Were sitting upon sofas, chairs, and stools, Louder and louder still, The fellow sang with horrible good-will, They had to draw ; With dreadful incongruities In posting legers, making up accounts, Or casting up annuities Stunned by that voice so loud and hoarse, No invoice stood a chance, of course! From room to room, from floor to floor, Where is the new police? I vow I cannot work, or read, or pray, Do n't stand there bawling, fellow, don't! You really send my serious thoughts astray, Do there's a dear, good man do, go away." The spinster pulled her door to with a slam, For so some moral people, strictly loth To swear in words, however up, Will crash a curse in setting down a cup, Than in a given face A very bad expression. However in she went Leaving the subject of her discontent To Mr. Jones's clerk at Number Ten; Who throwing up the sash, With accents rash, Thus hailed the most vociferous of men : "Come, come, I say, old fellow, stop your chant; I cannot write a sentence no one can't! While close at hand, uncomfortably near, The thing was hard to stand! The music-master could not stand it, Made up directly to the tattered man, And thus in broken sentences began: You are not cripple in your back or bones Your voice is strong enough to break some stones" Says he, "It ain't.” "I say you ought to labor! You are in a young case, You have not sixty years upon your face, To come and beg your neighbor - No coach, no horses, no postillion: Says he, "I must! I'm singing for the million!" T. Hood. CCCXV. ODE TO MY BOY, AGED THREE YEARS. THOU happy, happy elf! (But stop, first let me kiss away that tear,) Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he 's poking peas into his ear!) Thou merry, laughing sprite, With spirits feather light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin (Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin !) Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestruck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire! (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore a-fire !) Thou imp of mirth and joy! In love's dear chain, so strong and bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents (Drat the boy! Thou cherub, but of earth; Fit play-fellow for fays, by moonlight pale, (That dog will bite him if he pulls his tail!) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey (He'll break the mirror with that skipping rope!) With pure heart, newly stampt from nature's mint, (Where did he learn that squint?) (He'll have that jug off with another shove!) Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest! (Are those torn clothes his best?) Little epitome of man! (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan !) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life (He's got a knife !) Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down, With many a lamb-like frisk, (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) Thou pretty opening rose ! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) I cannot write unless he's sent above.) T. Hood. |