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A VERY SERIOUS BALLAD.
“I'll be your second.” — LISTON.
In Middle Row, some years ago,
There lived one Mr. Brown; And many folks considered him
The stoutest man in town.
But Brown and stout will both wear out,
One Friday he died hard,
At twenty pence a yard.
Now widow B. in two short months
Thought mourning quite a tax; And wished, like Mr. Wilberforce,
To manumit her blacks.
With Mr. Street she soon was sweet;
The thing thus came about :
At church he asked her out !
Assurance such as this the man
In ashes could not stand ; So like a Phenix he rose up
Against the Hand in Hand.
One dreary night the angry sprite
Appeared before her view; It came a little after one,
But she was after two!
“Oh Mrs. B., oh Mrs. B.!
Are these your sorrow's deeds, Already getting up a flame,
To burn your widow's weeds ?
“It's not so long since I have left
For aye the mortal scene; My Memory - like Rogers’s,
Should still be bound in green!
6 Yet if my face you still retrace
I almost bave a doubt -
With all the leaves torn out!
“ To think that on that finger joint,
Another pledge should cling ; Oh Bess ! upon my very soul,
It struck like · Knock and Ring.' “ A ton of marble on my breast
Can't hinder my return; Your conduct, Ma'am, has set my blood
A-boiling in my urn!
“ Remember, oh! remember, how
The marriage ’rite did run, If ever we one flesh should be,
'Tis now — when I have none !
6 And you, Sir - once a bosom friend
Of perjured faith convict,
Consider you are kicked.
“ A hollow voice is all I have,
But this I tell you plain, Marry come up! — you marry Ma'am,
And I'll come up again.”
More he had said, but chanticleer
The spritely shade did shock
Like fowling-piece at cock !
ODE TO MADAME HENGLER,
FIREWORK-MAKER TO VAUXHALL.
Oh, Mrs. Hengler !-- Madame, - I beg pardon
Great is thy fame, but not a silent fame;
Thy Rockets raise thee,
And Serpents praise thee, As none beside are ever praised — by hissing !
Mistress of Hydropyrics,
Professor of a Fiery Necromancy,
With midnight sports,
What thoughts had shaken all In olden time at thy nocturnal revels, —
Each brimstone ball,
Might whisper without fear, “ My Lord, they say there were five moons to
night!” Nor would it raise one superstitious notion To hear the whole description fairly out:“ One fixed — which tother four whirled round about
With wondrous motion.”
Such are the very sights Thou workest, Queen of Fire, on earth and
heaven, Between the hours of midnight and eleven, Turning our English to Arabian Nights, With blazing mounts, and founts, and scorching dragons,
Blue stars and white,