The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 98

But with the others, what to do Is more than I can tell--can you?"

His friend replied--"'Tis hard to say, But yet I think there is a way.

The married couple, thank their stars And half the 'others' take the cars, The other half you put on board An Erie steamboat--take my word, They'll never trouble you again!"

The dramatist resumed his pen.

FEMININE ARITHMETIC.

LAURA.

On me he shall ne'er put a ring, So, mamma, 'tis in vain to take trouble-- For I was but eighteen in spring, While his age exactly is double.

MAMMA

He's but in his thirty-sixth year, Tall, handsome, good-natured and witty, And should you refuse him, my dear, May you die an old maid without pity!

LAURA

His figure, I grant you, will pa.s.s, And at present he's young enough plenty; But when I am sixty, alas!

Will not he be a hundred and twenty?

THE MUSHROOM HUNT.

In early days, ere Common Sense And Genius had in anger parted, They made to friendship some pretense, Though each, Heaven knows! diversely hearted.

To hunt for mushrooms once they went, Through nibbled sheepwalks straying onward, Sense with his dull eyes earthward bent, While Genius shot his glances sunward!

Away they go! On roll the hours, And toward the west the day-G.o.d edges; See! Genius holds a wreath of flowers, Fresh culled from all the neighboring hedges!

Alas! ere eve their bright hues flit, While Common Sense (whom I so doat on!) Thanked G.o.d "that he had little wit,"

And drank his ketchup with his mutton.

JUPITER AMANS.

DEDICATED TO VICTOR HUGO.

LONDON LEADER

"Le pet.i.t" call not him who by one act Has turned old fable into modern fact Nap Louis courted Europe: Europe shied: Th' imperial purple was too newly dyed.

"I'll have her though," thought he, "by rape or rapine; Jove nods sometimes, but catch a Nap a napping!

And now I think of Jove, 't was Jove's own fix, And so I'll borrow one of Jove's own tricks: Old itching Palm I'll tickle with a joke, And he shall lend me England's decent cloak."

'Twas said and done, and his success was full; He won Europa with the guise of Bull!

THE ORATOR'S EPITAPH.

LORD BROUGHAM.

"Here, reader, turn your weeping eyes, My fate a useful moral teaches; The hole in which my body lies Would not contain one-half my speeches."

ECCENTRIC AND NONDESCRIPT.

THE JOVIAL PRIEST'S CONFESSION.

TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF WALTER DE MAPES, TIME OF HENRY II.

LEIGH HUNT.

I devise to end my days--in a tavern drinking, May some Christian hold for me--the gla.s.s when I am shrinking.

That the cherubim may cry--when they see me sinking, G.o.d be merciful to a soul--of this gentleman's way of thinking.

A gla.s.s of wine amazingly--enlighteneth one's intervals; 'Tis wings bedewed with nectar--that fly up to supernals; Bottles cracked in taverns--have much the sweeter kernels, Than the sups allowed to us--in the college journals.

Every one by nature hath--a mold which he was cast in; I happen to be one of those--who never could write fasting; By a single little boy--I should be surpa.s.s'd in Writing so: I'd just as lief--be buried; tomb'd and gra.s.s'd in.

Every one by nature hath--a gift too, a dotation: I, when I make verses--do get the inspiration Of the very best of wine--that comes into the nation: It maketh sermons to astound--for edification.

Just as liquor floeth good--floweth forth my lay so; But I must moreover eat--or I could not say so; Naught it availeth inwardly--should I write all day so; But with G.o.d's grace after meat--I beat Ovidius Naso.

Neither is there given to me--prophetic animation, Unless when I have eat and drank--yea, ev'n to saturation, Then in my upper story--hath Bacchus domination And Phoebus rushes into me, and beggareth all relation.

TONIS AD RESTO MARE.

ANONYMOUS

AIR--"Oh, Mary, heave a sigh for me."

O MARE aeva si forme; Forme ure tonitru; Iambic.u.m as amandum, Olet Hymen promptu; Mihi is vetas an ne se, As humano erebi; Olet mec.u.m marito te, Or eta beta pi.

Alas, plano more meretrix, Mi ardor vel uno; Inferiam ure artis base, Tolerat me urebo.

Ah me ve ara silicet, Vi laudu vimin thus?

Hiatu as arandum s.e.x-- Illuc Ionicus.

Heu sed heu vix en imago, My missis mare sta; O cantu redit in mihi Hibernas arida?

A veri vafer heri si, Mihi resolves indu: Totius olet Hymen c.u.m-- Accepta tonitru.

DIC.

DEAN SWIFT.

Dic, heris agro at, an da quar to fine ale, Fora ringat ure nos, an da stringat ure tale.

[Footnote: d.i.c.k, here is a groat, a quart o' fine ale.

For a ring at your nose, and a string at your tail.]