Now when two years had passed away,
Her lord took very ill,

And left her to her widowhood,

Of course more dumpy still.

Said John, I am a proper man,
And very tall to see;

Who knows, but now, her lord is low,
She may look up to me?

A cunning woman told me once,
Such fortune would turn up;

She was a kind of sorceress,
But studied in a cup!

So he walked up to Lady Wye,
And took her quite amazed;

She thought, though John was tall enough,
He wanted to be raised.

But John-for why? she was a dame

Of such a dwarfish sort

Had only come to bid her make
Her mourning very short.

Said he, Your lord is dead and cold,
You only cry in vain ;

Not all the cries of London now
Could call him back again!

You'll soon have many a noble beau

To dry your noble tears; But just consider this, that I

Have followed you for years.

And though you are above me far,
What matters high degree,
When you are only four foot nine,
And I am six foot three?

For though you are of lofty race,
And I'm a low-born elf;

Yet none among your friends could say
You matched beneath yourself.

Said she, Such insolence as this
Can be no common case;
Though you are in my service, sir,
Your love is out of place.

O Lady Wye! O Lady Wye!
Consider what you do;

How can you be so short with me,
I am not so with you?

Then ringing for her serving men,

They showed him to the door :

Said they, You turn out better now
Why didn't you before?

They stripped his coat, and gave him kicks

For all his wages due;

And off, instead of green and gold,

He went in black and blue.

No family would take him in,
Because of this discharge;

So he made up his mind to serve
The country all at large.

Huzza! the sergeant cried, and put

The money in his hand,

And with a shilling cut him off

From his paternal land.

For when his regiment went to fight

At Saragossa town,

A Frenchman thought he looked too tall,
And so he cut him down!

DRINKING SONG.

BY A MEMBER OF A TEMPERANCE SOCIETY, AS SUNG BY MR.
SPRING, AT WATERMAN'S HALL.

COME, pass around the pail, boys, and give it no quarter,
Drink deep, and drink oft, and replenish your jugs,
Fill
up, and I'll give you a toast to your water-
The Turncock for ever! that opens the plugs!
Then hey for a bucket, a bucket, a bucket,

Then hey for a bucket, filled up to the brim!
Or, best of all notions, let's have it by oceans,
With plenty of room for a sink or a swim!

Let topers, of grape-juice exultingly vapor;
But let us just whisper a word to the elves:
We water roads, horses, silks, ribands, bank-paper,
Plants, poets, and muses, and why not ourselves?
Then hey for a bucket, etc.

The vintage, they cry, think of Spain's and of France's,
The jigs, the boleros, fandangos, and jumps;

But water's the spring of all civilized dances,

We go to a ball not in bottles, but pumps !
Then hey for a bucket, etc.

Let others of Dorchester quaff at their pleasure,
Or honor old Meux with their thirsty regard-
We'll drink Adam's ale, and we get it pool measure,
Or quaff heavy wet from the butt in the yard!
Then hey for a bucket, etc.

Some flatter gin, brandy, and rum, on their merits,
Grog, punch, and what not, that enliven a feast:
'Tis true that they stir up the animal spirits,
But may not the animal turn out a beast?

Then hey for a bucket, etc.

The Man of the Ark, who continued our species,
He saved us by water-but as for the wine,
We all know the figure, more sad than facetious,
Ile made after tasting the juice of the vine.
Then hey for a bucket, etc.

In wine let a lover remember his jewel,

And pledge her in bumpers filled brimming and oft;

But we can distinguish the kind from the cruel,

And toast them in water, the hard or the soft.
Then hey for a bucket, etc.

Some crossed in their passion can never o'erlook it,
But take to a pistol, a knife, or a beam;
While temperate swains are enabled to brook it
By help of a little meandering stream.

Then hey for a bucket, etc.

Should Fortune diminish our cash's sum-total, Deranging our wits and our private affairs, Though some in such cases would fly to the bottle, There's nothing like water for drowning our cares. Then hey for a bucket, etc.

See drinkers of water their wits never lacking,

Direct as a railroad and smooth in their gaits;

But look at the bibbers of wine, they go tacking,

Like ships that have met a foul wind in the straights. Then hey for a bucket, etc.

A fig then for Burgundy, Claret, or Mountain,
A few scanty glasses must limit your wish,
But he's the true toper that goes to the fountain,
The drinker that verily "drinks like a fish!"
Then hey for a bucket, etc.

SUGGESTIONS BY STEAM.

WHEN woman is in rags and poor,

And sorrow, cold, and hunger tease her,

If man would only listen more

To that small voice that crieth-"Ease her!"

Without the guidance of a friend,

Though legal sharks and screws attack her,

If man would only more attend

To that small voice that crieth-" Back her!"

So oft it would not be his fate

To witness some despairing dropper

In Thames's tide, and run too late

To that small voice that crieth-"Stop her!"