The Book of Humorous Verse. Various
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was the Christian name Of good King Pharaoh's daughter; She was a milkmaid, and she took A profit from the water." "You're right, my boy; hould up your head, And look like a jintlemàn, Sir; Jist tell me now where Dublin is; Now tell me if you can, Sir." "Och, Dublin is a town in Cork, And built on the equator; It's close to Mount Vesuvius, And watered by the 'craythur.'" "You're right, my boy; hould up your head, And look like a jintlemàn, Sir; Jist tell me now where London is; Now tell me if you can, Sir." "Och, London is a town in Spain; 'Twas lost in the earthquake, Sir; The cockneys murther English there, Whenever they do spake, Sir." "You're right, my boy; hould up your head, Ye're now a jintlemàn, Sir; For in history and geography I've taught you all I can, Sir. And if any one should ask you now, Where you got all your knowledge, Jist tell them 'twas from Paddy Blake, Of Bally Blarney College." James A. Sidey.
REFLECTIONS ON CLEOPATHERA'S NEEDLE
| So that's Cleopathera's Needle, bedad, An' a quare lookin' needle it is, I'll be bound; What a powerful muscle the queen must have had That could grasp such a weapon an' wind it around! Imagine her sittin' there stitchin' like mad Wid a needle like that in her hand! I declare It's as big as the Round Tower of Slane, an', bedad, It would pass for a round tower, only it's square! The taste of her, ordherin' a needle of granite! Begorra, the sight of it sthrikes me quite dumb! An' look at the quare sort of figures upon it; I wondher can these be the thracks of her thumb! I once was astonished to hear of the faste Cleopathera made upon pearls; but now I declare, I would not be surprised in the laste If ye told me the woman had swallowed a cow! It's aisy to see why bould Cæsar should quail In her presence, an' meekly submit to her rule; Wid a weapon like that in her fist I'll go bail She could frighten the sowl out of big Finn MacCool! But, Lord, what poor pigmies the women are now, Compared with the monsthers they must have been then! Whin the darlin's in those days would kick up a row, Holy smoke, but it must have been hot for the men! Just think how a chap that goes courtin' would start If his girl was to prod him wid that in the shins! I have often seen needles, but bouldly assart That the needle in front of me there takes the pins! O, sweet Cleopathera! I'm sorry you're dead; An' whin lavin' this wondherful needle behind Had ye thought of bequathin' a spool of your thread An' yer thimble an' scissors, it would have been kind. But pace to your ashes, ye plague of great men, Yer strength is departed, yer glory is past; Ye'll never wield sceptre or needle again, An' a poor little asp did yer bizzness at last! Cormac O'Leary. |
THE ORIGIN OF IRELAND
| With due condescension, I'd call your attention To what I shall mention of Erin so green, And without hesitation I will show how that nation Became of creation the gem and the queen. 'Twas early one morning, without any warning, That Vanus was born in the beautiful say, And by the same token, and sure 'twas provoking, Her pinions were soaking and wouldn't give play. Old Neptune, who knew her, began to pursue her, In order to woo her—the wicked old Jew— And almost had caught her atop of the water— Great Jupiter's daughter!—which never would do. But Jove, the great janius, looked down and saw Vanus, And Neptune so heinous pursuing her wild, And he spoke out in thunder, he'd rend him asunder— And sure 'twas no wonder—for tazing his child. A star that was flying hard by him espying, He caught with small trying, and down let it snap; It fell quick as winking, on Neptune a-sinking, And gave him, I'm thinking, a bit of a rap. That star it was dry land, both low land and high land, And formed a sweet island, the land of my birth; Thus plain is the story, that sent down from glory, Old Erin asthore as the gem of the earth! Upon Erin nately jumped Vanus so stately, But fainted, kase lately so hard she was pressed— Which much did bewilder, but ere it had killed her Her father distilled her a drop of the best. That sup was victorious, it made her feel glorious— A little uproarious, I fear it might prove— So how can you blame us that Ireland's so famous For drinking and beauty, for fighting and love? Unknown. |
AS TO THE WEATHER
| I remember, I remember, Ere my childhood flitted by, It was cold then in December, And was warmer in July. In the winter there were freezings— In the summer there were thaws; But the weather isn't now at all Like what it used to was! Unknown. |
THE TWINS
| In form and feature, face and limb, I grew so like my brother, That folks got taking me for him, And each for one another. It puzzled all our kith and kin, It reach'd an awful pitch; For one of us was born a twin, Yet not a soul knew which. One day (to make the matter worse), Before our names were fix'd, As we were being wash'd by nurse We got completely mix'd; And thus, you see, by Fate's decree, (Or rather nurse's whim), My brother John got christen'd me, And I got christen'd him. This fatal likeness even dogg'd My footsteps when at school, And I was always getting flogg'd, For John turned out a fool. I put this question hopelessly To every one I knew— What would you do, if you were me, To prove that you were you? Our close resemblance turn'd the tide Of my domestic life; For somehow my intended bride Became my brother's wife. In short, year after year the same Absurd mistakes went on; And when I died—the neighbors came And buried brother John! Henry S. Leigh. |
II
THE ETERNAL FEMININE
HE AND SHE
| When I am dead you'll find it hard, Said he, To ever find another man Like me. What makes you think, as I suppose You do, I'd ever want another man Like you? Eugene Fitch Ware. |
THE KISS
| "What other men have dared, I dare," He said. "I'm daring, too: And tho' they told me to beware, One kiss I'll take from you. "Did I say one? Forgive me, dear; That was a grave mistake, For when I've taken one, I fear, One hundred more I'll take. "'Tis sweet one kiss from you to win, But to stop there? Oh, no! One kiss is only to begin; There is no end, you know." The maiden rose from where she sat And gently raised her head: "No man has ever talked like that— You may begin," she said. Tom Masson. |
THE COURTIN'