Inglorious friend! most confident I am Thy life is one of very little ease; Albeit men mock thee with their similes And prate of being "happy as a clam!" What though thy shell protects thy fragile head From the sharp bailiffs of the briny sea? Thy valves are, sure, no safety-valves to thee, While rakes are free to desecrate thy bed, And bear thee off--as foemen take their spoil-- Far from thy friends and family to roam; Forced, like a Hessian, from thy native home, To meet destruction in a foreign broil! Though thou art tender, yet thy humble bard Declares, O clam! thy case is shocking hard!

VENUS OF THE NEEDLE.

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

O Maryanne, you pretty girl, Intent on silky labor, Of sempstresses the pink and pearl, Excuse a peeping neighbor!

Those eyes, forever drooping, give The long brown lashes rarely; But violets in the shadows live,-- For once unvail them fairly.

Hast thou not lent that flounce enough Of looks so long and earnest? Lo, here's more "penetrable stuff," To which thou never turnest.

Ye graceful fingers, deftly sped! How slender, and how nimble! O might I wind their skeins of thread, Or but pick up their thimble!

How blest the youth whom love shall bring, And happy stars embolden, To change the dome into a ring, The silver into golden!

Who'll steal some morning to her side To take her finger's measure, While Maryanne pretends to chide, And blushes deep with pleasure.

Who'll watch her sew her wedding-gown, Well conscious that it IS hers, Who'll glean a tress, without a frown, With those so ready scissors.

Who'll taste those ripenings of the south, The fragrant and delicious-- Don't put the pins into your mouth, O Maryanne, my precious!

I almost wish it were my trust To teach how shocking that is; I wish I had not, as I must, To quit this tempting lattice.

Sure aim takes Cupid, fluttering foe, Across a street so narrow; A thread of silk to string his bow, A needle for his arrow!

NARRATIVE

TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE [OLD BALLAD, QUOTED BY SHAKSPEARE, IN OTHELLO.] PERCY RELIQUES

This winters weather itt waxeth cold, And frost doth freese on every hill, And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold, That all our cattell are like to spill; Bell, my wiffe, who loves noe strife, Shee sayd unto me quietlye, Rise up, and save cow Cumbockes liffe, Man, put thine old cloake about thee.

HE. O Bell, why dost thou flyte and scorne? Thou kenst my cloak is very thin: Itt is soe bare and overworne A cricke he theron cannot renn: Then Ile no longer borrowe nor lend, For once Ile new appareld bee, To-morrow Ile to towne and spend, For Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE. Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe, Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle, She has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow And other things shee will not fayle; I wold be loth to see her pine, Good husband councell take of mee, It is not for us to go soe fine, Man, take thine old cloake about thee.