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The next that I had was from Cross,
With Nero, now dead,
And so I was led
A mongrel I tried, and he did,
Except that the kind
Endangers the blind,
A setter was quite to my taste,
Till one day I met
A very dead set,
I once had a dog that went mad,
It came to a run,
And a man with a gun Peppered me when he ought to have shot him.
My profits have gone to the dogs,
I fear that my aim
Is a mere losing game, Unless I can find a Retriever.
A Pair of married kangaroos
(The case is oft a human one too) Were greatly puzzled once to choose
A trade to put their eldest son to: A little brisk and busy chap,
As all the little K.'s just then are — About some two months off the lap,
They ’re not so long in arms as men are.
A twist in each parental muzzle
So much the flavor of life's cup
Dependent on their “rearing up.” The question, with its ins and outs, Was intricate and full of doubts ;
And yet they had no squeamish carings For trades unfit or fit for gentry, Such notion never had an entry,
For they had no armorial bearings. Howbeit they 're not the last on earth That might indulge in pride of birth ;
Whoe'er has seen their infant young Bob in and out their mother's pokes,
Would own, with very ready tongue,
It kept the old pair watchful nightly,
And go through life (like them) uprightly.
Arms would not do at all ; no, marry,
And agriculture was not proper,
Forever as a mere clod-hopper.
At least in any striking style:
And as for being mercantile — He was not formed for over-reaching. The law – why there still fate ill-starred him, And plainly from the bar debarred him : A doctor — who would ever fee him ?
In music he could scarce engage,
And as for going on the stage
A haberdasher had some merit,
For just suppose
A lady chose
A gardener digging up his beds,
'Twas posing quite
And in the night Of course they saw their way no clearer! At last thus musing on their knees — Or hinder elbows if you please — It came — no thought was ever brighter ! In weighing every why and whether, They jumped upon it both together “ Let's make the imp a short-hand writer ! ”
Would argue what their sons are fit for ;
Would be in trades they have more wit for. ODE FOR THE NINTH OF NOVEMBER,
O LUD! O Lud! O Lud!
Built formerly of mud; —
Invent the office of a Mayor,
But still, if one must have a Mayor
To fill the Civic chair,
O Lud, I say, Was there no better day To fix on, than November Ninth so shivery And dull for showing off the Livery's livery ?
Dimming, alas !
The Brazier's brass, Soiling the Embroiderers and all the Saddlers,
Sopping the Furriers,
Draggling the Curriers, And making Merchant Tailors dirty paddlers ;