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His inuzzle, formed of opposition stuff,
So kept it-laughing at the steel and suds :
On the vile cheat that sold the goods. “Razors! a damned, confounded dog, Not fit to scrape a hog!" Hodge sought the fellow_found him—and begun: “P'rhaps, Master Razor rogue, to you 'tis fun,
That people flay themselves out of their lives:
With razors just like oyster knives.
man, “I'm not a knave:
Upon my soul I never thought That they would shave." “Not think they'd shave !" quoth Hodge, with wond'ring
eyes, And voice not much unlike an Indian yell; “What were they made for then, you dog?” he cries:
“Made!” quoth the fellow, with a smile—" to sell.”
THE SAILOR BOY AT PRAYERS.
A GREAT law Chief, whom God nor demon scares,
The devil behind him pleased and grinning,
Admiring such a novel mode of sinning:
In ships of war, on Sunday's, prayers are given;
Particularly in a storm;
Then vow they to th' Almighty to reform,
To hear the parson preach and pray,
That prayers were handing out, had stolen away,
The boy was soon found missing, and full soon
The boatswain's cat, sagacious smelt him out; Gave him a clawing to some tune
This cat's a cousin Germain to the Knout. “Come out, you skulking dog," the boatswain crie 1,
"And save your d-d young sinful soul.” He then the moral-mending cat applied,
And turned him like a badger from his hole.
There is a little moral thing in France,
To bienseance 'tis tedious to incline,
In many cases;
To vulgars, bienseance may seem an oddity-
A sort of magic wand;
In place of something solid, it will stand.
For verily I've marveled times enow
To see an Englishman, the ninny,
Which Frenchmen have rewarded with a bow.
Bows are a bit of bienseance
THE PETIT MAITRE, AND THE MAN ON THE WHEEL
At Paris some time since, a murdering man,
A German, and a most unlucky chap,
Fell into Justice's strong trap.
His limbs secundum artem to be broke
Whenever Monsieur Ketch applied a stroke,
“Boh!" quoth the German, “an't I 'pon de wheel? D'ye tink my nerfs and bons can't feel ?"
“Sir,” quoth the beau, “don't, don't be in a passion;
KINGS AND COURTIERS.
How pleasant 'tis the courtier clan to see!
How rich the incense to the royal nose!
Thus Corydon, betrothed to Delia's charms,
In maddening fancy, cheeks, eyes, lips devours;
And on that breast the soul of rapture pours.
Gives to his lips his idol's sweetest kiss;
And deluge every nerve with bliss :
Sublime are royal nods—most precious things ! -
To have him lean familiar on one's shoulder,
A heart of very stone must grow quite glad.
The excess of joy would nearly make me mad!
Blessed, I should make this coat my coat of arms,
And show my children's children o'er and o'er; “Here, babies,” I should say, “with awe behold This coat-worth fifty times its weight in gold :
This very, very coat your grandsire wore !
“Here"-pointing to the shoulder-I should say, “Here majesty's own hand so sacred lay"
Then p'rhaps repeat some speech the king might utter; As—“Peter, how go sheep a score? what? what? What's cheapest meat to make a bullock fat ?
Hæ? hæ ? what, what's the price of country butter ?"
Then should I, strutting, give myself an air,
And deem myself adorned with immortality : Then should I make the children, calf-like stare,
And fancy grandfather a man of quality : And yet, not stopping here, with cheerful note, The muse should sing an ode upon the coat. Poor lost America, high honors missing, Knows naught of smile, and nod, and sweet hand-kissing; Knows naught of golden promises of kings; Knows naught of coronets, and stars, and strings;
In solitude the lovely rebel sighs ! But vainly drops the penitential tear
Deaf as the adder to the woman's cries, We suffer not her wail to wound our ear: For food we bid her hopeless children prowl, And with the savage of the desert howl.