Half out she leans to watch a tumbling brat, But I'm in love - - she never pities that! Over the way! I to the same church go a love-lost labor; Haunt all her walks, and dodge her at the play; She does not seem to know she has a neighbor Over the way! At private theatres she never acts; No Crown-and-Anchor balls her fancy sway; Over the way! To billets-doux by post she shows no favor I play the flute-she heeds not my chromatics -- I wish a fire would break out in the attics Over the way! My wasted form ought of itself to touch her; My baker feels my appetite's decay; And as for butcher's meat-O! she's my butcher At beef I turn; at lamb or veal I pout; I'm weary of my life; without regret I've fitted bullets to my pistol-bore; I've vowed at times to rush where trumpets bray, Sometimes my fancy builds up castles airy, A horse a cow six fowls a pig—and Mary, Over the way! Sometimes I dream of her in bridal white, I've cooed with her in dreams, like any turtle; Thrice I have rowed her in a fairy shallop, And thrice I've started up from dreams appalling Of killing rivals in a bloody fray There is a young man very fond of calling Over the way! O! happy man- above all kings in glory, Nabob of Arcot-Despot of Japan -- With such a lot my heart would be in clover EPICUREAN REMINISCENCES OF A SENTIMENTALIST. "My Tables! Meat it is, I set it down!"-HAMLET. I THINK it was Spring but not certain I am But I know we were certainly looking for lamb, 'T was at Christmas, I think, when I met with Miss Chase, Yes, for Morris had asked me to dine, And I thought I had never beheld such a face, Or so noble a turkey and chine. Placed close by her side, it made others quite wild With sheer envy to witness my luck; How she blushed as I gave her some turtle, and smiled I looked and I languished, alas! to my cost, Through three courses of dishes and meats; Getting deeper in love but my heart was quite lost, With a rent-roll that told of my houses and land, To her parents I told my designs And then to herself I presented my hand, With a very fine pottle of pines! I asked her to have me for weal or for woe, I can't tell the date- but we married, I know, We went to it certainly was the sea-side; O, never may memory lose sight of that year, So happy, like hours, all our days seemed to haste, So united in heart so congenial in taste We were both of us partial to brawn! A long life I looked for of bliss with my bride, But then Death I ne'er dreamt about that! O, there's nothing is certain in life, as I cried When my turbot eloped with the cat! My dearest took ill at the turn of the year, In vain she was doctored, in vain she was dosed, For months still I lingered in hope and in doubt, She died, and she left me the saddest of men, O, I felt all the power of solitude then, But when I beheld Virtue's friends in their cloaks, And with sorrowful crape on their hats, O my grief poured a flood! and the out-of-door folks Were all crying—I think it was sprats! THE CARELESSE NURSE MAYD. I SAWE a Mayd sitte on a Bank, All Even Tide they Talkde and Kist, With angrie Hands and frownynge Browe, She then beginnes to wayle the Ladde The Momente that her Care was drownd! |