THE KITCHEN CLOCK

KNITTING is the maid o' the kitchen, Milly, Doing nothing sits the chore boy, Billy:

"Seconds reckoned,

Seconds reckoned;

Every minute,

Sixty in it.

Milly, Billy,

Billy, Milly,

Tick-tock, tock-tick,
Nick-knock, knock-nick,

Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"

Goes the kitchen clock.

Closer to the fire is rosy Milly,

Every whit as close and cosy, Billy:

"Time's a-flying,

Worth your trying;

Pretty Milly—

Kiss her, Billy!

Milly, Billy

Billy, Milly,

Tick-tock, tock-tick,

Now-now, quick-quick!

Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"

Goes the kitchen clock.

Something's happened, very red is Milly,
Billy boy is looking very silly;

"Pretty misses,

Plenty kisses;

Make it twenty,

Take a plenty.

Billy, Milly,

Milly, Billy,

Right-left, left-right,

That's right, all right,

Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"

Goes the kitchen clock.

Lady Mine

Weeks gone, still they're sitting, Milly, Billy;
O, the winter winds are wondrous chilly!

66 Winter weather,

Close together;

Wouldn't tarry,

Better marry.

Milly, Billy,

Billy, Milly,

Two-one, one-two,

Don't wait, 'twon't do,

Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"-
Goes the kitchen clock.

Winters two have gone, and where is Milly? Spring has come again, and where is Billy? "Give me credit,

For I did it;

Treat me kindly,

Mind you wind me.

Mister Billy,

Mistress Milly,

My-0, 0-my,

By-by, by-by,

Nickety-knock, cradle rock,”

Goes the kitchen clock.

221

John Vance Cheney.

LADY MINE

LADY mine, most fair thou art

With youth's gold and white and red;

'Tis a pity that thy heart

Is so much harder than thy head.

This has stayed my kisses oft,

This from all thy charms debarr'd,

That thy head is strangely soft,

While thy heart is strangely hard.

Nothing had kept us apart

I had loved thee, I had wed-
Hadst thou had a softer heart
Or a harder head.

But I think I'll bear Love's smart
Till the wound has healed and fled,
Or thy head is like thy heart,

Or thy heart is like thy head.

H. E. Clarke.

BALLADE OF THE GOLFER IN LOVE

IN the "foursome some would fain
Find nepenthe for their woe;
Following through shine or rain

Where the "greens" like satin show;
But I vote such sport as "slow".
Find it rather glum and gruesome;
With a little maid I know

I would play a quiet "twosome"!

In the "threesome," some maintain,
Lies excitement's gayest glow-
Strife that mounts unto the brain
Like the sparkling Veuve Clicquot;
My opinion? Nay, not so!
Noon or eve or morning dewsome
With a little maid I know
I would play a quiet "twosome"!

Bays of glory some would gain
With grim "Bogey" for their foe;

(He's a bogey who's not slain

Save one smite with canny blow!) Yet I hold this tame, and though My refrain seems trite, 'tis truesome; With a little maid I know

I would play a quiet "twosome"!

Ballade of Forgotten Loves

ENVOY

Comrades all who golfing go, Happiness-if you would view someWith a little maid you know,

Haste and play a quiet "twosome"!

223

Clinton Scollard.

BALLADE OF FORGOTTEN LOVES

SOME poets sing of sweethearts dead,

Some sing of true loves far away;
Some sing of those that others wed,
And some of idols turned to clay.
I sing a pensive roundelay
To sweethearts of a doubtful lot,
The passions vanished in a day-
The little loves that I've forgot.

For, as the happy years have sped,

And golden dreams have changed to gray,
How oft the flame of love was fed

By glance, or smile, from Maud or May,
When wayward Cupid was at play;
Mere fancies, formed of who knows what,
But still my debt I ne'er can pay-
The little loves that I've forgot.

O joyous hours forever fled!

O sudden hopes that would not stay!
Held only by the slender thread
Of memory that's all astray.
Their very names I cannot say.
Time's will is done, I know them not;
But blessings on them all, I pray-
The little loves that I've forgot.

ENVOI

Sweetheart, why foolish fears betray?
Ours is the one true lovers' knot;
Note well the burden of my lay—
The little loves that I've forgot.

Arthur Grissom.

IV

SATIRE

A BALLADE OF SUICIDE

THE gallows in my garden, people say,
Is new and neat and adequately tall.
I tie the noose on in a knowing way

As one that knots his necktie for a ball;
But just as all the neighbours-on the wall-
Are drawing a long breath to shout "Hurray!"
The strangest whim has seized me. . . After all
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

To-morrow is the time I get my pay-
My uncle's sword is hanging in the hall-
I see a little cloud all pink and grey-
Perhaps the rector's mother will not call-
I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall
That mushrooms could be cooked another way-
I never read the works of Juvenal-

I think I will not hang myself to-day.

The world will have another washing day;
The decadents decay; the pedants pall;
And H. G. Wells has found that children play,
And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall;
Rationalists are growing rational-

And through thick woods one finds a stream astray,
So secret that the very sky seems small-

I think I will not hang myself to-day.