Short Poems

Cant birds in every bush,
The blackbird and the thrush,
The chirping nightingale,
The mavis and wagtail,
The linet and the lark,
Oh how they begin, hark, hark.

Gentlemen, pray be favourable to wake a fool dormant amongst ye; I have been kick'd, and kick'd to that purpose; may be, they knock'd at the wrong door, my brains are asleep in the garret. I must appeal from their feet to your hands; there is no way but one; you must clap me, and clap me soundly; d'ye hear, I shall hardly come to myself else .
Oh, since my case, without you, desperate stands,Wake me with the loud music of your hands.

The Storie at large.

The Argument for the discourse of

The disordered life of Bianca Maria, Countesse of
Celaunt, in forme of her complainte, supposed
at the houre of her beheading for
procuring the murder of Ardissino
Valperga, Earle of Massino .

And now the climax of it all,
We yield to a familiar thrall.
Here's Portia, here fair Rosalind,
Gay Beatrice, and Kate unkind;
Olivia whose tender folly
Immortalized a sprig of holly —
Ah! be they sad or sweet, or merry,
All, all are you , dear Ellen Terry!

Creator, of a smile, a sigh —
You gave us Madame Butterfly.

Heredity, the spectre of the past,
Ghost of the present,
Claims its own at last;
Ghosts of the future,
Lo! the child unborn
Yields its fair birthright
To a fate forlorn.

When Dixey in Adonis plays,
All hearts would sing their lightest lays,
For who could frown or who would sigh,
Or feel the world had gone awry —
When, luring us to happy ways,
Our Dixey in Adonis plays!

You, Marie Doro, do for us restore
Poor little Oliver who " wanted more. "
Plaintive, pathetic youth foregone and missed,
Oh! sad anomaly, a child unkissed!