Chapter 7
Bartholomew Benjamin Bunting One night, as his wife let him in, Produced as the fruit of his hunting A cottontail's velvety skin, Which, seeing young Bonaparte wriggle, He gave him without a demur, And the babe with an aqueous giggle He swallowed the whole of the fur!
Belinda Bellonia Bunting Behaved like a consummate loon: Her offspring in frenzy confronting She screamed herself mottled maroon: She felt of his vertebrae spinal, Expecting he'd surely succumb, And gave him one vigorous, final, Hard prod in the pit of his tum.
But Bonaparte Buckingham Bunting, At first but a trifle perplexed, By a change in his manner of grunting Soon showed he was horribly vexed. He displayed not a sign of repentance But spoke, in a dignified tone, The only consecutive sentence He uttered. 'Twas: "Lemme alone."
The Moral: The parent that uses Precaution his folly regrets: An infant gets all that he chooses, An infant chews all that he gets.
And colics? He constantly has 'em So long as his food is the best, But he'll swallow with never a spasm What ostriches couldn't digest.
_Guy Wetmore Carryl_.
FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY
Ben Battle was a soldier bold, And used to war's alarms: But a cannon-ball took off his legs, So he laid down his arms!
Now, as they bore him off the field, Said he, "Let others shoot, For here I leave my second leg, And the Forty-second Foot!"
The army surgeons made him limbs: Said he, "They're only pegs; But there's as wooden members quite, As represent my legs!"
Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, Her name was Nelly Gray; So he went to pay her his devours When he'd devoured his pay!
But when he called on Nelly Gray, She made him quite a scoff; And when she saw his wooden legs, Began to take them off!
"O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray! Is this your love so warm? The love that loves a scarlet coat, Should be more uniform!"
Said she, "I loved a soldier once, For he was blithe and brave; But I will never have a man With both legs in the grave!"
"Before you had those timber toes, Your love I did allow, But then you know, you stand upon Another footing now!"
"O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray! For all your jeering speeches, At duty's call I left my legs In Badajos's breaches!"
"Why, then," said she, "you've lost the feet Of legs in war's alarms, And now you cannot wear your shoes Upon your feats of arms!"
"Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray; I know why you refuse: Though I've no feet--some other man Is standing in my shoes!"
"I wish I ne'er had seen your face; But now a long farewell! For you will be my death--alas! You will not be my Nell!"
Now, when he went from Nelly Gray, His heart so heavy got-- And life was such a burden grown, It made him take a knot!
So round his melancholy neck A rope he did entwine, And, for his second time in life Enlisted in the Line!
One end he tied around a beam, And then removed his pegs, And as his legs were off,--of course, He soon was off his legs!
And there he hung till he was dead As any nail in town,-- For though distress had cut him up, It could not cut him down!
A dozen men sat on his corpse, To find out why he died-- And they buried Ben in four cross-roads, With a stake in his inside!
_Thomas Hood_.
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN
By the side of a murmuring stream an elderly gentleman sat. On the top of his head was a wig, and a-top of his wig was his hat.
The wind it blew high and blew strong, as the elderly gentleman sat; And bore from his head in a trice, and plunged in the river his hat.
The gentleman then took his cane which lay by his side as he sat; And he dropped in the river his wig, in attempting to get out his hat.
His breast it grew cold with despair, and full in his eye madness sat; So he flung in the river his cane to swim with his wig, and his hat.
Cool reflection at last came across while this elderly gentleman sat; So he thought he would follow the stream and look for his cane, wig, and hat.
His head being thicker than common, o'er-balanced the rest of his fat; And in plumped this son of a woman to follow his wig, cane, and hat.
_George Canning_.
MALUM OPUS
Prope ripam fluvii solus A senex silently sat; Super capitum ecce his wig, Et wig super, ecce his hat.
Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus, Dum elderly gentleman sat; Et a capite took up quite torve Et in rivum projecit his hat.
