With grief sincere I pity those
Who've drawn themselves this scrape in;
Since from his gripe, and dreadful woes,
Alas! there's no escaping!
This one advice, my friends, pursue,
Whilst yet ye've life and breath,
Ne'er pledge your host; for if you do,
You'll surely drink to Death!
FRANK HAYMAN once, a brother of the brush,
Had talents much distinguished in his day,
But for his art he hardly cared a rush,
If some odd mischief stumbled in his way.
This wag was deemed by all the social tribe
A jovial, easy, careless, pleasant fellow,
Fond of a frolic, ready at a gibe,
And sometimes in his cups a little mellow.
There was a famous place, yclept Vauxhall,
Where cits, good folks, regaled with merry hearts,
And oft to busy waiters eager bawl
For fresh supplies of ham, and beef, and tarts.
There might you see of boxes many a row,
For such as like to sup in state designed,
With pictures decked, that made a goodly show;
Now in these pictures Hayman's skill we find.
Frank Hayman, tempted by a pleasant day,
After a long contention with the gout,
A foe that oft besieged him, sallied out,
To breathe fresh air, and while an hour away;
It chanced as he was strolling, void of care,
A drunken porter passed him with a hare.
The hare was o'er his shoulder flung,
Dangling behind in piteous plight,
And as he crept, in zig-zag style,
Making the most of every mile,
From side to side poor pussy swung,
As if each moment taking flight.
A dog, who saw the man's condition,
A lean and hungry politician,
On the look-out was lurking close behind,
A sly and subtle chap, of most sagacious smell,
Like politicians of a higher kind,
Ready to snap at anything that fell.
The porter staggered on, the dog kept near,
Watching the lucky minute for a bite,
Now made a spring, and then drew back with fear,
While Hayman followed, tittering at the sight.
Through many a street the tipsy porter reels,
Then stops as if to solemn thought inclined-
The watchful dog was ready at his heels,
And Hayman hobbled on, not far behind.
Then rolling on again, the man surveyed
One of those happy mansions where
A cordial drop imparts its cheering aid
To all the thirsty sons of care.
The sight of this refreshing place,
The scent that hails him from the door,
Arrest at once his rambling pace-
As they had often done before.
Straight on a bench without he stretched along,
Regardless of the passing throng,
And soon his weary eyelids close,
While Somnus soothes him to repose.
The hare now prostrate at his back,
This was the time to get a snack.
The dog, unable longer to refrain,
Gazed at the hare,
Who caused his care,
Jumpt and bit, jumpt and bit, jumpt and bit, and bit again.
At length, when he had cleared away the rest,
The sated spoiler finished on the breast.
Then having made a hearty meal,
He careless turned upon his heel,
Nor thought of asking "What's to pay ?"
But scampered at his ease away.
At length, our porter's slumber o'er,
He jogged on, tottering as before,
Unconscious any body kind
Had eased him of his load behind.
Now on the houses turned his eye,
As if his journey's end were nigh,
Then read the paper in his hand,
And made a stand-
Hayman drew near, with eager mien,
To mark the closing of the scene,
Expecting straight a furious din,
His features ready for a grin.
And now we need but mention one thing more,
To show how much he must have liked the whim;
Though drunk, our porter hit at last the door,
And Hayman found the hare was sent to him.
THE WHIMSICAL MAL-ENTENDRE.
A POOR simple foreigner, not long ago,
Whose knowledge of English was simply so-so,
At a shopwindow reading, "Good pickles sold here,"
To the shopwoman said, "Vat is pickles, my dear ?"
Why pickles," says she, "is a sort of a name
Like preserves, and the meaning is nearly the same,
For pickling preserves, though not quite the same way,
Yet 'tis much the same thing, as a body may say."
The foreigner bowed, and gave thanks for his lesson,
Which the next day at dinner he made a fine mess on ;
For a loud clap of thunder caused Miss Kitty nervous
To start from her chair, and cry "Mercy preserve us;
While he, keeping closely his lesson in view,
Cried "Mercy preserve us and pickle us too."
ECONOMY; OR, THE LADY AND THE CARTER.
O'ER economy some have such perfect control,
They make the one half go as far as the whole :
You need not be told that in what I relate,
I allude not to those who now govern the State!
No, I speak of a Dame, an old woman 'tis true,
But still with the Government nothing to do!
THE SPORTSMAN'S DISTRESS.
In her household a pattern of saving you saw,
For she could with ease make her bricks without straw.
Roast and boiled at her table she had every day,
For potatoes, you know, can be cooked either way:
And at feasts a plum-pudding with her wasn't rare,
For 'tis a plum-pudding, when one plum is there!
Certain rubbish it chanced 'twas expedient to clear,
And the job being over, to give John some beer :—
A tankard was drawn-" "Tis my brewing," said she,
"Malt and hops-nothing else;"-"Yes, ma'am, to be free,"
Said the man, "something else I believe a slight matter".
"What else?" she exclaimed-" Why," said John, "madam,
water!"
Ay, true," was her answer- "Yes, that I forgot"
No," said John with a grin, "No, ma'am, you did not!"
THE HORSE-DEALER AND HIS GROOM.
A HORSE-DEALER, famous for nags with long tails,
Of which he oft made pretty well by his sales,
Was once served a trick by a rogue in the night,
Who broke into the stable, and then, without light,
Cut off every tail of the nags that were there,
To the horse-dealer's terror and utter despair-
Who came in the morning, and with him his groom,
Lamenting most sorely his sorrowful doom.
The groom was a wag, as this story will show,
For when his poor master was weeping with woe,
He cried, "My good sir, prithee take this advice,
And then you'll get rid of your nags in a trice,
Sell them wholesale." How wholesale ?" the master
At this seeming impudence vastly inflamed;
Why yes, sir, 'tis best, since your first plan has failed,
For certain it is they can ne'er be retailed!"
THE SPORTSMAN'S DISTRESS.
I've lost my friend, my dog, and wife,
Saved only horse and purse;
Yet whn I think on human life,
Thank heaven it is no worse.
My friend was sickly, poor, and old,
Was peevish, blind, and crippled;
My wife was ugly and a scold,-
I rather think she tippled.
My dog was faithful, fond, and true,
In sporting gave me pleasure;
I shouldn't care for t'other two,
If I had saved this treasure.
GRAMMATICAL TAUTOLOGY.
I'LL prove the word that I have made my theme
Is that that may be doubled without blame;
And that that that, thus trebled, I may use,
And that that that that critics may abuse
May be correct. Farther-the dons to bother-
Five thats may closely follow one another!
For be it known, that we may safely write
Or say, that that that that that man writ was right:-
Nay, e'en, that that that that that that followed
Through six repeats, the Grammar's rule has hallowed;
And that that that (that that that that began)
Repeated seven times is right!-Deny't who can.
THIS Indian weed now withered quite,
Though green at noon, cut down at night,
Shows thy decay ;
All flesh is hay;
Thus think, and smoke tobacco
The pipe, so lily-like and weak,
Does thus thy mortal state bespeak;
Thou art e'en such,
Gone with a touch:
Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
And when the smoke ascends on high,
Then thou behold'st the vanity
Of worldly stuff,
Gone with a puff:
Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
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