TO A COUNTRY COUSIN

CRUEL Cousin Kate, you ask me

For a lyric or a lay.

How tyrannical to task me,

Cousin Kate, in such a way.

Pardon me, I pray, and pity—

(Oh, do anything but frown!)

For I can’t be wise or witty

In an album out of town

No, my Pegasus will canter

Only here on civic stones;

In the country I instanter

Come to grief and broken bones.

Be it mine to sing the city,

Where I seek my mild renown;—

But I can’t be wise or witty

In an album out of town.

Small my power and small my will is

Rural sympathies to win;

Ludgate my sublimest hill is,

And my fields are Lincoln’s Inn

All the Muses in committee,

Pouring inspiration down,

Cannot make me wise or witty

In an album out of town.

London life in many phases

I describe for Cockney friends;

Lead me out among the daisies

And my versifying ends.

I can favor with a ditty

Jones, and Robinson, and Brown;

But I can’t be wise or witty

In an album out of town.

Cousin, hear my supplication;

Give me something else to do.

Is there aught in all creation

I would not attempt for you?

Ask my life, my cruel Kitty:

Bid me hang, or bid me drown;

But I can’t be wise or witty

In an album out of town.

Henry S. Leigh.