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And he was a trifle past seventy-three:
Now what she could see

Is a puzzle to me,
In a prophet of seventy - seventy-three!

Of all their acquaintances bidden (or bad)
With their loud high jinks

And underbred winks,
None thought they'd a family have - but they had;

A dear little lad
Who drove 'em half mad,

For he turned out a horribly fast little cad.
For when he was born he astonished all by,

With their "Law, dear me!"
"Did ever you see?"

He'd a pipe in his mouth and a glass in his eye,
A hat all awry -

An octagon tie -
And a miniature - miniature glass in his eye.

He grumbled at wearing a frock and a cap,
With his "Oh, dear, oh!"

And his "Hang it! 'oo know!"
And he turned up his nose at his excellent pap -

"My friends, it's a tap
Dat is not worf a rap."

(Now this was remarkably excellent pap.)
He'd chuck his nurse under the chin, and he'd say,

With his "Fal, lal, lal" -
"'Oo doosed fine gal!"

This shocking precocity drove 'em away:
"A month from to-day

Is as long as I'll stay -
Then I'd wish, if you please, for to toddle away."

His father, a simple old gentleman, he
With nursery rhyme

And "Once on a time,"
Would tell him the story of "Little Bo-P,"

"So pretty was she,
So pretty and wee,

As pretty, as pretty, as pretty could be."
But the babe, with a dig that would startle an ox,

With his "C'ck! Oh, my! -
Go along wiz 'oo, fie!"

Would exclaim, "I'm afraid 'oo a socking ole fox."
Now a father it shocks,

And it whitens his locks,
When his little babe calls him a shocking old fox.

The name of his father he'd couple and pair
(With his ill-bred laugh,

And insolent chaff)
With those of the nursery heroines rare -

Virginia the Fair,
Or Good Goldenhair,

Till the nuisance was more than a prophet could bear.
"There's Jill and White Cat" (said the bold little brat,

With his loud, "Ha, ha!")
"'Oo sly ickle Pa!

Wiz 'oo Beauty, Bo-Peep, and 'oo Mrs. Jack Sprat!
I've noticed 'oo pat

MY pretty White Cat -
I sink dear mamma ought to know about dat!"

He early determined to marry and wive,
For better or worse

With his elderly nurse -
Which the poor little boy didn't live to contrive:

His hearth didn't thrive -
No longer alive,

He died an enfeebled old dotard at five!
MORAL.

Now, elderly men of the bachelor crew,
With wrinkled hose

And spectacled nose,
Don't marry at all - you may take it as true

If ever you do
The step you will rue,

For your babes will be elderly - elderly too.
Ballad: To Phoebe

"Gentle, modest little flower,
Sweet epitome of May,

Love me but for half an hour,
Love me, love me, little fay."

Sentences so fiercely flaming
In your tiny shell-like ear,

I should always be exclaiming
If I loved you, PHOEBE dear.

"Smiles that thrill from any distance
Shed upon me while I sing!

Please ecstaticize existence,
Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!"

Words like these, outpouring sadly
You'd perpetually hear,

If I loved you fondly, madly; -
But I do not, PHOEBE dear.

Ballad: Baines Carew, Gentleman
Of all the good attorneys who

Have placed their names upon the roll,
But few could equal BAINES CAREW

For tender-heartedness and soul.
Whene'er he heard a tale of woe

From client A or client B,
His grief would overcome him so

He'd scarce have strength to take his fee.
It laid him up for many days,

When duty led him to distrain,
And serving writs, although it pays,

Gave him excruciating pain.
He made out costs, distrained for rent,

Foreclosed and sued, with moistened eye -
No bill of costs could represent

The value of such sympathy.
No charges can approximate

The worth of sympathy with woe; -
Although I think I ought to state

He did his best to make them so.
Of all the many clients who

Had mustered round his legal flag,
No single client of the crew

Was half so dear as CAPTAIN BAGG.
Now, CAPTAIN BAGG had bowed him to

A heavy matrimonial yoke -
His wifey had of faults a few -

She never could resist a joke.
Her chaff at first he meekly bore,

Till unendurable it grew.
"To stop this persecution sore

I will consult my friend CAREW.
"And when CAREW'S advice I've got,

Divorce A MENSA I shall try."
(A legal separation - not

A VINCULO CONJUGII.)
"Oh, BAINES CAREW, my woe I've kept

A secret hitherto, you know;" -
(And BAINES CAREW, ESQUIRE, he wept

To hear that BAGG HAD any woe.)
"My case, indeed, is passing sad.

My wife - whom I considered true -
With brutal conduct drives me mad."

"I am appalled," said BAINES CAREW.
"What! sound the matrimonial knell

Of worthy people such as these!
Why was I an attorney? Well -

Go on to the SAEVITIA, please."
"Domestic bliss has proved my bane, -

A harder case you never heard,
My wife (in other matters sane)

Pretends that I'm a Dicky bird!
"She makes me sing, 'Too-whit, too-wee!'

And stand upon a rounded stick,
And always introduces me

To every one as 'Pretty Dick'!"
"Oh, dear," said weeping BAINES CAREW,

"This is the direst case I know."
"I'm grieved," said BAGG, "at paining you -

"To COBB and POLTHERTHWAITE I'll go -
"To COBB'S cold, calculating ear,

My gruesome sorrows I'll impart" -
"No; stop," said BAINES, "I'll dry my tear,

And steel my sympathetic heart."
"She makes me perch upon a tree,

Rewarding me with 'Sweety - nice!'
And threatens to exhibit me

With four or five performing mice."
"Restrain my tears I wish I could"

(Said BAINES), "I don't know what to do."
Said CAPTAIN BAGG, "You're very good."

"Oh, not at all," said BAINES CAREW.
"She makes me fire a gun," said BAGG;

"And, at a preconcerted word,
Climb up a ladder with a flag,

Like any street performing bird.
"She places sugar in my way -

In public places calls me 'Sweet!'
She gives me groundsel every day,

And hard canary-seed to eat."
"Oh, woe! oh, sad! oh, dire to tell!"

(Said BAINES). "Be good enough to stop."
And senseless on the floor he fell,

With unpremeditated flop!
Said CAPTAIN BAGG, "Well, really I

Am grieved to think it pains you so.
I thank you for your sympathy;

But, hang it! - come - I say, you know!"
But BAINES lay flat upon the floor,

Convulsed with sympathetic sob; -
The Captain toddled off next door,

And gave the case to MR. COBB.
Ballad: Thomas Winterbottom Hance

In all the towns and cities fair
On Merry England's broad expanse,

No swordsman ever could compare
With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE.

The dauntless lad could fairly hew
A silkenhandkerchief in twain,

Divide a leg of mutton too -
And this without unwholesome strain.

On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick,
His sabre sometimes he'd employ -

No bar of lead, however thick,
Had terrors for the stalwart boy.

At Dover daily he'd prepare
To hew and slash, behind, before -

Which aggravated MONSIEUR PIERRE,


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