The Humorous Poetry of the English Language: From Chaucer to Saxe ...

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Mason Brothers, 1857 - Всего страниц: 689
 

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Стр. 240 - So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning ; While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, And your lordship...
Стр. 31 - Twas but in a sort I blamed thee: None e'er prosper'd who defamed thee; Irony all, and feign'd abuse, Such as perplex'd lovers use, At a need, when, in despair To paint forth their fairest fair, Or in part but to express That exceeding comeliness Which their fancies doth so strike, They borrow language of dislike; And, instead of Dearest Miss...
Стр. 422 - Thou pretty opening rose (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose), Balmy, and breathing music like the south (He really brings my heart into my mouth...
Стр. 383 - Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, Sir, Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,' This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were Torn in a scuffle. Constables came up for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parishStocks for a vagrant.
Стр. 317 - WERTHER had a love for Charlotte Such as words could never utter ; Would you know how first he met her? She was cutting bread and butter. 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, And his passion boiled and bubbled, Till he blew his silly brains out, And no more was by it troubled. _*• Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person,...
Стр. 363 - That swill'd more liquor than it could contain, And like a drunkard gives it up again. Brisk Susan whips her linen from the rope, While the first drizzling...
Стр. 314 - Little. Through sunny May, through sultry June, I loved her with a love eternal; I spoke her praises to the moon, I wrote them to the Sunday Journal.
Стр. 531 - Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes, The foolish creature thinks he climbs: But here or there, turn wood or wire, He never gets two inches higher. So fares it with those merry blades, That frisk it under Pindus' shades. In noble songs, and lofty odes, They tread on stars, and talk with gods; Still dancing in an airy round, Still pleas'd with their own verses' sound ; Brought back, how fast soe'er they go, Always aspiring, always low.
Стр. 96 - The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws, Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet and emerald eyes, She saw, and purred applause.
Стр. 52 - IN tattered old slippers that toast at the bars, And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, Away from the world and its toils and its cares, I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs. To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure, But the fire there is bright and the air rather pure ; And the view I behold on a sunshiny day Is grand through the chimney-pots over the way. This snug little chamber is...

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