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“ Till oft repeated victories inspired
With tenfold fury the indignant foe;
And laid our boasted, proudest honours low.
Our bravest legions moulder'd fast away ;
While hovering ravens mark'd them for their prey.
The son now weeps not on the father's bier ;
Drops o'er his children's grave an icy tear."
He spoke ;--and now by varying passions toss'd
He reach'd the threshold of his father's shed;
Amid the number of the unnamed dead.
Soon as they heard his well-remember'd voice,
A ray of rapture chased habitual care :
And Lucy sweetly blush'd, for she was there.
His mother shriek'd, and dropp'd upon the floor ;
And his dear Lucy sunk-to rise no more!
THE PUNNING SOCIETY.
On! punning's the theme of my song.
Which I'll give you will say, with propriety ;
To picture a Punning Society.
As the wine down their throats they are pouring;
The rest kept awake by their snoring.
Spoken.]-Gentlemen, you are going to sleep too soon ; if you'll have the kindness to keep awake a little longer, I have something to inform you, and that is, gentlemen, Mr. Curd, who is a great acquisition to this society, is away, in consequence—Sir, this being a punning society, I cannot resist interrupting you, you say, friend Curd is a Whey, now, I am something in that way myself, being a milkman and dealer in curds and whey, I consider I have a right to make a pun. Well sir, I hope you have left off, for I was not alluding to curds and whey what people drinks, but Mr. Curd's absence, which is in consequence of hemmhem—in consequence-hem -hem-of-of-his absence is in consequence—hem-hem-of his absenting himself, gentlemen. Bravo, an excellent apology. Excellent ! Cicero never spoke better. How is it friend Hare is not here? He won't be long ere he is ; he's never backward in coming forward. Sir, I agree with you, I never knew him behind before. Bravo, go it, my vitty vons. Oh, here he is . how are you, friend Hare. Od rabbit it, I'm all of a stew, I've
Well, I likes stewed Hare. Bravo, pun away. How are all the little Hares? All ill, I'm sorry to say ; Sally's got a sore eye. Sure that must be quite an eye sore to her. Bravo, ha! ha! ha! Tommy still keeps weak in his legs. I know, he has been weak this fortnight. Good. But Mary, how is she? Why, she has a bad toe. Bad in to to, eh? Ha, ha, ha! good again. I trust her toe will soon heal. Bravo, there you goes again, pun upon pun ; I never heard such chaps ; how I likes to be here ; I only vish I could pun. Well, I'll learn you for five shillings a week. I'll learn you for four and sixpence. Don't go to him. Why? Because he puns under the Crown.
So, huzza for our Punning Society;
Jovial fellows we all are well met,
Then hurrah for so jovial a set.
Then the wine it gets into their heads,
And turns the wit out of its station;
And their puns now are all botheration;
And keep up their puns with decorum,
Who lie dreaming of blue devils o'er em.
Spoken.]-Mr. Pwethident and gentlemen, I beg leave to thay thith ith the firtht time I wath ever in thith thothiety ; and feeling, ath I may thay, a perthonal interetht-Ha ! ha! ha! order, order, chair, chair. Yeth, thur, ath I thaid afore, a perthonal interetht, I thought werry much like to become one of the memberth of this thotial thothiety. No objection, sir, if you can make a pun or two. Yeth, sir, I am pwowd to thay I can pun, and altho make conundrumth : I athked my grandmother and thithterth one the other day ; well, thur, Thay
guethed, and Thuthan guethed, and Tharah guethed, and brother Tholomon guethed, and neither on un guethed it pwopur ; it wath thith, thur, (latht Thundayth thermon reminded me on it) Why ith my hat like Golgotha ? quite original-one of my own, thur; give it up? thaith I. Yeth, thaith granny. Becauth, thaith I,ʻith the plath of a thkull.' An't that a good un, thir ? thitherth and all laughed, and thaid I wath the cleveretht of the family. Very clever, indeed, Mr. Numskull. Mr. Waterman, at your thurvith, thur. Waterman is it? ah then I don't wonder at your talking about your skull. Very good, bravo. Ah, how do you do, friend Day? what made you so late ? Why, I dare say it seems strange to you, gentlemen, to see Day at ten o'clock at night. Bravo, a pun directly he enters, You havn't brought your son, have you, Day? No, it being late at night, I have put the son to bed. Good, then he's got a warm berth. Nothing uncommon, is it, for the son to be warm ? Bravo, but where is friend Gabble ? Oh, he's left some time. Left, has he ? that's not right though. I say he ought to be fined, Mr. Day, what say you? Why, as he's left, there's no knowing where to find him. Bravo, ha, ha, ha! Day is making up for lost time. Good, good, go it, my punsters. Go it ! you want us all gone, do you ? Ha, ha, ha! Vell I likes that 'ere Mr. Day ; I'll ask him to drink wi' me; I zay, zur, will’e drink wi' me. Thank 'ee, I will. What'll ye ha' a drop of ? Any thing you please, sir, for there's only one drop I have an objection to. What drop be that, zur ? Give it up, sir? Eees. Why the drop of Newgate. By gum, that's a good un. Eees, but that drop's for bad ones. Well, drop that subject, if you please, zur. Why there's subjects enough drop there certainly, and I should be no subject, if I made such subjects as them the subjects of my wit, when another subject wishes me to drop the subject ; therefore, rather than subject myself to the censure of my brother subjects, I will proceed to another subject.
