English

A plague of those musty old lubbers,
Who tell us to fast and to think,
And patient fail in with life's rubbers,
With nothing but water to drink.

A can of good stuff! had they twigg'd it,
'Twould have set them for pleasure agog,
And, spight of the rules
Of the schools,
The old fools
Would have all of 'em swigg'd it,

Sir Edward Burne-Jones
Was usually Mistah Bones
And imitated a German taking soup
In the Pre-Raphaelite Minstrel Troupe.

I do not extenuate Bunyan's
Intemperate use of onions,
But if I knew a wicked ogress
I would lend her The Pilgrim's Progress .

The lady knew that she was snubbed, and instant left the court,
And with her Baedeker in hand she found the nearest port.
O captain bold,—the lady said,—sail quick to Afric's sand,
And I will live where Evan Smith and lions paw the sand.
With a lion's whelp for her Lady-Help she led a happy life,
And thanked the stars and the planet Mars, she was not De Lorge's wife.

The whelp grew big until he was of full Van-Amburg size,
And any showman in the world would say he was a prize.
One day he trod on a rusty thorn, and drove it in so hard

When Macaulay found Brougham
Sitting on a tomb,
He told his anxious friend
He was meditating on his latter end.

It only irritated Brahms
To tickle him under the arms.
What really helped him to compose
Was to be stroked on the nose.

I

O the flower of the tree is the flower for me,
That life out of life, high-hanging and free,
By the finger of God and the south wind's fan
Drawn from the broad bough, as Eve from Man!
From the rank red earth it never upgrew:
It was woo'd from the bark in the glistening blue.

II

Hail, blossoms green 'mid the lines unseen,
That charm the bees to your honeyed screen,
As like to the green trees that gave you birth
As true tongue's kindness to true heart's worth!
We see you not; but, we scarce know why,

To the Lover :

The scene now clos'd, and Eustace eas'd, at heart ,
Pardon six lines, in pity of poor Smart :
One play will bear two morals ; and I'll show,
There's something for our sex, e'en in a beau .

I HAVE , a spark , of captain Smart's fine airs;
His front white-border'd , with a fringe of hairs ,
His new-print Hat , like Elziver in small
Tips a huge round O face , in Capital !
Short , and hid, harmless , hangs his sword declin'd,

Jack Ratlin was the ablest sea-man,
None like him could hand, reef, and steer,
No dangerous toil but he'd encounter,
With skill, and in contempt of fear:

In fight a lion — the batt'e ended,
Meek as a bleating lamb he'd prove;
Thus Jack had manners, courage, merit,
Yet did he sigh, and all for love.

II.

The song, the jest, the flowing liquor,
For none of these had Jack regard;
He, while his messinates were carousing,
High sitting on the pendant yard,

Who to my wounds a balm advises,
But little knows what I endure;
The patient's pain to torture rises
When medicine's try'd, and sails to cure.

What can the wisest counsel teach me,
But sad remembrance of my grief?
Alas! your kindness cannot reach me,
It gives but words — I ask relies.