O, if the bell

Would ring her knell,
I'd make a gay ding dong of it;

For I am small,

And she is tall,
And that's the short and long of it!



“ Like the two Kings of Brentford smelling at one nosegay.”

In Brentford town, of old renown,

There lived a Mister Bray,
Who fell in love with Lucy Bell,

And so did Mr. Clay.

To see her ride from Hammersmith,

By all it was allowed,
Such fair outsides are seldom seen,

Such Angels on a Cloud.

Said Mr. Bray to Mr. Clay,

You choose to rival me,
And court Miss Bell, but there your court

No thoroughfare shall be.

Unless you now give up your suit,

You may repent your love ;
I who have shot a pigeon match,

Can shoot a turtle dove.

So pray before you woo her more,

Consider what you do ;
If you pop aught to Lucy Bell,

I'll pop it into you.

Said Mr. Clay to Mr. Bray,

Your threats I quite explode ; One who has been a volunteer,

Knows how to prime and load.

And so I say to you unless

Your passion quiet keeps,
I who have shot and hit bulls' eyes,

May chance to hit a sheep's.

Now gold is oft for silver changed,

And that for copper red;
But these two went away to give

Each other change for lead.

But first they sought a friend a-piece,

This pleasant thought to give – When they were dead, they thus should have

Two seconds still to live.

To measure out the ground not long

The seconds then forbore, And having taken one rash step

They took a dozen more.

They next prepared each pistol-pan

Against the deadly strife,
By putting in the prime of death

Against the prime of life.

Now all was ready for the foes,

But when they took their stands, Fear made them tremble so they found

They both were shaking hands.

Said Mr. C. to Mr. B.,

Here one of us may fall,
And like St. Paul's Cathedral now,

Be doomed to have a ball.

I do confess I did attach

Misconduct to your name;
If I withdraw the charge, will then

Your ramrod do the same ?

Said Mr. B., I do agree —

But think of Honour's Courts ! If we go off without a shot,

There will be strange reports.

But look, the morning now is bright,

Though cloudy it begun;
Why can't we aim above, as if

We had called out the sun ?

So up into the harmless air,

Their bullets they did send;
And may all other duels have

That upshot in the end !


My dear, do pull the bell,

And pull it well,
And send those noisy children all up stairs,

Now playing here like bears —
You George, and William, go into the grounds,
Charles, James, and Bob are there, - and take

your string, Drive horses, or fly kites, or any thing, You ’re quite enough to play at hare and

hounds, –
You little May, and Caroline, and Poll,

Take each your doll,
And go, my dears, into the two-back pair,

Your sister Margaret's there —
Harriet and Grace, thank God, are both at school,

At far off Ponty Pool —

I want to read, but really can't get on —
Let the four twins, Mark, Matthew, Luke, and

Go — to their nursery — go — I never can
Enjoy my Malthus among such a clan!

Oh Mr. Malthus, I agree
In every thing I read with thee!
The world's too full, there is no doubt,
And wants a deal of thinning out, —
It's plain — as plain as Harrow's Steeple -
And I agree with some thus far,
Who say the Queen's too popular,
That is,- she has too many people.
There are too many of all trades,

Too many bakers,
Too many every-thing-makers,
But not too many undertakers,—

Too many boys,—

Too many hobby-de-hoys,-
Too many girls, men, widows, wives and maids,
There is a dreadful surplus to demolish,

And yet some Wrongheads,
With thick not long heads,
Poor metaphysicians !

Sign petitions
Capital punishment to abolish;
And in the face of censuses such vast ones

New hospitals contrive,
For keeping life alive,

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