So huzza, &c.
Now a member he gets up to say,
That he has got something to speak,
(Who if here he would pun for a week)
To give them a song till he came;
That Knight should proceed with the same.
Spoken.]—All order for Mr. Knight's song. 'Pon my vord, I've got sich a bad gum-bile, 'thelse I vould. Ha, ha, ha! Call on Mr. Squeak. Mr. Squeak, I hope you will oblige the company. [Spoken in imitation of a bad cold.] 'Pon my vord, I vould, but my woice is quite failed me. Oh, that's nothing wonderful, considering you failed yourself, a short time since. Now, I should have thought that would have made him squeak the more. [In imitation of a cold.] Sir, I think if you vou'd make sich a pun as that 'ere, you vould pick my pockets. That be of no use, for I am sure I should fail myself then, for you've got nothing to take. To order, gentlemen,-chair, chair, order, order. How do you like your new house, Mr. Squeak. Oh, werry well, but the rent's so high. Ah, the rent must be a great tax on you, sir. There you goes again. Bravo, but there's the taxes beside. Ah, they would be better rent in two. That's your sort,-go it, my rum’uns. Do you know why the rum'uns go it so much, Mr. Squeak? No, that's vat I don't. Give it up? Eees. Because they are lads of spirit-an't that a good un, eh? Ees, gee us another, vill you ? Perhaps you vill gee us von on my friend's name, will 'ee, zur. What is it, sir ? Ketch, at your zurvice, zur. Ketch, is it? You'll not be offended at my pun, sir, I hope ? Certainly not, zur. and hang yourself, Mr. Ketch. Noa, I'll be shot if I do. No, you'd be hangod if you do. Good, good-go it again ; bravo ! I could hear Day all night. Why, Mr. Ketch, you seem in high glee with the society. Never in higher glee, upon my soul. Yes, you were, sir. Ven vas I? Why, just now, when you were singing with two others.
So, huzza, &c.
SEQUESTERED from the cares of life,
In a humble cottage near a wood,
All that was beauteous, kind, and good.
Ilappy they lived, nor knew a wish,
Save that they always might remain
And Virtue there might hold her reign.
She, in her father's love content,
Sighed not for pleasure, knew no care,
And trace out all the mother there.
So much they loved, it might be said,
Heaven placed them there to patterns be How fathers should their daughters love,
How daughters might their duty see.
But happiness is always short,
No perfect joy reigns long below. That man might have a transient taste
Of bliss they will in heaven know.
For Mary left her father's house,
Lured by a villain's artful wile, She left a comfort, lasting, sure,
For a seducer's fleeting smile.
Long did the wretched father seek
His hapless daughter far away ; And many a sleepless night he spent,
And many a sad and joyless day.
And, 'ah !' he sigh'd, 'and could she leave
Her helpless father so forlorn ? And does she never think on him,
Or does she the remembrance scorn ?
But yet she is my daughter still,
Still she is my love-my child, And be her folly e'er so great,
Still, still I will be reconciled.'
Years roll'd away-no tidings came;
Each valued place to mem'ry brought A sad remembrance of the past.
And Mary now no more is sought.
The cottage once so fair and prized,
Is now grown hateful to his view; He left the scene of joy long past,
Bade happiness and it adieu !
Full many a day he wander'd long,
Careless of good or ill betide, And, wearied with much travel, he
Reposed him on a bank's hard side.
And tears ran down his aged cheek
He thought of her so long away; When from a winding of the road,
A figure moved along the way.