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The pudding brought on too
The plague that he is ?
The veal they all eye it,
So ruddy as that!
Each drop of the fat.
The beef without mustard ! My fate's to be fluster'd, And there comes the custard
To eat with the hare !
A woman might swear!
To send vp the brawn!
That cook, I could scold her, Gets worse as she's older; I wonder who told her
That woodcocks are drawn!
It's really audacious !
That came for a cram!
Were boild with the ham!
Well, where is the curry?
A stoppage again!
Instead of champagne !
My troubles come faster !
And hardly can sit :
I'm off in a fit!
This cooking ?—it's messing ! The spinach wants pressing, And salads in dressing
Are best with good eggs.
In keeping his legs.
To sink by and by.
And have a good cry!
A ROW AT THE OXFORD ARMS.
“ Glorious Apollo from on high beheld us.”
OLD SONG. As latterly I chanced to pass A Public House, from which, alas! The Arms of Oxford dangle ! My ear was startled by a din, That made me tremble in my skin, A dreadful hubbub from within, Of voices in a wrangleVoices loud, and voices high, With now and then a party-cry, Such as used in times gone by To scare the British border : When foes from North and South of TweedNeighbours—and of Christian creed-. Met in hate to fight and bleed, Upsetting Social Order. Surprised, I turn’d me to the crowd, Attracted by that tumult loud, And ask'd a gazer, beetle-brow'd, The cause of such disquiet. When lo! the solemn-looking man, First shook his head on Burleigh's plan, And then, with fluent tongue, began His version of the riot:
A row !-why yes,-a pretty row, you might hear
from this to Garmany, And what is worse, it 's all got up among the Sons
of Harmony, The more's the shame for them as used to be in . time and tune,
[June ! And all unite in chorus like the singing-birds in Ah! many a pleasant chant I've heard in passing
here along, When Swiveller was President a-knocking down
a song; But Dick's resign'd the post, you see, and all them
shouts and hollers Is 'cause two other candidates, some sort of larned
scholars, Are squabbling to be Chairman of the Glorious
Lord knows their names, I'm sure I don't, no
, more than any yokel, But I never heard of either as connected with the
vocal; Nay, some do say, although of course the public
rumour varies, They've no more warble in 'em than a pair of hen
canaries; Though that might pass if they were dabs at t other
sort of thing, For a man may make a song, you know, although
he cannot sing;