EXEXOLOR.
The shades of night had fallen (at last!)
When from the Eagle Tavern pass'd
A youth, who bore, in manual vice,
A pot of something monstrous nice—
XX—oh lor!
His brow was bad—his young eye scann'd
The frothing flagon in his hand,
And like a gurgling streamlet sprung
The accents to that thirsty tongue,
XX—oh lor!
In happy homes he saw them grub
On stout, and oysters from a tub,—
The dismal gas-light gleamed without,
And from his lips escaped a shout,
"XX—oh lor!"
"Young man," the Sage observ'd, "just stay,
And let me dip my beak, I say,
The pewter is deep, and I am dry!"
"Perceiv'st thou verdure in my eye?
XX—oh lor!"
"Oh stop," the maiden cried, "and lend
Thy beery burden here, my friend—"
Th' unbidden tear regretful rose,
But still his thumb-tip sought his nose;
XX—oh lor!
"Beware the gutter at thy feet!
Beware the Dragons of the street!
Beware lest thirsty Bob you meet!"
This was the ultimate remark;
A voice replied far thro' the dark,
"XX—oh lor!"
That night, by watchmen on their round,
The person in a ditch was found;
Still grasping in his manual vice,
That pot—once fill'd with something nice—
XX—oh lor!!!
From Mr. H. Cholmondeley-Pennell's Puck on Pegasus (Chatto and Windus.)