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Presently this mann accostes
"You're so like my sister Sally,
Both in valk and face and size,
"I'm a mate on board a wessel,
I'm a sailor bold and true; Shiver up my poor old timbers, Let me be a mate for you!
"What's your name, my beauty, tell me!"
Hofttimes came this British seaman,
And Eliza told her master
(Kinder they than misuses are), How in marridge he had ast her, Like a galliant British tar.
And he brought his landlady vith him (Vich was all his hartful plan),
And she told how Charley Thompson
And how she herself had lived in
And Eliza listened to them,
And she thought that soon their bands Vould be published at the fondlin,
Hand the clergyman jine their ands.
And he ast about the lodgers
(Vich her master let some rooms), Likevise vere they kep their things, and Vere her master kep his spoons.
Hand this vicked Charley Thompson
Hout to fetch a pint of beer.
Hand while pore Eliza vent to
To the lodgers, their apartments,
While the scoundrle Charley Thompson,
But a hi was fixed upon 'em
Vich these raskles little sore; Namely, Mr. Hide, the landlord Of the house at tventy-four.
He was valkin in his garden,
Just afore he vent to sup; And on looking up he sor the Lodgers' vinders lighted up.
Hup the stairs the landlord tumbled;
And he called a brother pleaceman,
Hup and down in Guilford Street.
'And that pleaceman able-bodied
Took this voman to the cell;
And though vicked Charley Thompson Boulted like a miscrant base,
Presently another pleaceman
And this precious pair of raskles
Has for poor Eliza Davis,
Simple gal of tventy-four, She, I ope, vill never listen
In the streets to sailors moar.
But if she must ave a sweet-art
-"Ballads of Policeman X."
Sorrows of Werther
WERTHER had a love for Charlotte
Charlotte was a married lady,
And a moral man was Werther, And, for all the wealth of Indies, Would do nothing for to hurt her.
So he sighed and pined and ogled,
Charlotte, having seen his body
Borne before her on a shutter,
Went on cutting bread and butter.
How Becky Sharp Made an Impression on Joseph Sedley
A VERY Stout, puffy man, in buckskins and Hessian boots, with several immense neckcloths, that rose almost to his nose, with a red striped waistcoat and an apple-green coat with steel buttons almost as large as crown pieces (it was the morning costume of a dandy or blood of those days), was reading the paper by the fire when the two girls entered; he bounced off his arm-chair, and blushed excessively, and hid his entire face almost in his neckcloths at this apparition.
"It's only your sister, Joseph," said Amelia, laughing and shaking the two fingers which he held out. "I've come home for good, you know; and this is my friend, Miss Sharp, whom you have heard me mention."
“No, never, upon my word," said the head under the neckcloths, shaking very much-" that is, yes-what abominably cold weather, miss." And herewith he fell to poking the fire with all his might, although it was in the middle of June.