« ForrigeFortsett »
We gather flowers of every hue,
And fish in boats for fishes,
But life 's as frail as dishes.
Walking about their groves of trees,
Blue bridges and blue rivers,
They'd both be smashed to shivers.
ODE TO PEACE.
WRITTEN ON THE NIGHT OF MY MISTRESS'S GRAND ROUT.
Oh Peace ! oh come with me and dwell —
But stop, for there's the bell.
On Wednesday, when there's very few
In loft or pew — Another ring, the tarts are come from Birch's. Oh Peace! for thee I have avoided marriage –
• Hush! there's a carriage. Oh Peace! thou art the best of earthly goods —
The five Miss Woods.
There come some more.
Oh Peace! Knocks will not cease. Oh Peace! thou wert for human comfort
That's Weippert's band. Oh Peace ! how glad I welcome thy approaches
I hear the sound of coaches. Oh Peace! oh Peace ! - another carriage stops —
It's early for the Blenkinsops.
Oh Peace! with thee I love to wander,
Oh Peace! if you do not disdain
Oh Peace! but there is Major Monk,
And that great German, Vander Trunk,
A FEW LINES ON COMPLETING FORTY-SEVEN.
WHEN I reflect with serious sense,
While years and years run on,
There's cook a-calling John.
Our lives are built so frail and poor,
On sand and not on rocks,
There's some one double-knocks.
All human days have settled terms,
Our fates we cannot force ;
They're come to lunch of course.
And when my body 's turned to clay,
And dear friends hear my knell,
O let them give a sigh and say —
I hear the upstairs bell.
TO MARY HOUSEMAID.
ON VALENTINE'S DAY.
And, though I pen on such a day,
Or writing in the courting way.
Though Beauty hasn't formed your feature,
It saves you, perhaps, from being vain, And many a poor unhappy creature
May wish that she was half as plain.
Your virtues would not rise an inch,
Although your shape was two foot taller, And wisely you let others pinch
Great waists and feet to make them smaller.
You never try to spare your hands
From getting red by household duty But, doing all that it commands,
Their coarseness is a moral beauty.
Let Susan flourish her fair arms
And at your odd legs sneer and scoff, But let her laugh, for you have charms
That nobody knows nothing of.
PAIN IN A PLEASURE BOAT.
A SEA ECLOGUE.
“I apprehend you!” - SCHOOL OF REFORM.
BOATMAN. Shove off there! — ship the rudder, Bill — cast
off ! she's under way!
Mrs. F. She's under what ? — I hope she's not ! good
gracious, what a spray!
BOATMAN. Run out the jib, and rig the boom! keep clear of
those two brigs !
MRS. F. I hope they don't intend some joke by running of
their rigs !
BOATMAN. Bill, shift them bags of ballast aft — she's rather
out of trim!