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“ YES; I WRITE VERSES NOW AND

THEN.”

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ES; I write verses now and then,

But blunt and flaccid is my pen,
No longer talkt of by young men

As rather clever:
In their last quarter are my eyes,
You see it by their form and size ;
Is it not .time then to be wise ?

Or now, or never.
Fairest that ever sprang from Eve!
While Time allows the short reprieve,
Just look at me! Would

you

believe 'Twas once a lover ? I cannot clear the five-bar gate, But, trying first its timber's state, Climb stiffly up, take breath, and wait

To trundle over.
Thro' gallopade I cannot swing
The entangling blooms of Beauty's spring :
I cannot say the tender thing,

Be't true or false,
And am beginning to opine
Those girls are only half-divine
Whose waists you wicked boys entwine

In giddy waltz.
I fear that arm above that shoulder,
I wish them wiser, graver, older,
Sedater, and no harm if colder

And panting less.

Ah! people were not half so wild
In former days, when, starchly mild,
Upon her high-heeld Essex smiled

The brave Queen Bess.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

TU QUOQUE.

AN IDYLL IN THE CONSERVATORY

NELLIE.

F I were you, when ladies at the play,

sir, Beckon and nod, a melodrama

through, I would not turn abstractedly away, sir,

If I were you !

FRANK.

If I were you,

when

persons I affected, Wait for three hours to take me down to Kew, I would, at least, pretend I recollected,

If I were you!

NELLIE.

If I were you, when ladies are so lavish,

Sir, as to keep me every waltz but two, I would not dance with odious Miss M‘Tavish,

If I were you !

FRANK.

If I were you, who vow you cannot suffer

Whiff of the best,—the mildest "honey-dew," I would not dance with smoke-consuming Puffer,

If I were you !

NELLIE.

If I were you, I would not, sir, be bitter,

Even to write the " Cynical Review;"

FRANK.

No, I should doubtless find Airtation fitter,

If I were you!

NELLIE.

Really! you would ? Why, Frank, you're quite

delightful, Hot as Othello, and as black of hue; Borrow

my

fan. I would not look so frightful, If I were you !

FRANK. “ It is the cause.

I mean your chaperon is
Bringing some well-curled juvenile. Adieu !
I shall retire. I'd

spare
that
poor

Adonis,
If I were you!

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NELLIE.

Go, if

you

will. At once! And by express, sir ! Where shall it be? To China-or Peru ? Go. I should leave inquirers my address, sir,

'If I were you !

FRANK.

No,-I remain. To stay and fight a duel

Seems, on the whole, the proper thing to doAh! you are strong,—I would not then be cruel,

If I were you!

NELLIE.

One does not like one's feelings to be doubted,

FRANK.

One does not like one's friends to misconstrue,

NELLIE.

If I confess that I a wee-bit pouted ?

FRANK.

I should admit that I was piqué, too.

NELLIE.

Ask me to dance. I'd say no more about it,
If I were you !
(Waltz-Exeunt.)

AUSTIN DOBSON.

6. LE ROMAN DE LA ROSE.”

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OOR Rose! I lift you from the street,

Far better I should own you
Than
you

should lie for random feet Where careless hands have thrown

you.
Poor pinky petals, crushed and torn!

Did heartless Mayfair use you,
Then cast you forth to lie forlorn,

For chariot-wheels to bruise you ?
I saw you last in Edith's hair,

Rose, you would scarce discover
That I she passed upon the stair

Was Edith's favoured lover,
A month—“ a little month”—ago-

O theme for moral writer !-
'Twixt

you

and me, my Rose, you know,
She might have been politer ;
But let that

gave you

then
Behind the oleander-
To one, perhaps, of all the men-
: Who best could understand her,-

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pass. She

Cyril, that, duly flattered, took,

As only Cyril's able,
With just the same Arcadian look

He used, last night, for Mabel ;
Then, having waltzed till every star

Had paled away in morning,
Lit up his cynical cigar,

And tossed you downward, scorning.
Kismet, my Rose! Revenge is sweet,-

She made my heart-strings quiver;
And yet-You shan't lie in the street;
I'll drop you in the River.

AUSTIN DOBSON,

A. B. C.

is an Angel of blushing eighteen:
B is the Ball where the angel was

seen:

C is her Chaperon, who cheated at

cards : D is the Deuxtemps, with Frank of the Guards : E is her Eye, killing slowly but surely: F is the Fan, whence it peeped so demurely: G is the Glove of superlative kid : H is the Hand which it spitefully hid ; I is the Ice which the fair one demanded : Jis the Juvenile, that dainty who handed: K is the Kerchief, a rare work of art; L is the Lace which composed the chief part: M is the old Maid who watched the chits dance : N is the Nose she turned up at each glance : O is the Olga (just then in its prime): P is the Partner who wouldn't keep time;

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