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Lead them on with hopes—deceive themThen turn coldly round, and leave them,
Some new slave I note each season,
(Moths around the taper's flare !) Guardsman fine-or young attaché, Black and smooth as papier-maché,
In your box I see them dangling,
Trophies ranged behind your chair;
When at kettle-drums presiding,
Smiles to each, in equal share,
Lest one slave wax over-jealous,
What perfection in your waltzing!
When you warble some sweet air!
How you light the smoldering embers Of decrepit Peers and Members ! While
still have smiles to spare For a new-fledged boy from college, Sitting at your feet for knowledge!
At your country-seat in Salop,
With you on your chestnut mare!
How the country misses hate you,
Beauty Clare !
Were your inward soul laid bare,
UNDER THE TREES.
“ UNDER the trees!" who but agrees
An authority) lie very much at their ease, Taking their teas, or their duck and green peas, Or, if they prefer it, their plain bread and
cheese : Not objecting at all, though its rather a squeeze, And the glass is, I daresay, at eighty degrees. Some get up glees, and are mad about Ries, And Sainton, and Tambulik's thrilling high C's; Or, if painter, hold forth upon Hunt and Maclise, And the breadth of that landscape of Lee's; Or, if learned, on nodes and the moon's apo
gees; Or, if serious, on something of A. K. H. B.'s, Or the latest attempt to convert the Chaldees; Or, in short, about all things, from earthquakes
to fleas. Some sit in twos or (less frequently) threes, With their innocent lamb's-wool or book on
their knees, And talk and enact any nonsense you please, As they gaze into eyes that are blue as the seas,
And you hear an occasional “Harry, don't
tease," From the sweetest of lips in the softest of
keys, And other remarks which to me are Chinese. And fast the time flees, till a lady-like sneeze, Or a portly papa's more elaborate wheeze, Makes Miss Tabitha seize on her brown muf.
fetees And announce as a fact that it's going to
freeze, And that young people ought to attend to their
P's And their Q's, and not court every form of
disease. Then Tommy eats up the three last ratafias, And pretty Louise wraps her robe de cerise Round a bosom as tender as Widow Machree's, And (in spite of the pleas of her lorn vis à vis) Goes and wraps up her uncle—a patient of