Tunc soft maledixit the old man, Tunc stooped from the bank where he sat Et cum scipio poked in the water, Conatus servare his hat.
Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus, The moment it saw him at that; Et whisked his novum scratch wig In flumen, along with his hat.
Ab imo pectore damnavit In coeruleus eye dolor sat; Tunc despairingly threw in his cane Nare cum his wig and his hat.
L'ENVOI
Contra bonos mores, don't swear It 'est wicked you know (verbum sat), Si this tale habet no other moral Mehercle! You're gratus to that!
_James Appleton Morgan_.
_ÆSTIVATION_
In candent ire the solar splendor flames; The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames; His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes, And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.
How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes, Dorm on the herb with none to supervise, Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine, And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine.
To me also, no verdurous visions come Save you exiguous pool's confervascum,-- No concave vast repeats the tender hue That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue.
Me wretched! Let me curr to quercine shades! Effund your albid hausts, lactiferous maids! Oh, might I vole to some umbrageous chump,-- Depart,--be off,--excede,--evade,--erump!
_O. W. Holmes_.
A HOLIDAY TASK
_Air--Jullien's Polka_
Qui nunc dancere vult modo Wants to dance in the fashion, oh! Discere debet--ought to know, Kickere floor cum heel et toe One, two three, Hop with me, Whirligig, twirligig, rapidè.
Polkam jungere, Virgo, vis, Will you join the Polka, Miss? Liberius--most willingly. Sic agimus--then let us try: Nunc vide Skip with me, Whirlabout, roundabout, celerè.
Tum laevâ citò, tum dextrâ First to the left, and then t' other way; Aspice retrò in vultu, You look at her, and she looks at you. Das palmam, Change hands ma'am Celerè--run away, just in sham.
_Gilbert Abbott à Becket_.
PUER EX JERSEY
Puer ex Jersey Iens ad school; Vidit in meadow, Infestum mule.
Ille approaches O magnus sorrow! Puer it skyward. Funus ad morrow.
MORAL
Qui vidit a thing Non ei well-known, Est bene for him Relinqui id alone.
_Anonymous_.
THE LITTLE PEACH
Une petite pêche dans un orchard fleurit, Attendez à mon narration triste! Une petite pêche verdante fleurit. Grâce à chaleur de soleil, et moisture de miste. Il fleurit, il fleurit, Attendez à mon narration triste!
Signes dures pour les deux, Petit Jean et sa soeur Sue, Et la pêche d'une verdante hue, Qui fleurit, qui fleurit, Attendez a mon narration triste!
_Anonymous_.
_MONSIEUR McGINTÉ_
Monsieur McGinté allait en has jusqu'an fond du mer, Ils ne l'ont pas encore trouvé Je crois qu'il est certainement mouillé. Monsieur McGinté, je le repéte, allait jusqu'au fond du mer, Habillé dans sa meilleure costume.
_Anonymous_.
_YE LAYE OF YE WOODPECKORE_
_Picus Erythrocephalus_:
O whither goest thou, pale studént Within the wood so fur? Art on the chokesome cherry bent? Dost seek the chestnut burr?
_Pale Studént_:
O it is not for the mellow chestnut That I so far am come, Nor yet for puckery cherries, but For Cypripediúm.
A blossom hangs the choke-cherry And eke the chestnut burr, And thou a silly fowl must be, Thou red-head wood-peckére.
_Picas Erythrocephalus_:
Turn back, turn back, thou pale studént, Nor in the forest go; There lurks beneath his bosky tent The deadly mosquitó,
And there the wooden-chuck doth tread, And from the oak-tree's top The red, red squirrels on thy head The frequent acorn drop.
_Pale Studént_:
The wooden-chuck is next of kin Unto the wood-peckére: I fear not thine ill-boding din, And why should I fear her?
What though a score of acorns drop And squirrels' fur be red! 'Tis not so ruddy as thy top-- So scarlet as thy head.
