Or when up the river, almost sure to diskiver that beats all to shiver, the sweet Guadalquiver;

Or seeing death-fetches if the toothache one catches, making picturesque sketches of the houses of wretches;

Or with loud double knocks brings from Eber's a box to see "Box and Cox," or pilfer one's locks to mark their new stocks;

Or whilst you are singing a love song so stinging, they vow they'll be swinging, or in Serpentine springing, unless to them clinging, you'll go wedding-ringing, and for life mend their linen.

Now the gentlemen sure I've no wish to disparage,
But this is the way they go on before marriage.

II! then nothing pleases 'em but everything teases 'em,

Then they're grumbling and snarling-you're a "fool," not a "darling;"

Though they're rich as the Ingies, they're the stingiest

of stingies;

And what is so funny, they've never got money,
Only ask 'em for any, and they haven't a penny;
But what passes all bounds, on themselves they'll spend
pounds-

Give five guineas for lunch off real turtle and punch; Each week a noise brings about, when they pitch all the things about;

Now bowing in mockery, now smashing the crockery;
Scolding and swearing, their bald heads tearing;
Storming and raging past all assuaging.
Heaven preserve us! it makes one so nervous,

To hear the door slam to, to be called simple ma'am too;
(I wonder if Adam called Mrs. Eve Madam;)
As a matter of course they'll have a divorce;

Or "my Lord Duke" intends to send you home to your friends

And allow ten pounds a quarter for yourself and your daughter;

Though you strive with all your might you can do nothing right;

While the maids-the old song-can do nothing wrong. "Every shirt wants a button!" Every day they've cold mutton;

They're always a flurrying one, or else they're hurrying one, or else they're worrying one;

Threatening to smother your dear sainted mother or kick your big brother;

After all your fine doings, your strugglings and stewings-why "the house is in ruins!"

Then the wine goes like winking, and they cannot help thinking you've taken to drinking;

They're perpetually rows keeping 'cause out of the housekeeping they're in bonnets their spouse keeping;

So when they've been meated, if with pies they are not treated, they vow they are cheated!

Then against Ascot Races and all such sweet places they set their old faces;

And they'll never leave town, nor to Broadstairs go down, though with b le you are quite brown;

For their wife they unwilling are, after billing and cooing her, to stand a cap from the milliner-e'en a paltry twelve shillinger;

And it gives them the vapors to witness the capers of these bowers and scrapers, the young linen drapers;

Then to add to your woes, they say nobody knows how the money all goes, but they pay through the nose for the dear children's clothes;

Though you strive and endeavor, they're so mightily clever, that please them you'll never, till you leave them forever-yes! the hundredth time sever-"for ever-AND EVER!"

Now the gentlemen sure I've no wish to disparage,
But this is the way they go on after marriage.

HEN we two parted

WH

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss:

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this!-Lord Byron.

YOUNG

UNG Rory O'Moore courted Kathleen Bawn;
He was bold as the hawk, and she soft as the
dawn;

He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,
And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.

[about;

"Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry.
Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye;
"With your tricks, I don't know, in throth, what I'm
Faith you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out."

"Och! jewel," says Rory, "that same is the way
You've thrated my heart for this many a day;
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure.
For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.

"Indeed then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like,
For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike;
The ground that I walk on he loves I'll be bound”—
"Faith!" says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the
ground."

"Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go; Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!' "Och! says Rory, "that same I'm delighted to hear, For dhrames always go by conthraries, my dear.

"Och! jewel, keep drhaming that same till you die, And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie!

And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure? Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More

"Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've tazed me enough;

Sure, I've thrashed, for your sake, Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff;

And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste,

So I think, after that, I may talk to the praste."

Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck,
So soft and so white, without freckle or speck;
And he looked in her eyes, that were beaming with
light,

And he kissed her sweet lips- don't you think he was right?

"Now, Rory, lave off, sir-you'll hug me no more,That's eight times to-day you have kissed me before." "Then here goes another," says he "to make sure, For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More. -Samuel Lover.

Or when up the river, almost sure to diskiver that beats all to shiver, the sweet Guadalquiver;

Or seeing death-fetches if the toothache one catches, making picturesque sketches of the houses of wretches;

Or with loud double knocks brings from Eber's a box to see "Box and Cox," or pilfer one's locks to mark their new stocks;

Or whilst you are singing a love song so stinging, they vow they'll be swinging, or in Serpentine springing, unless to them clinging, you'll go wedding-ringing, and for life mend their linen.

