I like your little stage, where you discuss
Your pleasant bill of fare,
And show us passengers so rich and rare,
Your little stage seems quite an omnibus.
I like exceedingly your Parthian dame,
Dimly remembering dramatic codgers,
The ghost of Memory-the shade of Fame!-
Lord! what a housekeeper for Mr. Rogers!
I like your Savage, of a one-horse power;
And Terence, done in Irish from the Latin;
And Sally quite a kitchen-garden flower;
And Mrs. Drake, serene in sky-blue satin !
I like your girl as speechless as a mummy-
It shows you can play dummy!
I like your boy, deprived of every gleam
Of light forever--a benighted being!
And really think-though Irish it may seem-
Your blindness is worth seeing.
I like your Governess; and there's a striking Tale of Two Brothers, that sets tears a-flowing But I'm not going
All through the bill to tell you of my liking.
Suffice it, Fanny Kelly! with your art
So much in love, like others, I have grown,
I really mean myself to take a part
In "Free and Easy"-at my own bespeak-
And shall three times a week
Drop in and make your pretty house my own!
DON'T tell me of buds and blossoms,
Or with rose and vi'let wheedle-
Nosegays grow for other bosoms,
Churchwarden and Beadle.
What have you to do with streams?
What with sunny skies, or garish
Cuckoo songs, or pensive dreams?
Nature's not your parish!
What right have such as you to dun
For sun or moonbeams, warm or bright?
Before you talk about the sun,
Pay for window-light!
Talk of passions-amorous fancies!
While your betters' flames miscarry,
If you love your Dolls and Nancys,
Don't we make you marry ?
Talk of wintry chill and storm,
Fragrant winds that blanch your bones!
You poor can always keep you warm ;
Ain't there breaking stones?
Suppose you don't enjoy the spring,
Roses fair and vi'lets meek,
You can't look for everything
On eighteen pence a week!
* The poem to which this is an answer will be found among the Notes at the end of the volume, entitled Reply to a Pastoral Poet.
With seasons what have you to do ?
If corn doth thrive, or wheat is harmed?
What's weather to the cropless? You
Don't farm-but you are farmed!
Why everlasting murmurs hurled,
With hardship for the text?
If such as you don't like this world,
I CAME to town a happy man;
I need not now dissemble
Why I return so sad at heart-
It's all through FANNY KEMBLE :
Oh! when she threw her flowers away,
What urged the tragic slut on
To weave in such a wreath as that,
Ah me! a bachelor's button.
None fought so hard, none fought so well, As I to gain some token—
When all the pit rose up in arms,
And heads and hearts were broken ; Huzza! said I, I'll have a flower
As sure as my name's Dutton;-
I made a snatch-I got a catch-
By Jove! a bachelor's button!
I've lost my watch-my hat is smashed-
My clothes declare the racket;
I went there in a full-dress coat,
And came home in a jacket;
My nose is swelled, my eye is black,
My lip I've got a cut on—
Odds buds!- and what a bud to get—
The deuce-a bachelor's button!
My chest's in pain; I really fear
I've somewhat hurt my bellows,
By pokes and punches in the ribs.
From those herb-strewing fellows.
I miss two teeth in my front row;
My corn has had a fut on;
And all this pain I've had to gain
This cursed bachelor's button!
Had I but won a rose-a bud-
A pansy or a daisy-
A periwinkle-anything
But this-it drives me crazy!
My very sherry tastes like squills;
I can't enjoy my mutton;
And when I sleep I dream of it-
Still-still-a bachelor's button!
My place is booked per coach to-night;
But oh! my spirit trembles
To think how country friends will ask
Of Knowleses and of Kembles.
If they should breathe about the wreath
When I go back to Sutton,
I shall not dare to show my share
That's all a bachelor's button!
My luck in life was never good,
But this my fate will harden;
I ne'er shall like my farming more,
I know I shan't my garden :
The turnips all may have the fly,
And wheat may have the smut on;
I care not-I've a blight at heart;
Ah me!-a bachelor's button!
ON A PICTURE OF HERO AND LEANDER.
WHY, Lover, why
Such a water-rover
Would she love thee more
For coming half seas over?
Why, Lady, why
So in love with dipping?
Was't a lad of Greece
Came all over dripping?
Why, Cupid, why
Make the passage brighter?
Were not any boat
Better than a lighter?
Why, Madam, why
So intrusive standing?
Must thou be on the stair
When he's on the landing?
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