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His manner and expression,
THE YARN OF THE
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!”.
Is a trick all seamen larn,
He spun this painful yarn : -
That we sailed to the Indian sea,
Which has often occurred to me.
“And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned
(There was seventy-seven o' soul); And only ten of the Nancy's men
Said “Here' to the muster-roll.
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And the crew of the captain's gig:
“For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,
Till a hungry we did feel,
The captain for our meal.
“The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate,
And a delicate dish he made ;
We seven survivors stayed.
THE BAB BALLADS."
'T was on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Ramsgate span,
An elderly naval man.
His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he ;
In a singular minor key :
And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."
Till I really felt afraid,
And so I simply said :“O elderly man, it's little I know
of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand
How you can possibly be
“And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig;
On the crew of the captain's gig.
And the delicate question, Which
And we argued it out as sich.
And the cook he worshipped me ;
In the other chap's hold, you see.
'Yes, that,' says I, ‘you 'll be.
And ‘Exactly so,' quoth he.
Were a foolish thing to do,
While I can - and will — cook you ?'
“At once a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
“So he boils the water, and takes the salt
And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot,
And some sage and parsley too.
"Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,
Which his smiling features tell ; “'T will soothing be if I let you see
How extremely nice you 'll smell.' “And he stirred it round, and round, and round,
And he sniffed at the foaming froth ; When I ups with his heels, and smothers his
In the scum of the boiling broth.
And as I eating be
For a wessel in sight I see.
If I did not take care,
“And I never larf, and I never smile,
And I never lark nor play ;
I have — which is to say :
And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!”
W. S. GILBERT.
In Köln, a town of monks and bones,
I ASKED of Echo, 't other day,
(Whose words are few and often funny,) What to a novice she could say
Of courtship, love, and matrimony ?
Quoth Echo, plainly, — “Matter-o'-money!” Whom should I marry ? — should it be
A dashing damsel, gay and pert, A pattern of inconstancy ;
Or selfish, mercenary flirt ?
Quoth Echo, sharply, -- "Nary flirt !” What if, aweary of the strife
That long has lured the dear deceiver, She promise to amend her life,
And sin no more ; can I believe her ?
Quoth Echo, very promptly, — “Leave her !" But if some maiden with a heart
On me should venture to bestow it,
To take the treasure, or forego it?
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
[The following will, by which a large fortune was bequeathed was proved in Doctors' Commons, London, in 1737.)
The fifth day of May
But what if, seemingly afraid
To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter, She vow she means to die a maid,
In answer to my loving letter?
Quoth Echo, rather coolly, — “Let her!” What if, in spite of her disdain,
I find my heart intwined about
So closely that I can't get out ?
IN IMITATION OF SPENSER'S STYLE AND STANZA.
But if some maid with beauty blest,
As pure and fair as Heaven can make her, Will share my labor and my rest
Till envious Death shall overtake her?
JOHN G. SAXE.
Videmus Nugari solitos." — PERSIUS.
PHILOSOPHY OF HUDIBRAS.
Whilom by silver Thames's gentle stream,
In London town there dwelt a subtle wight, A wight of mickle wealth, and mickle fame,
Book-learned and quaint : a Virtuoso hight. Uncommon things, and rare, were his delight;
From musings deep his brain ne'er gotten ease, Nor ceased he from study, day or night;
Until (advancing onward by degrees)
BESIDE, he was a shrewd philosopher, And had read every text and gloss over ; Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath, He understood b'implicit faith. Whatever sceptic could inquire for, For every why he had a wherefore ; Knew more than forty of them do, As far as words and terms could go : All which he understood by rote, And, as occasion served, would quote ; No matter whether right or wrong ; They might be either said or sung. His notions fitted things so well That which was which he could not tell ; But oftentimes mistook the one For the other, as great clerks have done. He could reduce all things to acts, And knew their natures by abstracts ; Where entity and quiddity, The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly ; Where truth in person Like words congealed in northern air : He knew what's what, and that's as high As metaphysic wit can fly.
He many a creature did anatomize,
Almost unpeopling water, air, and land ; Beasts, fishes, birds, snails, caterpillars, flies,
Were laid full low by his relentless hand, That oft with gory crimson was distained ;
He many a dog destroyed, and many a cat; Of fleas his bed, of frogs the marshes drained,
Could tellen if a mite were lean or fat,
He knew the various modes of ancient times,
Their arts and fashions of each different guise, Their weddings, funerals, punishments for crimes,
Their strength, their learning eke, and rarities ; Of old habiliments, each sort and size,
Male, female, high and low, to him were known; Each gladiator dress, and stage disguise ; With learnéd, clerkly phrase he could have
shown How the Greek tunic differed from the Roman
LOGIC OF HUDIBRAS.
A curious medallist, I wot, he was,
And boasted many a course of ancient coin ; Well as his wife's he knewen every face,
From Julius Cæsar down to Constantine : For some rare sculpture he would oft ypine,
(As green-sick damosels for husbands do ;) And when obtainéd, with enraptured eyne,
He'd run it o'er and o'er with greedy view, And look, and look again, as he would look it
He was in logic a great critic, Profoundly skilled in analytic ; He could distinguish and divide A hair 'twixt south and southwest side ; On either which he would dispute, Confute, change hands, and still confute : He'd undertake to prove, by force Of argument, a man's no horse ; He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, And that a lord may be an owl, A calf an alderman, a goose a justice, And rooks committee-men and trustees. He'd run in debt by disputation, And pay with ratiocination : All this by syllogism true, in mood and figure he would do.