Now the gentlemen sure I've no wish to disparage,
But this is the way they go on before marriage.

II! then nothing pleases 'em but everything teases 'em,

Then they're grumbling and snarling-you're a "fool," not a "darling;"

Though they're rich as the Ingies, they're the stingiest

of stingies;

And what is so funny, they've never got money,
Only ask 'em for any, and they haven't a penny;
But what passes all bounds, on themselves they'll spend
pounds-

Give five guineas for lunch off real turtle and punch; Each week a noise brings about, when they pitch all the things about;

Now bowing in mockery, now smashing the crockery;
Scolding and swearing, their bald heads tearing;
Storming and raging past all assuaging.
Heaven preserve us! it makes one so nervous,

To hear the door slam to, to be called simple ma'am too;
(I wonder if Adam called Mrs. Eve Madam;)
As a matter of course they'll have a divorce;

Or "my Lord Duke" intends to send you home to your friends

And allow ten pounds a quarter for yourself and your daughter;

Though you strive with all your might you can do nothing right;

While the maids-the old song-can do nothing wrong. "Every shirt wants a button!" Every day they've cold mutton;

They're always a flurrying one, or else they're hurrying one, or else they're worrying one;

Threatening to smother your dear sainted mother or kick your big brother;

After all your fine doings, your strugglings and stewings-why "the house is in ruins!"

Then the wine goes like winking, and they cannot help thinking you've taken to drinking;

They're perpetually rows keeping 'cause out of the housekeeping they're in bonnets their spouse keeping;

So when they've been meated, if with pies they are not treated, they vow they are cheated!

Then against Ascot Races and all such sweet places they set their old faces;

And they'll never leave town, nor to Broadstairs go down, though with b le you are quite brown;

For their wife they unwilling are, after billing and cooing her, to stand a cap from the milliner-e'en a paltry twelve shillinger;

And it gives them the vapors to witness the capers of these bowers and scrapers, the young linen drapers;

Then to add to your woes, they say nobody knows how the money all goes, but they pay through the nose for the dear children's clothes;

Though you strive and endeavor, they're so mightily clever, that please them you'll never, till you leave them forever-yes! the hundredth time sever- -"for

ever-AND EVER!"

Now the gentlemen sure I've no wish to disparage, But this is the way they go on after marriage.

W

AKE now, my love, awake; for it is time; The rosy morn long since left Tithon's bed, All ready to her silver coach to climb;

And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head.
Hark! now the cheerful birds do chant their lays,
And carol of Love's praise.

The merry lark her matins sings aloft;

The thrush replies; the mavis descant plays;
The ouzel shrills; the ruddock warbles soft;
So goodly all agree with sweet consent,
To this day's merriment.

Ah! my dear love, why do you sleep thus long,
When meeter were that thou should now awake,
T' await the coming of your joyous mate,
And hearken to the birds' love-learned song,
The dewy leaves among!

For they of joy and pleasance to you sing,

That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring.

My love is now awake out of her dreams,

And her fair eyes like stars that dimmed were

With darksome cloud, now show their goodly beams,

More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear.
Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight,
Help quickly her to dight;

But first come, ye fair hours, which were begot,

In Jove's sweet paradise, of Day and Night;
Which do the seasons of the year allot,
And all that ever in this world is fair,

Do make and still repair;

And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian Queen
The which do still adorn her beautie's pride,

Help to adorn my beautifulest bride:

And, as ye her array, still throw between

Some graces to be seen;

And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,

The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo ring.

Now is my love all ready forth to come
Let all the virgins therefore well await.

And ye, fresh boys, that tend upon her groom,
Prepare yourselves, for he is coming straight.
Set all your things in seemly good array,
Fit for so joyful day,—

The joyful'st day that ever sun did see
Fair Sun! show forth thy favorable ray,
And let thy lifeful heat not fervent be,
For fear of burning her sunshiny face.

Lo! where she comes along with portly pace,
Like Phoebe, from her chamber of the east,
Arising forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.
So well it her beseems, that ye would ween
Some angel she had been.

Her long, loose yellow locks, like golden wire,
Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween,
Do like a golden mantle her attire ;

And, being crowned with a garland green,
Seem like some maiden queen.
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixed are;
Nor dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,
So far from being proud.

Natheless do ye still loud her praises sing
That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see
So fair a creature in your town before?

So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adorned with beauty's grace, and virtue's store?
Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright,
Her forehead ivory white,

Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath ruddied,
Her lips like cherries charming men to bite,
Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded.