APOTHEOSIS OF UNCLE TIM'S BRAN NEW BUTTONS AND BLUE.=
If I had my widow or maiden's whim—
I know who—I know who
It should be! Why, Uncle Tim,
In his bran new buttons and blue.
Tim's a middle ag'd gentleman sleek,
With a laughing eye and a cherry cheek!
He loves a good joke
Like other blythe folk;
A Christmas carol,
A cup from the barrel,
And a glass of old wine seven days in the week!
Hear him sing, and hear him talk,
The veriest merriest cock of the walk;
Daintily dress'd
Like a buck in his best!
Loyal and true
As his holiday blue!
With black silk stock and embroider'd vest;
In Wellingtons trim
Struts Uncle Tim!
With beaver and cane,
And smart gold chain—
Di'mond pin
Stuck under his chin—
All Little Britain
Were never so smitten!
We ne'er shall look on his like again!
Heigho! my heart is low!
Devils blue
As Tim's bran new!
Fidgets, fumes,
Mops and brooms!
Tantrums all from top to toe!
Heigho!
Such a quiz! such a beau!
Such a shape! such a make!
Would I were a lady,
As blooming as May-day;
With carriages, house, and
Twice twenty thousand;
If it only were for Uncle Timothy's sake!