His rich museum, of dimensions fair,
fraught : Things ancient, curious, value-worth, and rare, From sea and land, from Greece and Rome, were
brought, Which he with mighty sums of gold had bought:
On these all tides with joyous eyes he pored ; And, sooth to say, himself he greater thought,
When he beheld his cabinets thus stored, You 'll tell me, p’rhaps, I 've only lost one
And bid me try another — for the rubber;
DR. WOLCOTT (PETER PINDAK).
KING CANUTE AND HIS NOBLES.
A REMINISCENCE OF
THE LATE ON PLEASANTNESS.
CANUTE was by his nobles taught to fancy,
LET US ALONE.
He had the power Old Ocean to control.
There sot an Old Cove in the dark and damp,
And at everybody as passed that road “Go back, ye waves, you blustering rogues,” | A stick or a stone this Old Cove throwed ; quoth he;
And venever he flung his stick or his stone, “ Touch not your lord and master, Sea ; He'd set up a song of “Let me alone."
For by my power almighty, if you do
“Let me alone, for I loves to shy Vowing to drive Old Ocean to Old Nick,
These bits of things at the passers-by ; Should he even wet the latchet of his shoe.
Let me alone, for I've got your tin,
And lots of other traps snugly in ;
And looked as if he'd drive him from the land ; To grab votever you've got afloat ;
In a veek or so I expects to come
And turn you out of your 'ouse and 'ome;
I'm a quiet Old Cove," says he, with a groan ; Not only made a stand did Mr. Ocean,
“All I axes is, Let me alone." But to his honest waves he made a motion, And bid them give the king a hearty trimming.
Just then came along, on the self-same vay, The orders seemed a deal the waves to tickle,
Another Old Cove, and began for to say, For soon they put his majesty in pickle,
Let you alone! That's comin' it strong! And sat his royalties, like geese, a swimming. You've ben let alone — a darned site too long!
Of all the sarce that ever I heerd ! All hands aloft, with one tremendous roar,
Put down that stick! (You may well look skeered.)
Let Sound did they make him wish himself on shore ; go that stone! If you once show fight, His head and ears most handsomely they
I'll knock you higher than any kite. doused,
You must have a lesson to stop your tricks, Just like a porpoise, with one general shout,
And cure you of shying them stones and sticks; The waves so tumbled the poor king about,
And I'll have my hardware back, and my No anabaptist e'er was half so soused.
And knock your scow into tarnal smash ; At length to land he crawled, a half-drowned thing, And if ever I catches you round my ranch, Indeed more like a crab than like a king, I'll string you up to the nearest branch.
And found his courtiers making rueful faces : The best you can do is to go to bed, But what said Canute to the lords and gentry,
And keep a decent tongue in your head ; Who hailed him from the water, on his entry,
For I reckon, before you and I are done, All trembling for their lives or places ?
You 'll wish you had let honest folks alone."
“My lords and gentlemen, by your advice,
The Old Cove stopped, and t'other Old Cove, I've had with Mr. Sea a pretty bustle ; He sot quite still in his cypress grove, My treatment from my foe not over nice, And he looked at his stick, revolvin' slow, Just made a jest for every shrimp and muscle : Vether 't were safe to shy it, or no;
And he grumbled on, in an injured tone, A pretty trick for one of my dominion !
All that I axed vos, Let me alone." My lords, I thank you for your great opinion.
H. P. H. BROWXEI
THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS.
BY A TAILOR
A BRACE of sinners, for no good, Day hath put on his jacket, and around Were ordered to the Virgin Mary's shrine, His burning bosom buttoned it with stars. Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood, Here will I lay me on the velvet grass,
And in a fair white wig looked wondrous fine. That is like padding to earth's meagre ribs, And hold communion with the things about me.
Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel, Ah me ! how lovely is the golden braid
With something in their shoes much worse than That binds the skirt of night's descending robe !
gravel; The thin leaves, quivering on their silken threads, In short, their toes so gentle to amuse, Do make a music like to rustling satin,
The priest had ordered
into their shoes : As the light breezes smooth their downy nap.
A nostrum famous in old popish times
A sort of apostolic salt,
Which popish parsons for its powers exalt, So like a cushion? Can it be a cabbage ? It is, it is that deeply injured flower,
For keeping souls of sinners sweet,
Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat.
But very different was their speed, I wot:
The other limped, as if he had been shot. And growing portly in his sober garments. One saw the Virgin soon, Peccavi cried,
Had his soul whitewashed all so clever ;
Made fit with saints above to live forever.
In coming back, however, let me say, When these young hands first closed upon a goose ;
He met his brother rogue about half-way, I have a scar upon my thimble finger,
Hobbling, with outstretched arms and bended Which chronicles the hour of young ambition.
knees, My father was a tailor, and his father,
Cursing the souls and bodies of the peas ; And my sire's grandsire, all of them were tailors ; ' His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brow in sweat, They had an ancient goose, it was an heir-loom Deep sympathizing wiih his groaning feet. From some remoter tailor of our race.
“How now," the light-toed, whitewashed pil. It happened I did see it on a time
grim broke, When none was near, and I did deal with it,
“You lazy lubber !” And it did burn me, -0, most fearfully !
“Ods curse it !” cried the other, “'t is no joke ;
Are now as soft as blubber.
“Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear,
No, to the Devil my sinful soul must go,
For damme if I ha' n't lost every toe.
But, brother sinner, pray explain
How 't is that you are not in pain. With all around me ;-- I can hail the flowers
What power hath worked a wonder for your toes That sprig earth's mantle, – and yon quiet bird, Whilst I just like a snail am crawling, That rides the stream, is to me as a brother.
Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling, The vulgar know not all the hidden pockets,
Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my wocs ? Where Nature stows away her loveliness. But this unnatural posture of the legs
“How is 't that you can like a greyhound go, Cramps my extended calves, and I must go
Merry as if that naught had happened, burn ye!" Where I can coil them in their wonted fashion. “Why,” cried the other, grinning, “ you must
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.