O rarely blooms the Cypripe- diúm upon its stalk; And like a torch it shines to me Adown the dark wood-walk.
O joy to pluck it from the ground, To view the purple sac, To touch the sessile stigma's round-- And shall I then turn back?
_Picus Erytbrocephalus_:
O black and shining is the log That feeds the sumptuous weed, Nor stone is found nor bedded log Where foot may well proceed.
Midmost it glimmers in the mire Like Jack o' Lanthorn's spark, Lighting, with phosphorescent fire, The green umbrageous dark.
There while thy thirsty glances drink The fair and baneful plant, Thy shoon within the ooze shall sink And eke thine either pant.
_Pale Studént_:
Give o'er, give o'er, thou wood-peckóre; The bark upon the tree, Thou, at thy will, mayst peck and bore But peck and bore not me.
Full two long hours I've searched about And 't would in sooth be rum, If I should now go back without The Cypripediúm.
_Picus Erythrocephalus_:
Farewell! Farewell! But this I tell To thee, thou pale studént, Ere dews have fell, thou'lt rue it well That woodward thou didst went:
Then whilst thou blows the drooping nose And wip'st the pensive eye-- There where the sad _symplocarpus foetidus_ grows, Then think--O think of I!
Loud flouted there that student wight Solche warnynge for to hear; "I scorn, old hen, thy threats of might, And eke thine ill grammére."
"Go peck the lice (or green or red) That swarm the bass-wood tree, But wag no more thine addled head Nor clack thy tongue at me."
The wood-peck turned to whet her beak, The student heard her drum, As through the wood he went to seek The Cypripediúm.
Alas! and for that pale studént: The evening bell did ring, And down the walk the Freshmen went Unto the prayer-meetíng;
Upon the fence loud rose the song, The weak, weak tea was o'er-- Ha! who is he that sneaks along Into South Middle's door?
The mud was on his shoon, and O! The briar was in his thumb, His staff was in his hand but no-- No Cypripediúm.
_Henry A. Beers_.
_COLLUSION BETWEEN A ALEGAITER AND A WATER-SNAIK_
There is a niland on a river lying, Which runs into Gautimaly, a warm country, Lying near the Tropicks, covered with sand; Hear and their a symptum of a Wilow, Hanging of its umberagious limbs & branches Over the clear streme meandering far below. This was the home of the now silent Alegaiter, When not in his other element confine'd: Here he wood set upon his eggs asleep With 1 ey observant of flis and other passing Objects: a while it kept a going on so: Fereles of danger was the happy Alegaiter! But a las! in a nevil our he was fourced to Wake! that dreme of Blis was two sweet for him. 1 morning the sun arose with unusool splender Whitch allso did our Alegaiter, coming from the water, His scails a flinging of the rais of the son back, To the fountain-head which tha originly sprung from, But having not had nothing to eat for some time, he Was slepy and gap'd, in a short time, widely. Unfoalding soon a welth of perl-white teth, The rais of the son soon shet his sinister ey Because of their mutool splendor and warmth. The evil Our (which I sed) was now come; Evidently a good chans for a water-snaik Of the large specie, which soon appeared Into the horison, near the bank where reposed Calmly in slepe the Alegaiter before spoken of. About 60 feet was his Length (not the 'gaiter) And he was aperiently a well-proportioned snaik. When he was all ashore he glared upon The iland with approval, but was soon "Astonished with the view and lost to wonder" (from Wats) (For jest then he began to see the Alegaiter) Being a nateral enemy of his'n, he worked hisself Into a fury, also a ni position. Before the Alegaiter well could ope His eye (in other words perceive his danger) The Snaik had enveloped his body just 19 Times with "foalds voluminous and vast" (from Milton) And had tore off several scails in the confusion, Besides squeazing him awfully into his stomoc. Just then, by a fortinate turn in his affairs, He ceazed into his mouth the careless tale Of the unreflecting water-snaik! Grown desperate He, finding that his tale was fast squesed Terrible while they roaled all over the iland.
