many days

For many weeks performed each brother.

For each was active in his ways,

And neither would give in to t'other.

After a month of this, they say

(The maid was getting bored and moody)

A wandering

curate

passed that

way

And talked

a lot of

goody-goody.

"Oh my," said he,

with solemn frown,

"I tremble for each dancing frater, Like unregenerated clown

And harlequin at some thee-ayter."

He showed that men, in dancing, do
Both impiously and absurdly,
And proved his proposition true,

With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly.

For months both JOHN and FREDDY danced,
The curate's protests little heeding;
For months the curate's words enhanced
The sinfulness of their proceeding.

Till FREDDY fainted on a stool,

And JOHNNY on the top of FREDDY.

"Decide!" quoth they

be named

"let him

Who henceforth as his wife may

rank you."

"I've changed my views," the maiden said, "I only marry curates, thank you!"

Says FREDDY," Here is goings on !

To bust myself with rage I'm ready." "I'll be a curate!" whispers JOHN "And I," exclaimed poetic FREDDY.

But while they read for it, these chaps,

The curate booked the maiden bonny And when she's buried him, perhaps,

She'll marry FREDERICK or JOHNNY.

SIR GUY THE CRUSADER

IR GUY was a doughty crusader,
A muscular knight,

SIR

A

Ever ready to fight,

very determined invader,

And DICKEY DE LION's delight.

LENORE was a Saracen maiden,
Brunette, statuesque,

The reverse of grotesque;

Her pa was a bagman at Aden,

Her mother she played in burlesque.

Of face and of figure majestic,
She dazzled the cits-

Ecstaticized pits;

Her troubles were only domestic,
But drove her half out of her wits.

Her father incessantly lashed her,
On water and bread

She was grudgingly fed;

Whenever her father he thrashed her
Her mother sat down on her head.

Guy saw her, and loved her, with reason,

His views were exceedingly proper,

He wanted to wed,

So he called at her shed

And saw her progenitor whop her
Her mother sit down on her head.

"So pretty," said he, " and so trusting! You brute of a dad,

You unprincipled cad,

Your conduct is really disgusting.
Come, come, now, admit it's too bad!

"You're a turbaned old Turk, and
malignant -

Your daughter Lenore
I intensely adore,

And I cannot help feeling indignant,
A fact that I hinted before.

“To see a fond father employing
A deuce of a knout

For to bang her about,

To a sensitive lover's annoying."

Said the bagman,
out!"

Crusader, get

"To London I'll go from my charmer." Which he did, with his loot

(Seven hats and a flute),

And was nabbed for his Sydenham armor,
At MR. BEN-SAMUEL'S suit.