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Till John, the serving-man, came to the upper Regions, with “ Please your Honour, come to
Supper ! good John, to-night I shall not sup Except on that phenomenon - look up !” “Not sup ! ” cried John, thinking with consterna
tion That supping on a star must be starvation,
Or ev'n to batten On Ignes Fatui would never fatten. His visage seemed to say,—that very odd is,But still his master the same tune ran on, “I can't come down,— go to the parlour, John, And say I'm supping with the heavenly bodies."
“ The heavenly bodies !” echoed John, “ Ahem!” His mind still full of famishing alarms, “ 'Zooks, if your Honour sups with them, In helping, somebody must make long arms!” He thought his master's stomach was in danger, But still in the same tone replied the Knight,
“ Go down, John, go, I have no appetite, Say I'm engaged with a celestial stranger.”— Quoth John, not much au fait in such affairs, “Wouldn't the stranger take a bit down stairs ?
"No," said the master, smiling, and no wonder,
At such a blunder, “The stranger is not quite the thing you think, He wants no meat or drink,
And one may doubt quite reasonably whether
He has a mouth, Seeing his head and tail are joined together, Behold him,- there he is, John, in the South.”
John looked up with his portentous eyes,
“A rare good rocket !”
“A what! A rocket, John! Far from it!
What you behold, John, is a comet;
That in all ages
And frightened kings;
“ Do he ?” cried John ;
Well, let him flare on,
A PATHETIC BALLAD.
“ Skins may differ, but affection
’T was twelve o'clock, not twelve at night,
But twelve o'clock at noon ; Because the sun was shining bright
And not the silver moon. A proper
time for friends to call, Or Pots, or Penny Post; When, lo! as Phoebe sat at work,
She saw her Pompey's Ghost !
Now, when a female has a call
From people that are dead;
Her visitors in bed.
Like spirits that are white,
And would n't show at night!
But of all unexpected things
That happen to us here,
In what is very dear.
To prove the seaman's text ;
White squalls will follow next.
“Oh, Phoebe, dear! oh, Phoebe, dear!
Don't go to scream or faint ;
The Devil, but I ain't !
I walked while I had breath ;
A-walking after Death!
“No murder, though, I come to tell,
By base and bloody crime;
To some more fitting time.
My body need attack,
Why I have died so black.
“One Sunday, shortly after tea,
My skin began to burn As if I had in
A heater, like the urn.
And as I lay in bed,
You see upon my head.
“ His Lordship for his doctor sent,
My treatment to begin ;-
Before he called him in !
And passed at Surgeon's Hall,
He never cured at all !
“ The doctor looked about my breast,
And then about my back, And then he shook his head and said
• Your case looks very black.' And first he sent me hot cayenne
And then gamboge to swallow, But still my fever would not turn
To Scarlet or to Yellow !
“ With madder and with turmeric,
He made his next attack; But neither he nor all his drugs
Could stop my dying black. At last I got so sick of life,
And sick of being dosed,