« ForrigeFortsett »
Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.
Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads
leads, And sleepers' waking, grumble — “ Drat that
cat !” Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will.
Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise
DOMESTIC ASIDES; OR, TRUTH IN PAREN
“I REALLY take it very kind,
“ Your daughters, too, what loves of girls —
“ Your charming boys I see are home
“ What! little Clara left at home?
“ And Mr. S., I hope he’s well,
He never now drops in to sup,
“ Come, take a seat — I long to hear
“ What! must you go? next time I hope
“Good-bye! good-bye ! remember all,
COMPOSED ON READING A DIARY LATELY PUB
That flesh is grass is now as clear as day,
THE LAST WISH.
When I resign this world so briary,
The poor dear dead have been laid out in vain, Turned into cash, they are laid out again!
THE DEVIL'S ALBUM.
It will seem an odd whim
For a Spirit so grim
But by common renown
He has come up to town,
On a handsomer book
Mortal never did look,
With a border superb,
Where through flow'ret and herb,
By gilded grotesques,
And embossed arabesques,
But, alas ! in a taste
That betrays they were traced At the will of a Spirit degraded !
As for paper — the best,
But extremely hot-pressed, Courts the pen to luxuriate upon it,
And against every blank
There's a note on the Bank, As a bribe for a sketch or a sonnet.
Who will care to appear
In the Fiend's Souvenir,
But the very first leaf,
It's the public belief,
THE SUPERIORITY OF MACHINERY,
A Mechanic his labor will often discard :
If the rate of his pay he dislikes ; But a clock — and its case is uncommonly hard
Will continue to work though it strikes.