The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe by Parton, James, 1822-1891

STANZAS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL. PUNCH.

I.

ON A TEAR WHICH ANGELINA OBSERVED TRICKLING DOWN MY NOSE AT DINNER TIME.

Nay, fond one I will ne'er reveal Whence flowed that sudden tear: The truth 't were kindness to conceal From thy too anxious ear.

How often when some hidden spring Of recollected grief Is rudely touched, a tear will bring The bursting breast relief!

Yet 't was no anguish of the soul, No memory of woes, Bade that one lonely tearlet roll Adown my chiseled nose:

But, ah! interrogation's note Still twinkles in thine eye; Know then that I have burnt my throat With this confounded pie!

II.

OM MY REFUSING ANGELINA A KISS UNDER THE MISTLETOE

Nay, fond one, shun that misletoe, Nor lure me 'neath its fatal bough: Some other night 't were joy to go, But ah! I must not, dare not now! 'Tis sad, I own, to see thy face Thus tempt me with its giggling glee, And feel I can not now embrace The opportunity--and thee.

'Tis sad to think that jealousy's Sharp scissors may our true love sever; And that my coldness now may freeze Thy warm affection, love, forever. But ah! to disappoint our bliss, A fatal hind'rance now is stuck:'Tis not that I am loath to kiss, But, dearest, list--I DINED OFF DUCK!

III.

ON MY FINDING ANGELINA STOP SUDDENLY IN A RAPID AFTER-SUPPER POLKA AT MRS. TOMPKINS'S BALL.

EDWIN. "Maiden, why that look of sadness? Whence that dark o'erclouded brow? What hath stilled thy bounding gladness, Changed thy pace from fast to slow? Is it that by impulse sudden Childhood's hours thou paus'st to mourn? Or hath thy cruel EDWIN trodden Right upon thy favorite corn?

"Is it that for evenings wasted Some remorse thou 'gin'st to feel? Or hath that sham champagne we tasted Turned thy polka to a reel? Still that gloom upon each feature? Still that sad reproachful frown?" ANGELINA. "Can't you see, you clumsy creature, All my back hair's coming down!"

COLLOQUY ON A CAB-STAND. ADAPTED FOR THE BOUDOIR. PUNCH.

"OH! WILLIAM," JAMES was heard to say-- JAMES drove a hackney cabriolet: WILLIAM, the horses of his friend, With hay and water used to tend. "Now, tell me, WILLIAM, can it be, That MAYNE has issued a decree, Severe and stern, against us, planned Of comfort to deprive our Stand?"

"I fear the tale is all too true," Said WILLIAM, "on my word I do." "Are we restricted to the Row And from the footpath?" "Even so."

"Must our companions be resigned, We to the Rank alone confined?" "Yes; or they apprehend the lads Denominated Bucks and Cads."

"Dear me!" cried JAMES, "how very hard And are we, too, from beer debarred?" Said WILLIAM, "While remaining here We also are forbidden beer."

"Nor may we breathe the fragrant weed?" "That's interdicted too." "Indeed!" "Nor in the purifying wave Must we our steeds or chariots lave."

"For private drivers, at request, It is SIR RICHARD MAYNE'S behest That we shall move, I understand?" "Such, I believe, IS the command"

"Of all remains of food and drink Left by our animals I think, We are required to clear the ground?" "Yes: to remove them we are bound."

"These mandates should we disobey--" "They take our licenses away." "That were unkind. How harsh our lot!" "It is indeed." "Now is it not?"