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TO MY NOSE.

ANONYMOUS.

Knows he that never took a pinch,

Nosey! the pleasure thence which flows?
Knows he the titillating joy

Which my nose knows ?

Oh, nose! I am as fond of thee

As any mountain of its snows!
I gaze on thee, and feel that pride

A Roman knows!

ROGER AND DOLLY.

BLACKWOOD.
YOUNG ROGER came tapping at Dolly's window-

Thumpaty, thumpaty, thump;
He begg’d for admittance—she answered him no

Glumpaty, glumpaty, glump.
No, no, Roger, no—as you came you may go-

Stumpaty, stumpaty, stump.
O what is the reason, dear Dolly ? he cried-

Humpaty, humpaty, hump-
That thus I'm cast off and unkindly denied ?

Trumpaty, trumpaty, trump-
Some rival more dear, I guess, has been here-

Crumpaty, crumpaty, crump-
Suppose there's been two, sir, pray what's that to you, sir ?

Numpaty, numpaty, nump-
Wi' a disconsolate look his sad farewell he took-

Trumpaty, trumpaty, trump-
And all in despair jump'd into a brook-

Jumpaty, jumpaty, jump-
His courage did cool in a filthy green pool-

Slumpaty, slumpaty, slump-
So he swam to the shore, but saw Dolly no more-

Dumpaty, dumpaty, dump

He did speedily find one more fat and more kind

Plumpaty, plumpaty, plump-
But poor Dolly 's afraid she must die an old maid-

Mumpaty, mumpaty, mump.

THE IRISHMAN.

BLAOKWOOD.

I.
THERE was a lady lived at Leith,

A lady very stylish, man,
And yet, in spite of all her teeth,
She fell in love with an Irishman,

A nasty, ugly Irishman,

A wild tremendous Irishman, A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, ranting, roaring Irishman.

II.
His face was no ways beautiful,

For with small-pox 't was scarred across :
And the shoulders of the ugly dog
Were almost doubled a yard across.

O the lump of an Irishman,

The whiskey devouring IrishmanThe great he-rogue with his wonderful brogue, the fighting, riot

ing Irishman.

III.
One of his eyes was bottle green,

And the other eye was out, my dear;
And the calves of his wicked-looking legs
Were more than two feet about, my dear,

O, the great big Irishman,

The rattling, battling IrishmanThe stamping, ramping, swaggering, staggering, leathering swash

of an Irishman.

IV..

He took so much of Lundy-foot,

That he used to snort and snuffle-O,

And in shape and size the fellow's neck
Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo.

0, the horrible Irishman,

The thundering, blundering IrishmanThe slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing, thrashing, hashing Irish

man,

V.
His name was a terrible name, indeed,

Being Timothy Thady Mulligan;
And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch,
He'd not rest till he fill'd it full again,

The boozing, bruising Irishman,

The 'toxicated IrishmanThe whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy, brandy, no dandy Irishman.

VI.
This was the lad the lady loved,

Like all the girls of quality;
And he broke the skulls of the men of Leith,
Just by the way of jollity,

O, the leathering Irishman,

The barbarous, savage IrishmanThe hearts of the maids and the gentlemen's heads were bothered

I'm sure by this Irishman.

A CATALECTIC MONODY!

CRUIKSHANK'S OMNIBUS.
A cat I sing, of famous memory,
Though catachrestical my song may be;
In a small garden catacomb she lies,
And cataclysms fill her comrades' eyes;
Borne on the air, the catacoustic song
Swells with her virtues' catalogue along;
No cataplasm could lengthen out her years,
Though mourning friends shed cataracts of tears.
Once loud and strong her catechist-like voice
It dwindled to a catcall's squeaking noise ;

Most categorical her virtues shone,
By catenation join'd each one to one;
But a vile catchpoll dog, with cruel bite,
Like catling's cut, her strength disabled quite;
Her caterwauling pierced the heavy air,
As cataphracts their arms through legions bear;
'Tis vain! as caterpillars drag away
Their lengths, like cattle after busy day,
She ling’ring died, nor left in kit kat the
Embodyment of this catastrophe.

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I melancholy as a cat,

Am kept awake to weep; But she, insensible of that,

Sound as a top can sleep.

Hard is her heart as flint or stone,

She laughs to see me pale; And merry as a grig is grown,

And brisk as bottled ale.

The god of Love at her approach

Is busy as a bee;
Hearts sound as any bell or roach,

Are smit and sigh like me.

Ah mel as thick as hops or hail

The fine men crowd about her; But soon as dead as a door-nail

Shall I be, if without her.

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Straight as my leg her shape appears,

O were we join'd together!
My heart would be scot-free from cares,

And lighter than a feather.
As fine as five-pence is her mien,

No drum was ever tighter;
Her glance is as the razor keen,

And not the sun is brighter.

As soft as pap her kisses are,

Methinks I taste them yet; Brown as a berry is her hair,

Her eyes as black as jet.

As smooth as glass, as white as curds

Her pretty hand invites;
Sharp as her needle are her words,

Her wit like pepper bites.

Brisk as a body-louse she trips,

Clean as a penny drest;
Sweet as a rose her breath and lips,

Round as the globe her breast.

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