The Comic annual. By T. Hood1842 |
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amongst Apothecary Aunt autograph blood blue Boguslaw Radziwill bright called carriage CHAPTER Chinese colour costermonger cries Dame Eleanor dance deaf dear delirious Doctor double eyes face fancy Father fever fiddle flash songs Friend Geziah gilded give gold Golden Leg green Grundy hand head hear heart horn horse human Huzza I've sounded Iguanodon Jasper Duffle Jew's Harp Jonathan Brumby killed Lady light limb look look'd Lord Lord Byron Miss Kilmansegg Monday moral Murphy muttered Nature never night opinion painted papal Bull Phlebotomist Physician play poor Precious Leg Quaker Quakeress Rachel ring Robinson Crusoe says Prudence seem'd shew shout slang song sort sound spirit stag Sunday sure talk teetotal tell There's thing till Monday tongue Trumpet Truth turn turn'd Twas Uncle Vanity Voice vols walk whilst whisper wild woman yellow young zounds
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107 ページ - Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold, Molten, graven, hammered and rolled ; Heavy to get, and light to hold ; Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold, Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled : Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old To the very verge of the church-yard mould ; Price of many a crime untold : Gold ! gold ! gold ! gold ! Good or bad a thousand-fold ! How widely its agencies vary — To save — to ruin — to curse — to bless — As even its minted coins express, Now...
121 ページ - Refuse the shilling and the fellow's ticket ! And hang a wooden notice up to state, " On Sundays no admittance at this wicket ! " The Birds, the Beasts, and all the Reptile race. Denied to friends and visitors till Monday ! Now, really, this appears the common case Of putting too much Sabbath into Sunday — But what is your opinion, Mrs Grundy...
7 ページ - And the other sex — the tender — the fair — What wide reverses of fate are there ! Whilst Margaret, charm'd by the Bulbul rare, In a garden of Gul reposes — Poor Peggy hawks nosegays from street to street Till — think of that, who find life so sweet ! — She hates the smell of roses...
92 ページ - Who hath not met with home-made bread, A heavy compound of putty and lead — And home-made wines that rack the head, And home-made liqueurs and waters ? Home-made pop that will not foam, And home-made dishes that drive one from home...
6 ページ - Bay, While another rides safe at Port Natal. What different lots our stars accord ! This babe to be hail'd and woo'd as a Lord ! And that to be shunned like a leper ! One, to the world's wine, honey, and corn, Another, like Colchester native, born To its vinegar, only, and pepper.
101 ページ - Tis a stern and startling thing to think How often mortality stands on the brink Of its grave without any misgiving : And yet in this slippery world of strife, In the stir of human bustle so rife, There are daily sounds to tell us that Life Is dying, and Death is living...
261 ページ - s not the thing for me — I know it — To crack my own trumpet up and blow it; But it is the best, and time will show it. There was Mrs. F.
60 ページ - Lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles...
16 ページ - And Sir Jacob the Father strutted and bow'd, And smiled to himself, and laugh'd aloud, To think of his heiress and daughter — And then in his pockets he made a grope, And then, in the fulness of joy and hope, Seem'd washing his hands with invisible soap In imperceptible water. He had roll'd in money like pigs in mud, Till it seem'd to have enter'd into his blood By some occult projection : And his cheeks, instead of a healthy hue, As yellow as any guinea grew, Making the common phrase seem true...