The Book of Humorous Verse Part 114

"If that's the case," I stammer'd out, "Of course you've had eleven."

The maiden answer'd with a pout, "I ain't had more nor seven!"

I wonder'd hugely what she meant, And said, "I'm bad at riddles; But I know where little girls are sent For telling taradiddles.

"Now, if you won't reform," said I, "You'll never go to Heaven."

But all in vain; each time I try, That little idiot makes reply, "I ain't had more nor seven!"

POSTSCRIPT

To borrow Wordsworth's name was wrong, Or slightly misapplied; And so I'd better call my song, "Lines after Ache-Inside."

_Henry S. Leigh._

'TWAS EVER THUS

I never rear'd a young gazelle, (Because, you see, I never tried); But had it known and loved me well, No doubt the creature would have died.

My rich and aged Uncle John Has known me long and loves me well But still persists in living on-- I would he were a young gazelle.

I never loved a tree or flower; But, if I had, I beg to say The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower Would soon have withered it away.

I've dearly loved my Uncle John, From childhood to the present hour, And yet he will go living on-- I would he were a tree or flower!

_Henry S. Leigh._

FOAM AND FANGS

O nymph with the nicest of noses; And finest and fairest of forms; Lips ruddy and ripe as the roses That sway and that surge in the storms; O buoyant and blooming Bacchante, Of fairer than feminine face, Rush, raging as demon of Dante-- To this, my embrace!

The foam and the fangs and the flowers, The raving and ravenous rage Of a poet as pinion'd in powers As a condor confined in a cage!

My heart in a haystack I've hidden, As loving and longing I lie, Kiss open thine eyelids unbidden-- I gaze and I die!

I've wander'd the wild waste of slaughter, I've sniffed up the sepulchre's scent, I've doated on devilry's daughter, And murmur'd much more than I meant; I've paused at Penelope's portal, So strange are the sights that I've seen, And mighty's the mind of the mortal Who knows what I mean.

_Walter Parke._

X

NARRATIVE

LITTLE BILLEE

There were three sailors of Bristol City Who took a boat and went to sea, But first with beef and captain's biscuits, And pickled pork they loaded she.

There was gorging Jack, and guzzling Jimmy, And the youngest he was little Billee.

Now when they'd got as far as the Equator They'd nothing left but one split pea.

Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, "I am extremely hungaree."

To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, "We've nothing left, us must eat we."

Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, "With one another we shouldn't agree!

There's little Bill, he's young and tender, "We're old and tough, so let's eat he."

"O Billy! we're going to kill and eat you, So undo the b.u.t.ton of your chemie."

When Bill received this information, He used his pocket-handkerchie.

"First let me say my catechism, Which my poor mother taught to me."

"Make haste! make haste!" says guzzling Jimmy, While Jack pulled out his snicker-snee.

Then Bill went up to the main-top-gallant-mast, And down he fell on his bended knee, He scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandment When up he jumps--"There's land I see!"

"Jerusalem and Madagascar, And North and South Amerikee, There's the British flag a-riding at anchor, With Sir Admiral Napier, K.C.B."

So when they got aboard of the Admiral's, He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee, But as for little Bill, he made him The captain of a Seventy-three.

_W. M. Thackeray._

THE CRYSTAL PALACE

With ganial foire Thransfuse me loyre, Ye sacred nymphs of Pindus, The whoile I sing That wondthrous thing, The Palace made o' windows!

Say, Paxton, truth, Thou wondthrous youth, What sthroke of art celistial, What power was lint You to invint This combineetion cristial.

O would before That Thomas Moore, Likewoise the late Lord Boyron, Thim aigles sthrong Of G.o.dlike song, Cast oi on that cast oiron!

And saw thim walls, And glittering halls, Thim rising slendther columns, Which I, poor pote, Could not denote, No, not in twinty vollums.

My Muse's words Is like the bird's That roosts beneath the panes there; Her wings she spoils 'Gainst them bright toiles, And cracks her silly brains there.

This Palace tall, This Cristial Hall, Which Imperors might covet, Stands in High Park Like Noah's Ark, A rainbow bint above it.