Said the chop from the chump, "Unless there's a change in the weather, Lovely steak, I agree, In a mess we shall be, And be kitchen-stuff made both together.' "Oh!" then, with a sigh, Midst the sound, "What d'ye buy !" Said the steak to the chop with emotion, "A long or short six, In some save-all to fix, Will at last be our doom, I've a notion !" SAID A FOX TO A GOOSE, SAID a fox to a goose, (From a farm-house let loose) Said the goose (with a stare), And to see you indeed is a pleasure! That your visit to-day, Is really delight beyond measure! " Says the fox, "Then, we'll walk, Said the fox, "Let him be, And hear both the goldfinch and linnet! You can, goosy, depend, And "—snapt off her head in a minute. :0: SONG. (By a Person of Quality. Written in the year 1733.) FLUTTERING spread thy purple pinions, Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart : I, a slave in thy dominions; Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, Arm'd in adamantine chains, Lead me to the crystal mirrors, Melancholy smooth Meander, On thy margin lovers wander, This mellifluous piece of nonsense was published in the Miscellanies of Alexander Pope, but it was also inserted amongst the poems of Dean Swift, where it was entitled A Love Song in Modern Taste. It ridiculed an affected style of poetry then much in vogue, and which continued in fashion for many years, culminating in the writings of a clique, known as the Della Cruscans, which was originated by a few English, of both sexes, assembled at Florence in 1785. They were named Della Cruscans because their leader, one Robert Merry, signed his trashy effusions as a member of the Acadamy Della Crusca at Florence. Merry wrote a tragedy, entitled Lorenzo, which was more successful than many comedies, for it made the audience laugh immoderately, besides innumerable poems long since forgotten. By a deliberate system of mutual puffing the Della Cruscans forced their absurd productions upen the public, and in the early years of the present century nearly every journal contained some of their poems, published over assumed names, such as Laura Maria, Edwin, Anna Matilda, &c. These were afterwards gathered into volumes, with a few poems by really able wiiters such as M. G. Lewis, Robert Southey, and S. T. Coleridge, and published by subscription. There is no krowing how long this twaddle might have held the public taste had not William Gifford (Editor of the Quarterly Review) produced his famous satires The Baviad, and The Maeviad, in which he mercilessly exposed the inflated nonsense written by the Della Cruscans; and by well chosen extracts from their poems turned the laugh so completely against them that they slunk back into their native obscurity. "Gifford's satires are still read with pleasure, and the extracts given in the notes show that Pope's nonsense verses were excelled by the would-be-serious Della Cruscans; as for example "Slighted love the soul subduing Soothing those fond dreams of pleasure Anxious fear is charm'd to rest. Fearless o'er the whiten'd billows, When the brothers Smith projected their famous Rejected Addresses they included an imitation of the Della Cruscan poetry, entitled Drury's Dirge, of which Lord Jeffery wrote "The verses are very smooth and very nonsensical-as was intended; but they are not so good as Swift's celebrated song by a Person of Quality; and are so exactly in the same measure, and on the same plan, that it is impossible to avoid making the comparison." LOVELY maid, with rapture swelling, As the rose, with fragrance weeping, Think, ah! think, at times on me! There when echo's voice consoling, But how vain is glittering sadness! Hark, I hear distraction's knell ! From The Comic Latin Grammar by Paul Prendergast (Percival Leigh), illustrated by John Leech. David Bogue. :0: London, LORD LOVEL. LORD LOVEL he stood at his castle gate, When up came Lady Nancy Bell, To wish her lover good speed, speed, speed, "Where are you going, Lord Lovel? (she said), "I'm going, my Lady Nancy Bell, Strange countries for to see, see, see, Strange countries for to see. "When will you be back, Lord Lovel? (said she) I'll retura to my Lady Nancy-cy-cy, I'll return to my Lady Nancy." But he had not been gone a year and a day, So he rode, and he rode on his milk-white horse, "Oh, what is the matter?" Lord Lovel he said, So he ordered the grave to be opened wide, And there he kissed her clay-cold lips, Lady Nancy she died as it might be to-day, Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow; Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief, Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras' churchyard, It grew and it grew to the church steeple top, So there it entwin'd in a true lover's knot, FRAGMENT OF A BRADLAUGHABLE BALLAD. He strode and he strode till he reached the landing, He tackled the Sergeant and his deputee, When in came a lot of Constabularee, Mister Bradlaugh he collared a Bobby-'obby- obby They fought