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I'm changed, so changed since I was here—

O tempora mutantur !

The Angel's not much altered since

That happy month of June,
Which brought me here with Pamela
To spend our honeymoon:
Ah me, I even recollect

The shape of this decanter!

We've since been both much put about-
O tempora mutantur !

Ay, there's the clock, and looking-glass
Reflecting me again;

She vow'd her Love was very fair, ·
I see I'm very plain :

And there's that daub of Prince Leeboo ;

'Twas Pamela's fond banter

To fancy it resembled me.

O tempora mutantur !

The curtains have been dyed, but there,
Unbroken, is the same,

The very same, crack'd pane of glass

On which I scratch'd her name.
Yes, there's her tiny flourish still

It used to so enchant her
To link two happy names in one,
O tempora mutantur !

The pilgrim sees an empty chair
Where Pamela once sat;

It may be she has found her grave,
It might be worse than that.

;

The fairest fade, the best of men
Have met with a supplanter ;
I wish that I could like this cry
Of tempora mutantur.

Frederick Locker.

MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS

She has dancing eyes and ruby lips,
Delightful boots, and away she skips.

THEY nearly strike me dumb,-
I tremble when they come
Pit-a-pat :

This palpitation means

These boots are Geraldine's-
Think of that!

O, where did hunter win
So delicate a skin

For her feet?

You lucky little kid,
You perished, so you did,
For my Sweet.

The faery stitching gleams
On the sides, and in the seams,
And reveals

That the Pixies were the wags
Who tipt these funny tags,

And these heels.

What soles to charm an elf!
Had Crusoe, sick of self,

Chanced to view

One printed near the tide,

O, how hard he would have tried
For the two!

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Come, Gerry, since it suits
Such a pretty Puss (in Boots)
These to don,

Set your dainty hand awhile

On my shoulder, Dear, and I'll. /.
Put them on.

Frederick Locker.

AN OLD MUFF

He cannot be complete in aught
Who is not humorously prone,-
A man without a merry thought
Can hardly have a funny bone.

TIME has a magic wand!
What is this meets my hand,
Moth-eaten, mouldy, and
Cover'd with fluff?
Faded, and stiff, and scant;
Can it be? no, it can't—
Yes, I declare, it's Aunt
Prudence's muff!

Years ago, twenty-three,
Old Uncle Doubledee
Gave it to Aunty P.,'

Laughing and teasing

'Pru, of the breezy curls, Question those solemn churls,What holds a pretty girl's

Hand without squeezing?

Uncle was then a lad

Gay, but, I grieve to add,
Sinful, if smoking bad

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Glide, with a sweet disdain,
Gravely to meeting.

Psalm-book and kerchief new,
Peep'd from the muff of Prue;
Young men, and pious too,
Giving her greeting.

Sweetly her Sabbath sped

Then ;

from this muff it's said,

Tracts she distributed :

Converts (till Monday)!

Lured by the grace they lack'd,
Followed her. One, in fact,
Ask'd for-and got his tract
Twice of a Sunday!

Love has a potent spell;
Soon this bold ne'er do well,
Aunt's too susceptible

Heart undermining,

Slipt, so the scandal runs,
Notes in the pretty nun's
Muff, triple corner'd ones,
Pink as its lining.

Worse follow'd-soon the jade
Fled (to oblige her blade)!
Whilst her friends thought that they'd
Lock'd her up tightly:

After such shocking games
Aunt is of wedded dames

Gayest, and now her name's ́
Mrs Golightly.

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