The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 77

And here 'tis cool; nay, even cold Without the Snake-House!

The Moon still glistens, and again I think Of Mult.i.tudes who've paid and stared, and yawned and wandered here!

The city muckworm, who Prom peac.o.c.k orient, scarce could tell a c.o.c.k Of hay!

Though be ye sure, a guinea from a guinea-pig He knows, and (as for money) Ever has his squeak for't!

Here, too, paused the wise, sagacious man, Master of probabilities!

He sees the tusk of elephant--the two tusks-- And, with a thought, cuts 'em into cubes-- And with another thought--another--and another- Tells (to himself) how oft, in twenty years Those spotted squares shall come up sixes!

And this in living elephant!

And HER MAJESTY has trod these Walks, Accompanied By PRINCE ALBERT, THE PRINCE OF WALES, THE PRINCESS ROYAL, And The Rest of the Royal Children!--

She saw the Tiger!

Did she think of TIPPOO SAIB'S Tiger's Head?

She saw the Lion!

Thought she of one of her own Arms?

She did NOT see the Unicorn; but (With her gracious habits of condescension) Did she think of him a bit the less?

Thoughts crowd upon me-cry move on!

And now I am here; and whether I will or no, I feel I'm jolly!

The Chameleons are asleep, and, like the Cabinet (Of course i mean the Whigs), Know not, when they rise to-morrow, What color they will wake!-- The baby elephant seems prematurely old: Its infant hide all corrugate with thoughts Of cakes and oranges given it by boys; Alas! in Chancery now, and paralytic!

This is very sad. No more of it!

Ha! ha! here sits the Ape--the many-colored wight!

Thou hast marked him, with nose of scarlet sealing-wax, And so be-colored with prismatic hues, As though he had come from sky to earth-- Sliding and wiping a fresh-painted rainbow!

Hush! I have made a perfect circle!

And at the Snake-House once again I stand!

Such is life!

Eh! Oh! Help! Murder! Dreadful Accident!

To be conceived--Oh, perhaps!

Described--Oh, never!

Keepers are up, and crowd about the box-- The Boa's box--with unconcerned rabbits!

Not so the Boa! Look! Behold!

And where's the Blanket?

In the Boa's inside place! The Monster mark!

How he writhes and wrestles with the wool, as though He had within him rolls and rolls Of choking, suffocating influenza, That lift his eyes from out their sockets!--Of fleecy phlegm That will neither in or out, but mid-way Seem to strangle!

Silence and wonder settle on the crowd; From whom instinctively and breathlessly, Ascend two pregnant questions!

"Will the Boa bolt the blanket?

Will the blanket choke the Boa?"

Such the problem!

And then men mark and deduce Differently

"THE BLANKET IS ENGLAND: THE BOA THE POPE, WILL THE POPE DISGORGE HIS BULL?"

"THE BLANKET'S FREE TRADE: THE CORN-GORGED FOLK IS THE BOA WITH PLENTY STIFLED!"

"THE BLANKET'S REFORM TO GAG THE MOB, AND NAUGHT TO SATISFY!"

But I, a lofty and an abstract man, A creature of a higher element Than ever nourished the wood Ordained for ballot-boxes--I Say nothing; until a Keeper comes to me, and, Hooking his fore-finger in his forehead's lock, Says--"What's your opinion, Sir?

If Boas will bolt Blankets, Boas must: If Snakes will rush upon their end, why not?"

"My friend," said I, "The Blanket and the Boa-- You will conceive me--are a type, yes, just a type, Of this our day.

The dumb and monstrous, tasteless appet.i.te Of stupid Boa, to gobble up for food What needs must scour or suffocate, Not nourish!

My friend, let the wool of that one blanket Warm but the back of one live sheep, And the Boa would bolt the animal entire, And flourish on his meal, trans.m.u.ting flesh and bones, And turning them to healthful nutriment!

Believe this vital truth; The stomach may take down and digest And sweetly, too, a leg of mutton; That would turn at and reject One little ball of worsted!"

On saying this I turned away, Feeling adown the small-o'-the back That gentle warmth that waits upon us, when WE KNOW We have said a good thing; Knowing it better than the vain world Ever can or ever will Reader, I have sung my song!

The BOA AND THE B----, like new-found star, Is mine no longer; but the world's!-- Tell me, how have I sung it? With what note?

With note akin that immortal bard The snow-white Swan of Avon?

Or haply, to that --RARA AVIS, --That has --"Tried WARREN'S?"

THE DILLY AND THE D'S.

[Footnote: Burlesque of Warren's Poem of "The Lily and the Bee,"

published at the home of the great Exhibition of 1851.]

[AN APOLOGUE OF THE OXFORD INSTALLATION.]

BY S--L W--RR--N, Q.S., LL.D., F.R.S PUNCH.

PART FIRST.

Oh, Spirit! Spirit of Literature, Alien to Law!

Oh, Muse! ungracious to thy sterner sister, THEMIS, Whither away?--Away!

Far from my brief--Brief with a fee upon it, Tremendous!

And probably--before my business is concluded-- A REFRESHER--nay, several!!

Whither whirlest thou thy thrall?

Thy willing thrall?

"NOW AND THEN;"

But not just at this moment, If you please, Spirit!

No, let me read and ponder on THE PLEADINGS.

Declaration!

Plea!!

Replication!!!

Rejoinder!!!!

Surrejoinder!!!!!

Reb.u.t.ter!!!!!!

Surreb.u.t.ter!!!!!!!

ETC! ETC!! ETC!!!

It may not be. The Muse-- As ladies often are-- Though lovely, is obstinate, And will have her own way!

And am I not As well as a Q.S., An F.R.S.

And LL.D.?

Ask BLACKWOOD The reason why, and he will tell you, So will the Mayor-- The MAYOR OF HULL!

I obey, Spirit.

Hang my brief--'tis gone!-- To-morrow let my junior cram me in Court.

Whither away? Where am I?

What is it I behold?

In s.p.a.ce, or out of s.p.a.ce? I know not.

In fact I've not the least idea if I'm crazy.

Or sprung--sprung?