It was a well-conduckted Affair; no noise Disturbed the harmony of the seen, ecsept Onct when a Willow was snaped into by the roaling. Eeach of the combatence hadn't a minit for holering. So the conflick was naterally tremenjous! But soon by grate force the tail was bit complete- Ly of; but the eggzeration was too much For his delicate Constitootion; he felt a compression Onto his chest and generally over his body; When he ecspressed his breathing, it was with Grate difficulty that he felt inspired again onct more. Of course this state must suffer a revolootion. So the alegaiter give but one yel, and egspired. The water-snaik realed hisself off, & survay'd For say 10 minits, the condition of His fo: then wondering what made his tail hurt, He slowly went off for to cool.
_J. W. Morris_.
_ODD TO A KROKIS_
Selestial apoley which Didest inspire. the souls of burns and pop with sackred fir. Kast thy Mantil over me When i shal sing, the praiz Of A sweat flower who grows in spring Which has of late kome under the Fokis. of My eyes. It is called a krokis. Sweat lovly prety littil sweat Thing, you bloometh before The lairicks on High sing, thy lefs are neithir Red Nor yelly. but Just betwixt the two you hardy felly.
i fear youl yet be Nippit with the frost. As Maney a one has known to there kost. you should have not kome out in such a hurrey. As this is only the Month of Febrywurrey. and you may expick yet Much bad wethir. when all your blads will krunkil up like Burnt leather. alas. alas. theres Men which tries to rime, who have like you kome out befor there time. The Moril of My peese depend upon it. is good so here i End my odd or sonit.
_Anonymous_.
_SOME VERSES TO SNAIX_
Prodiggus reptile! long and skaly kuss! You are the dadrattedest biggest thing I ever Seed that cud ty itself into a double bo- Not, and cum all strate again in a Minnit or so, without winkin or seemin To experience any particular pane In the diafram.
Stoopenjus inseck! marvelous annimile! You are no doubt seven thousand yeres Old, and hav a considerable of a Family sneekin round thru the tall Gras in Africa, a eetin up little greezy Niggers, and wishin they was biggir.
I wonder how big yu was when yu Was a inphant about 2 fete long. I Expec yu was a purty good size, and Lived on phrogs, and lizzerds, and polly- Wogs and sutch things.
You are havin' a nice time now, ennyhow-- Don't have nothing to do but lay oph. And etc kats and rabbits, and stic Out yure tung and twist yur tale. I wunder if yu ever swollered a man Without takin oph his butes. If there was Brass buttins on his kote, I spose Yu had ter swaller a lot of buttin- Wholes, and a shu--hamer to nock The soals oph of the boots and drive in The tax, so that they wouldn't kut yure Inside. I wunder if vittles taste Good all the way down. I expec so-- At leest, fur 6 or 7 fete.
You are so mighty long, I shud thynk If your tale was kold, yure hed Woodent no it till the next day, But it's hard tu tell: snaix is snaix.
_Anonymous_.
_A GREAT MAN_
Ye muses, pour the pitying tear For Pollio snatch'd away: For had he liv'd another year! --He had not dy'd to-day.
O, were he born to bless mankind, In virtuous times of yore, Heroes themselves had fallen behind! --Whene'er he went before.
How sad the groves and plains appear, And sympathetic sheep: Even pitying hills would drop a tear! --If hills could learn to weep.
His bounty in exalted strain Each bard might well display: Since none implor'd relief in vain! --That went reliev'd away.
And hark! I hear the tuneful throng; His obsequies forbid. He still shall live, shall live as long --As ever dead man did.
_Oliver Goldsmith_.
_AN ELEGY_
_On the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Mary Blaize_
Good people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word-- From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom pass'd her door, And always found her kind; She freely lent to all the poor-- Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighborhood to please With manners wondrous winning; And never follow'd wicked ways-- Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new, With hoop of monstrous size, She never slumber'd in her pew-- But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver, By twenty beaux and more; The King himself has follow'd her-- When she has walk'd before.
