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He came and knelt, with all his fat,
And made an offer plump.

Said she, "My taste will never learn
To like so huge a man ;

So I must beg you will come here
As little as you can.”

But still he stoutly urged his suit,
With vows, and sighs, and tears;
Yet could not pierce her heart, although
He drove the Dart for years.

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But John, though he drank nothing else,
He drank himself to death.

The cruel maid, that caused his love,
Found out the fatal close,

For looking in the butt, she saw
The butt-end of his woes.

Some say his spirit haunts the Crown

But that is only talk;

For after riding all his life,

His ghost objects to walk.

THE ALARMED SKIPPER

MANY a long, long year ago,
Nantucket skippers had a plan

Of finding out, though "lying low,"

How near New York their schooners ran.

They greased the lead before it fell,

And then, by sounding through the night,
Knowing the soil that stuck, so well,
They always guessed their reckoning right.

A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim,
Could tell by tasting, just the spot,
And so below, he 'd "dowse the glim "
After, of course, his "something hot."

Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock,

This ancient skipper might be found; No matter how his craft would rock,

He slept for skippers' naps are sound!

--

The watch on deck would now and then
Run down and wake him, with the lead;
He'd up and taste, and tell the men
How many miles they went ahead.

One nignt, 't was Jotham Marden's watch,
A curious wag - the peddler's son;

HOOD

And so he mused, (the wanton wretch,)
"To-night I'll have a grain of fun.

"We're all a set of stupid fools,

To think the skipper knows by tasting
What ground he's on; Nantucket schools
Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting!"

And so he took the well greased lead,

And rubbed it o'er a box of earth
That stood on deck — (a parsnep bed) —
And then he sought the skipper's berth.

"Where are we now, sir? Please to taste."
The skipper yawned, put out his tongue,
Then oped his eyes in wondrous haste,
And then upon the floor he sprung!

The skipper stormed, and tore his hair,
Thrust on his boots, and roared to Marden -
"Nantucket's sunk, and here we are

Right over old Marm Hackett's garden!"

J. T. FIELD

THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN

ALL the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms:

And then, the whining school-boy, with his sachel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: and then, the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow: then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth and then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with good capon lined,

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part: the sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon;

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound: last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

SHAKSPEARR

THE THREE BLACK CROWS.

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
One took the other briskly by the hand:

"Hark ye," said he, About the crows!". Replied his friend.

"'t is an odd story this,

-"I don't know what it is," No? I'm surprised at that; Where I come from, it is the common chat: But you shall hear: an odd affair indeed! And that it happened, they are all agreed: Not to detain you from a thing so strange, A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change, This week, in short, as all the alley knows, Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows." "Impossible!"-"Nay, but it's really true; I had it from good hands, and so may you." "From whose, I pray?" So having named the man, Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.

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Sir, did you tell"-relating the affair -

Yes, sir, I did; and if it's worth your care,

Ask Mr. Such-a-one; he told it me;

But, by the by, 't was two black crows, not three."
Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,

Whip to the third the virtuoso went.

"Sir," and so forth-"Why, yes; the thing is fact,

Though in regard to number not exact;

It was not two black crows; 't was only one;

The truth of that you may depend upon :

The gentleman himself told me the case.'

-

"Where may I find him?” "Why, in such a place
Away he goes, and having found him out, -
Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt."
Then to his last informant he referred,

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'Not I!"

And begged to know if true what he had heard.
"Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?"
"Bless me! how people propagate a lie! -

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one,
And here I find at last all comes to none !

Did you say nothing of a crow at all?"
"Crow-crow perhaps I might, now I recall
The matter over." "And pray, sir, what was 't?"
"Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last,
I did throw up, and told my neighbor so,
Something that was as black, sir, as a crow.”

BYROM

THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER.

IN Broad-street buildings, (on a winter night,)
Snug by his parlor fire, a gouty wight

Sat all alone, with one hand rubbing

His feet, rolled up in fleecy hose;

With t' other he 'd beneath his nose

The Public Leger, in whose columns grubbing
He noted all the sales of hops,

Ships, shops, and slops,

Gums, galls, and groceries, ginger, gin,
Tar, tallow, turmeric, turpentine, and tin;
When, lo! a decent personage in black

Entered, and most politely said

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Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track To the King's Head,

And left your door ajar, which I

Observed in passing by;

And thought it neighborly to give you notice."

Ten thousand thanks

In time of danger

how very few get

Such kind attentions from a stranger!
Assuredly that fellow's throat is
Doomed to a final drop at Newgate:
He knows, too, (the unconscious elf,)

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