I want to read, but really can't get on Let the four twins, Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John, 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, Too many every-thing-makers, 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, Laying first stones, the dolts! instead of last ones! Others, again, in the same contrariety, Deem that of all Humane Society They really deserve thanks, Because the two banks of the Serpentine, Are Saving Banks. Oh! were it given but to me to weed And root out here and there some cumbering elf, And really do it With profit to the world and to myself,- And all my creditors. These, for my own sake, I'd destroy; But for the peace of years that have to run, By rooting up all Aldermen but one,— These are but hints what good might thus be done! But ah! I fear the public good Is little by the public understood,— For instance-if with flint, and steel, and tinder, Or, if the Lord Mayor, on an Easter Monday, Proposed to poison all the little Blue-coats, Some meddling Marplot would blow up, The economy political Of saving their fresh yellow plush and new coats. Equally 'twould be undone, In June or May, When all the large small family of charity, Brown, black, or carrotty, Walk in their dusty parish shoes, In too, too many two-and-twos, To sing together till they scare the walls Sitting in red, gray, green, blue, drab, and white, Some say a gratifying sight, Tho' I think sad but that's a schism Suppose, I say, the Bishop then, to make Down that immense extinguisher, the dome Islington Wapping - or Pall Mall way! Thus, people hatched from goose's egg, And in its face their doors all shut, Drugging themselves with drams well spiced and cloven, And turning pale as linen rags At hoisting up of yellow flags, While you and I are crying "Orange Boven!" A GOOD DIRECTION. A CERTAIN gentleman, whose yellow cheek Indeed, he scarcely ever knew a well day; Who, better starred than Alchemists of old, Had settled at his country house in quiet. Our Patient, after some impatient rambles Thro' Enfield roads, and Enfield lanes of brambles, At last, to make inquiry had the nous,— "Here, my good man, Just tell me if you can, Pray which is Mr. Aberfeldie's house?" At last made answer, with a broadish grin : 66 Why, turn to right — and left and right agin, The road's direct- you cannot fail to go it." "But stop! my worthy fellow ! one word From other houses how am I to know it!" "How! — why you'll see blue pillars at the door!" |