But now, her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all; The doctors found, when she was dead-- Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent Street well may say, That had she lived a twelvemonth more-- She had not died to-day.
_Oliver Goldsmith_.
_PARSON GRAY_
A quiet home had Parson Gray, Secluded in a vale; His daughters all were feminine, And all his sons were male.
How faithfully did Parson Gray The bread of life dispense-- Well "posted" in theology, And post and rail his fence.
'Gainst all the vices of the age He manfully did battle; His chickens were a biped breed, And quadruped his cattle.
No clock more punctually went, He ne'er delayed a minute-- Nor ever empty was his purse, When he had money in it.
His piety was ne'er denied; His truths hit saint and sinner; At morn he always breakfasted; He always dined at dinner.
He ne'er by any luck was grieved, By any care perplexed-- No filcher he, though when he preached, He always "took" a text.
As faithful characters he drew As mortal ever saw; But ah! poor parson! when he died, His breath he could not draw!
_Oliver Goldsmith_.
_AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG_
Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wondrous short,-- It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say That still a godly race he ran,-- Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad,-- When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.
The dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighboring streets, The wondering neighbors ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad To every Christian eye; And while they swore the dog was mad They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light, That showed the rogues they lied; The man recovered of the bite, The dog it was that died.
_Oliver Goldsmith_.
_THE WONDERFUL OLD MAN_
There was an old man Who lived on a common And, if fame speaks true, He was born of a woman. Perhaps you will laugh, But for truth I've been told He once was an infant Tho' age made him old.
Whene'er he was hungry He longed for some meat; And if he could get it 'T was said he would eat. When thirsty he'd drink If you gave him a pot, And what he drank mostly Ran down his throat.
He seldom or never Could see without light, And yet I've been told he Could hear in the night. He has oft been awake In the daytime, 't is said, And has fallen asleep As he lay in his bed.
'T is reported his tongue Always moved when he talk'd, And he stirred both his arms And his legs when he walk'd; And his gait was so odd Had you seen him you 'd burst, For one leg or t' other Would always be first.
His face was the drollest That ever was seen, For if 't was not washed It seldom was clean; His teeth he expos'd when He happened to grin, And his mouth stood across 'Twixt his nose and his chin.
When this whimsical chap Had a river to pass, If he couldn't get over He stayed where he was. 'T is said he ne'er ventured To quit the dry ground, Yet so great was his luck He never was drowned.
At last he fell sick, As old chronicles tell, And then, as folks say, He was not very well. But what was as strange In so weak a condition, As he could not give fees He could get no physician.
What wonder he died! Yet 't is said that his death Was occasioned at last By the loss of his breath. But peace to his bones Which in ashes now moulder. Had he lived a day longer He'd have been a day older.
_Anonymous_
_A CHRONICLE_
Once--but no matter when-- There lived--no matter where-- A man, whose name--but then I need not that declare.
He--well, he had been born, And so he was alive; His age--I details scorn-- Was somethingty and five.
He lived--how many years I truly can't decide; But this one fact appears He lived--until he died.
"He died," I have averred, But cannot prove 't was so, But that he was interred, At any rate, I know.
I fancy he'd a son, I hear he had a wife: Perhaps he'd more than one, I know not, on my life!
But whether he was rich, Or whether he was poor, Or neither--both--or which, I cannot say, I'm sure.
I can't recall his name, Or what he used to do: But then--well, such is fame! 'T will so serve me and you.
And that is why I thus, About this unknown man Would fain create a fuss, To rescue, if I can.
From dark oblivion's blow, Some record of his lot: But, ah! I do not know Who--where--when--why--or what.
MORAL
In this brief pedigree A moral we should find-- But what it ought to be Has quite escaped my mind!
_Anonymous_.
_ON THE OXFORD CARRIER_