Blue BoarsWhy Morland was a fool to him, at a little pig or sow— It's really hard it an't hung up-I could cry about the Cow! But I know well what it is, and why-they're jealous of David's fame, But to vent it on the Cow, poor thing, is a cruelty and a shame. Do you think it might hang by and by, if you cannot hang it now? David has made a party up to come and see his Cow. If it only hung three days a week, for an example to the learners, Why can't it hang up, turn about, with that picture of Mr. Turner's? Or do you think from Mr. Etty, you need apprehend a row? If now and then you cut him down to hang up David's Cow? I can't think where their tastes have been, to not have such a creature, Although I say, that should not say, it was prettier than Nature; It must be hung-and shall be hung, for Mr. II, I Vow, I dare n't take home the catalogue, unless it's got the Cow! Or down there in the marble room where all the figures stand, Where one of them three Graces might just hold it in her hand 188 Or maybe Bailey's Charity the favor would allow, And the Suffolk Gallery will not do-it's not a Suffolk Cow: He hardly whipped the boys at all, or helped to nurse the babby. And when he had her all complete and painted over red, And if it's unconvenient and drawn too big by half- I'M GOING TO BOMBAY, "Nothing venture, nothing have."-OLD PROVERB. "Every Indiaman has at least two mates." FALCONER'S MARINE GUIDE. My hair is brown, my eyes are blue, And reckoned rather bright; I'm shapely, if they tell me true, And just the proper height; My skin has been admired in verse, At school I passed with some éclât; I've been to Bath and Cheltenham Wells, But not their springs to sip To Ramsgate-not to pick up shells— To Brighton-not to dip, I've toured the Lakes, and scoured the coast From Scarboro' to Torquay But tho' of time I've made the most, I'm going to Bombay! 190 And says the climate is so hot, With very handsome pay, And swears I ought to thank I'm going to Bombay! my stars She says that I shall much delight But what she likes may turn me quite, On doolies and on bungalows- Farewell, farewell, my parents dear, If I should find an Indian vault, Or steep in salt, it's all his fault, That fine new teak-built ship, the Fox, Now lying in the London Docks, My heart is full-my trunks as well; My corsets, shaped by Mrs. Bell, Are promised ere I sup; With boots and shoes, Rivarta's best, And Dresses by Ducé, And a special license in my chest I'm going to Bombay! SONNET TO A DECAYED SEAMAN. HAIL! Seventy-four cut down! Hail, Top and Lop! Spite of that limb, begot of acorn-egg- |