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Percussion cap I dare not snap,
I may not mention Hall,

Or raise my voice for Mr. Joyce,
His wadding to recall;

At Hawker's book I must not look,
All shooting I must shun,

Or else" It's hard, you've no regard,
I cannot bear a gun!"

The very

dress I wear no less

Must suit her timid mind,

A blue or black must clothe my back,

With swallow-tails behind;

By fustian, jean, or velveteen,
Her nerves are overdone;

"Oh do not, John, put gaiters on,
I cannot bear a gun!"

Even little James she snubs, and blames

His Lilliputian train,

Two inches each from mouth to breech,
And charged with half a grain-

His crackers stopped, his squibbing dropped,

He has no fiery fun,

And all thro' her "How dare you, sir?

I cannot bear a gun

יי!

Yet Major Flint-the Devil's in 't!

May talk from morn to night,

Of springing mines, and twelves and nines,

And volleys left and right,

Of voltigeurs and tirailleurs,

And bullets by the ton:

She never dies of fright, or cries

"I cannot bear a gun!"

1

330

It stirs my bile to see her smile
At all his bang and whiz,
But if I talk of morning walk,
And shots as good as his,

I must not name the fallen game:
As soon as I've begun,

She's in her pout, and crying out,
"I cannot bear a gun!"

Yet, underneath the rose, her teeth
Are false, to match her tongue :
Grouse, partridge, hares, she never spares,
Or pheasants, old or young-
On widgeon, teal, she makes a meal,

And yet objects to none;

"What have I got, it's full of shot!
I cannot bear a gun!"

At pigeon-pie she is not shy,

Her taste it never shocks,

Though they should be from Battersea,

So famous for blue rocks;

Yet when I bring the very thing

My marksmanship has won,
She cries "Lock up that horrid cup,

I cannot bear a gun!"

Like fool and dunce I got her once

A box at Drury Lane,

And by her side I felt a pride

I ne'er shall feel again;

To read the bill it made her ill,

And this excuse she spun,

"Der Freyschütz, oh, seven shots! you know, I cannot bear a gun!"

Yet at a hint from Major Flint,
Her very hands she rubs,
And quickly drest in all her best,
Is off to Wormwood Scrubbs.
The whole review she sits it through,
With noise enough to stun,

And never winks, or even thinks,
"I cannot bear a gun!"

She thus may blind the Major's mind
In mock-heroic strife,

But let a bout at war break out,

And where's the soldier's wife,
To take his kit and march a bit
Beneath a broiling sun?

Or will she cry, "My dear, good-bye,
I cannot bear a gun!"

If thus she doats on army coats,
And regimental cuffs,

The yeomanry might surely be

Secure from her rebuffs;

But when I don my trappings on,

To follow Captain Dunn,

My carbine's gleam provokes a scream,

"I cannot bear a gun.

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It can't be minced, I'm quite convinced,

All girls are full of flam,

Their feelings fine, and feminine,
Are nothing else but sham;

On all their tricks I need not fix,

I'll only mention one,

How many a Miss will tell

"I cannot bear a gun!"

you

this,

TRIMMER'S EXERCISE,

FOR THE USE OF CHILDREN.

HERE, come, Master Timothy Todd,
Before we have done you'll look grimmer;
You've been spelling some time for the rod,
And your jacket shall know I'm a Trimmer.

You don't know your A from your B, your Primer:

So backward you are in

Don't kneel-you shall go on my knee,

For I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer.

This morning you hindered the cook,

By melting your dumps in the skimmer; Instead of attending your book-

But I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer.

To-day, too, you went to the pond,

And bathed, though you are not a swimmer; And with parents so doting and fond— But I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer.

After dinner you went to the wine,

And helped yourself—yes, to a brimmer; You could n't walk straight in a line,

But I'll make you to know I'm a Trimmer.

You kick little Tomkins about,

Because he is slighter and slimmer;
Are the weak to be thumped by the stout?

But I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer.

Then you have a sly pilfering trick,

Your school-fellows call you the nimmerI will cut to the bone if you kick!

For I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer. To-day you made game at my back:

You think that my eyes are grown dimmer, But I watched you, I've got a sly knack! And I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer. Don't think that my temper is hot,

It's never beyond a slow simmer; I'll teach you to call me Dame Trot,

But I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer.

Miss Edgeworth, or Mrs. Chapone,

Might melt to behold your tears glimmer; Mrs. Barbauld would let you alone,

But I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer.

TO A BAD RIDER.

WHY, Mr. Rider, why

Your nag so ill endorse, man?

To make observers cry,

You're mounted, but no horseman?

With elbows out so far

This thought you can't debar me

Though no Dragoon-Hussar-
You're surely of the army!

I hope to turn M.P.

You have not any notion,
How awkward you would be

At "seconding a motion !"

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