I'VE A DARLING OF MY OWN. Y mother bids me spend my smiles MY On all who come and call me fair, As crumbs are thrown upon the tiles, To all the sparrows of the air. But I've a darling of my own For whom I hoard my little stock What if I chirp him all alone, And leave mamma to feed the flock! TO MINERVA. From the Greek. Y temples throb, my pulses boil, MY I'm sick of Song, and Ode, and Ballad So Thyrsis, take the midnight oil, And pour it on a lobster salad. TO MINERVA. My brain is dull, my sight is foul, I cannot write a verse, or read— Then Pallas take away thine Owl, And let us have a Lark instead. 68 CONTENTMENT. "Man wants but little here below." L ITTLE I ask; my wants are few, I only wish a hut of stone, (A very plain brown stone will do,) That I may call my own; And close at hand is such a one, In onder street that fronts the sun. Plain food is quite enough for me; Three courses are as good as ten; If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heaven for three. Amen. I always thought cold victual nice ; My choice would be vanilla-ice. |