Half out she leans to watch a tumbling brat, But I'm in love—she never pities that! Over the way! I go to the same church Haunt all her walks, and dodge her at the play; She does not seem to know she has a neighbor Over the way! At private theatres she never acts; No Crown-and-Anchor balls her fancy sway; Over the way! To billets-doux by post she shows no favor- I play the flute she heeds not my chromatics No friend an introduction can purvey; I wish a fire would break out in the attics Over the way! My wasted form ought of itself to touch her; And as for butcher's meat - O! she's Over the way! my butcher At beef I turn; at lamb or veal I pout; I'm weary of my life; without regret I've fitted bullets to my pistol-bore; I've vowed at times to rush where trumpets bray, Sometimes my fancy builds up castles airy, Sometimes I dream of her in bridal white, I've cooed with her in dreams, like any turtle; Over the way! Thrice I have rowed her in a fairy shallop, And thrice I've started up from dreams appalling There is a young man very fond of calling O! happy man-above all kings in glory, Nabob of Arcot-Despot of Japan - 32 - With such a lot my heart would be in clover - Over the way! EPICUREAN REMINISCENCES OF A SENTIMENTALIST. "My Tables! Meat it is, I set it down!"-HAMLET. I THINK it was Spring but not certain I am But I know we were certainly looking for lamb, 'T was at Christmas, I think, when I met with Miss Chase, Yes,- for Morris had asked me to dine,— And I thought I had never beheld such a face, Or so noble a turkey and chine. Placed close by her side, it made others quite wild With sheer envy to witness my luck; How she blushed as I gave her some turtle, and smiled I looked and I languished, alas! to my cost, Through three courses of dishes and meats; With a rent-roll that told of my houses and land, And then to herself I presented my hand, I asked her to have me for weal or for woe, And she did not object in the least; I can't tell the date-but we married, I know, We went to -, it certainly was the sea-side; O, never may memory lose sight of that year, So happy, like hours, all our days seemed to haste, A long life I looked for of bliss with my bride, My dearest took ill at the turn of the year, In vain she was doctored, in vain she was dosed, For months still I lingered in hope and in doubt, She died, and she left me the saddest of men, O, I felt all the power of solitude then, But when I beheld Virtue's friends in their cloaks, And with sorrowful crape on their hats, O my grief poured a flood! and the out-of-door folks Were all crying-I think it was sprats! THE CARELESSE NURSE MAYD. I SAWE a Mayd sitte on a Bank, All Even Tide they Talkde and Kist, With angrie Hands and frownynge Browe, She then beginnes to wayle the Ladde The Momente that her Care was drownd! |