A landsman said, "I twig the chap-he's been upon the Mill— And 'cause he gammons so the flats, ve calls him Veeping Bill!" He said "he'd done me werry brown," and nicely "stowed the swag "— That's French, I fancy, for a hat, or else a carpet-bag. I went and told the constable my property to track; He asked me if "I did not wish that I might get it back." I answered, "To be sure I do!--it's what I'm come about." He smiled and said, "Sir, does your mother know that you are out?" Not knowing what to do, I thought I'd hasten back to town, And beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the boy who'd "done me brown." His Lordship very kindly said he'd try and find him out, But he "rather thought that there were severa! vulgar boys about." He sent for Mr. Whithair then, and I described "the swag," My Macintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons and carpet-bag; He promised that the New Police should all their powers employ, But never to this hour have I beheld that vulgar Boy! MORAL. That particular day, As I've heard people say, Mr. David Pryce had been soaking his clay, Remember, then, what when a boy I've heard The whole afternoon at the Goat-in-Boots, my Grandma tell, "BE WARNED IN TIME BY OTHERS' HARM, AND YOU SHALL DO FULL WELL!" Don't link yourself with vulgar folks, who 've got no fixed abode, Tell lies, use naughty words, and say they "wish they may be blowed!" Don't take too much of double X-and don't at night go out To fetch your beer yourself, but make the potboy bring your stout! And when you go to Margate next, just stop, and ring the bell, Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I'm pretty well! With a couple more soakers, Both, like himself, prime singers and jokers; Old "Goat-in-Boots" showed them the door; And then came that knock, And the sensible shock David felt when his wife cried, "Look at the Clock!" For the hands stood as crooked as crooked might be, The long at the Twelve, and the short at the Three! That self-same clock had long been a bone Of contention between this Darby and Joan; And often, among their pother and rout, When this otherwise amiable couple fell out, Pryce would drop a cool hint With an ominous squint Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenient, Takes his hat and great-coat off their several But walking just then was n't very convenient, So he threw it, instead, It knocked off her hat; Her case, perhaps, was not much mended by that; pegs, With his President's hammer bestows his last Through the motley rout, That little Jackdaw kept hopping about: Like a dog in a fair, Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall! He perched on the chair The whole day, discussing the case and gin- Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat, toddy, Returned about half-past eleven at night Mr. David has since had a "serious call," To make a grand speech, In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat; The feast was over, the board was cleared, The Cardinal drew Off each plum-colored shoe, And left his red stockings exposed to the view; He peeps, and he feels In the toes and the heels. They turn up the dishes-they turn up the plates- They examine the mugs, The mute expression And, being thus coupled with full restitution, The Jackdaw got plenary absolution! -When those words were heard, That poor little bird Served in lieu of confession, And the Abbot declared that "when nobody Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really ab twigged it, Some rascal or other had popped in and prigged it !" The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, He called for his candle, his bell, and his book! He solemnly cursed that rascally thief! He cursed him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright. He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking, He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking; VOL. II.-44 surd; He grew sleek and fat; In addition to that A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat! His tail waggled more Even than before; But no longer it wagged with an impudent air, At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out; Or slumbered in prayer-time and happened to snore, That good Jackdaw Would give a great "Caw!" But the King turn'd a Monk, And Lagardie got drunk, As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!" While many remarked, as his manner they saw, 66 That they never had known such a pious Jack-And said to the Lady with a deal of ill-breeding, daw!" "You may go to the d-1 and I'll go to Sweden." Thus between the two stools, Like some other fools, He long lived the pride Of that country-side, And at last in the odor of sanctity died; When, as words were too faint His merits to paint, score; They sent squills, And pills, And very long bills, And all they could do did not make him get well, He sounded his M's and his N's like an L. A shocking bad cough At last took him off, And Mister Lagardie, her former young beau, Mister Lagardie, to gain him éclat, Was an Articled Clerk to a Special Attorney. He gave her a call On the day of a ball, To which she'd invited the court, camp, and all; But "poor dear Lagardie" Again was too .tardy, For a Marshal of France Had just ask'd her to dance; In a twinkling, the ci-devant Madame Modeau Mister Lagardie was shocked at the news, The Marquis Dinot Felt a little so-soTook physic, grew worse, and had notice to goHe died, and was shelved, and his Lady so gay Smiled again on Lagardie now placed on full pay, A Swedish Field-Marshal with a guinea a day; When an old Ex-King Just showed her the ring: To be Queen, she conceived, was a very fine thing; Her Ladyship found Herself plump on the ground; So she cried, and she stamp'd, and she sent for a hack, And she drove to a convent, and never came back. ACT II. Sir Walter has dress'd himself up like a Ghost, And frightens a soldier away from his post; Then, discarding his helmet, he pulls his cloak higher, Draws it over his ears, and pretends he's a Friar. This gains him access to his sweetheart, Miss Faucit; But, the King coming in, he hides up in her closet; Where oddly enough, among some of her things, He discovers some arrows he's sure are the King's, Of the very same pattern with that he had found Sticking into his father when dead on the ground! Forgetting his funk, he bursts open the door, Bounces into the Drawing-room, stamps on the floor, UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES. BY MISS JEMIMA INGOLDSBY, AGED FIFTEEN. (Communicated by her Cousin Tom.) OH, how I should like in a coach to ride, And then behind it, oh! I should glory To see the tall serving men standing upright, Like the two who attended Mr. Montefiore, (Sir Moses I should say) for now he's a Knight. And then the liveries, I know it is rude to Find fault-but I'll hint as he can't see me blush, With an oath on his tongue, and revenge in his That I'd not have the things I can only allude eye, And blows up King William the Second, skyhigh; Swears, storms, shakes his fist, and exhibits such airs, That his Majesty bids his men kick him downstairs. ACT III. King Rufus is cross when he comes to reflect, That, as a King, he'd been treated with gross disrespect; So he pens a short note to a holy physician, drink up. Sure enough, on the very next morning, Sir Walter Perceives, in his walks, this same cup on the altar. As he feels rather thirsty, he's just about drinking, When Miss Faucit in tears comes in running like winking. He pauses of course, and as she's thirsty too, While the dose is so strong, to his grief and surprise, She merely says," Thankee, Sir Walter," and dies. fix him, While dear Ensign Brown, of the West Kent Militia Solicits my hand for the "Supper" Quadrille ! With his fine white teeth and his cheek like a rose, And his black cravat and his diamond pin, And the nice little mustache under his nose, And the dear little tuft on the tip of his chin. And how I should like some fine morning to ride In my coach, and my white satin shoes and gown, To St. James's Church, with a Beau by my side, And I shouldn't much care if his name was Brown! |