and they tussled away down the stairs, And poor Daddy Longlegs, who won't say his prayers, Who profits by this? The reply's not remote, "I am not drunk, Lady Shane," he said: "And so late it cannot be; The clock struck one as I enter-ed I heard it two times or three ; It must be the salmon on which I fed "Go tell your tale, Lord Lovell," she said: "To the maritime cavalree, To your grandam of the hoary head The door is not used to be open-ed THE TUNEFUL LIAR, "Quips." (Liverpool), March 18, 1887. JOE MUGGINS AND SALLY BELL. JOE Muggins he stood at his own cottage door, When up came his ladylove, Sally Bell, Oh! where are you going, Joe Muggins, she said, I'm going, my lass, to Smith'll markèt, When will you come back, Joe Muggins? she said, In an hour or two, or three at the most, Now he had not been gone an hour or more, (Three coarse verses omitted.) LORD FADDLE'S ELECTION FOR BOSH. LORD Fitz-Faddle he lived in Bel-gra-vi-a, An honorable M. P. to be. Lord Fitz-Faddle he asked what sum in hard "posh," It required, to get in for the City of Bosh, And what the expenses would be. Said "W. B," a "safe, good man and true," Lord Fitz he declared, with a smile, to his friend, But what was quite, &c. Lord Fitz he went down, found a deal of distress And, being a kind man, why, he couldn't do less, Then he ordered hotels to be open-ed wide, The crocodile tears to roll down. The Committee declare that corruption prevails, But Lord Fitz didn't know it-oh, no! It was all through his Agents, the "Flukers" & "Frails," Lord Fitz gets elected, as it might be to-day, So Lord Fitz in Bel-gra-vi-a biteth his nails, That there'll be more elections like Bosh. 0: THE BROWN JUG. (From the Opera of the "Poor Soldier," by J. O'KEEFFE. The song itself is attributed to the Rev. FRANCIS FAWKES, who imitated it from the Latin of Hieronymus Amaltheus.) DEAR Tom, this brown jug that now foams with mild ale (Out of which I now drink to sweet Nan of the vale), Was once Toby Filpot, a thirsty old soul As e'er crack'd a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl. In boozing about 'twas his pride to excel, And among jolly topers he bore off the bell. It chanced, as in dog-days he sat at his ease His body, when long in the ground it had lain, And with part of fat Toby he form'd this brown jug, 3 In a ward with one's pals, not locked up in a cell, To an old hand like me it's a fam-ly-hotel. In the day-rooms the cuffins we queer at our ease, But soon in his eye nothing green will remain, (The following postscript seems to have been added when the Warder had passed.) For them coves in Guildhall and that blessed LORD MAYOR, Prigs on their four bones should chop whiners,11 I swear : That long over Newgit their Worships may rule, As the High-toby, mob, crack and screeve1 model school; For if Guv'ment was here, not the Alderman's Bench, Newgit soon 'ud be bad as "the Pent" or "the Tench."10 Note. We subjoin a Glossary of MR, CRACKSMAN'S lingo : FANCY PORTRAIT OF A BISHOP FILL-POTS.* DEAR Tom, this black pot, which now foams with vile gall, Out of which you now see lies abundantly fall, Was once Toby Phillpots, as venal a soul As e'er stretched his conscience t'wards interest's goal, In telling a lie 'twas his praise to excel, And amongst Major Longbows he bore off the bell. It chanced, as in London he sat at his ease, In want of preferment, as hot as you please, In the Lords, as his mouth he could never keep shut, Yes, 'gainst Catholics long time he had laboured for gain, When the Duke found him out in incognito snug, Figaro in London. July 14, 1832. THE WHITE Mug. "DEAR Jack, this white mug that with Guinness I fill, And drink to the health of sweet Nan of the Hill, Was once Tommy Tosspot's, as jovial a sot, As e'er drew a spigot, or drain'd a full pot. In drinking, all round 'twas his joy to surpass, And with all merry tipplers he swigg'd of his glass." "One morning in summer, while seated so snug, And said, Honest Thomas, come take your last bier ;' W. M. THACKERAY. * Henry Phillpotts, Bishop of Exeter, was a notorions controversialist and pamphleteer. He became very unpopular in his diocese owing to his stern and bigoted conduct. He was strongly opposed to the emancipation of the Roman Catholics. THE GIPSY KING. 'Tis I am the Gipsy King, And where is the king like me? No troubles my dignities bring; No other is half so free. In my kingdom there is but one table, A king, and a true one, am I ; No courtiers nor ministers here! I see everything with my own eye, Among brothers and equals I rule; This song is founded upon a number of earlier songs recounting the supposed joys of a gipsy life, a few of which may be enumerated for comparison. The first is taken from an old play, entitled "More Dissemblers besides Women," printed in 1657 Song of the Gipsies. My dells, my dells most dear; We take no care for candle rents, If one have money, he disburses ; We'll steal garters, hose, or shoes, Come live with us, come live with us. |