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A PATHETIC BALLAD.
" A Day after the Fair.” – OLD PROVERB.
John Day he was the biggest man
Of all the coachman-kind, With back too broad to be conceived
By any narrow mind.
The very horses knew his weight
When he was in the rear, And wished his box a Christmas-box
To come but once a year.
Alas! against the shafts of love,
What armour can avail ?
His scarlet coat of mail.
The bar-maid of the Crown he loved,
From whom he never ranged, For tho' he changed his horses there,
His love he never changed.
He thought her fairest of all fares,
So fondly love prefers ;
Deemed no outside like hers.
One day as she was sitting down
Beside the porter-pump —
And made an offer plump.
Said she, my taste will never learn
To like so huge a man,
As little as you can.
But still he stoutly urged his suit,
With vows, and sighs, and tears, Yet could not pierce her heart, altho’
He drove the Dart for years.
In vain he wooed, in vain he sued;
The maid was cold and proud, And sent him off to Coventry,
While on his way to Stroud.
He fretted all the way to Stroud,
And thence all back to town, The course of love was never smooth,
So his went up and down.
At last her coldness made him pine
To merely bones and skin ;
To love through thick and thin.
O Mary, view my wasted back,
And see my dwindled calf ; Tho' I have never had a wife,
I've lost my better half.
Alas ! in vain he still assailed,
Her heart withstood the dint; Though he had carried sixteen stone
He could not move a flint.
Worn out, at last he made a vow
To break his being's link; For he was so reduced in size
At nothing he could shrink.
Now some will talk in water's praise,
And waste a deal of breath, But John, tho' he drank nothing else –
He drank himself to death.
The cruel maid that caused his love,
Found out the fatal close,
The butt-end of his woes.
Some say his spirit haunts the Crown,
But that is only talk —
His ghost objects to walk.
VERSIFIED FROM THE PROSE OF A YOUNG
It's very hard !- and so it is,
I'm sick of all the double knocks
Miss Bell I hear has got a dear
'Tis hard with plenty in the street,
There's Mr. Wick at Number Nine
My mother often sits at work