THE LAY OF THE DRENCHED ONE.
(Time, 11.45 P.M.)
PELT, pelt, pelt,
On the cold wet earth, thou Rain!
While my tongue is about to utter
The anger that swells in my brain.
Oh, well for the waterproof'd gent,
As he walks in his shiny array:
Oh, well for the dandified swell,
As he drives in his cabriolet.
And the last lone 'bus rolls on,
As full as its guard can fill;
But oh for the sight of a vanish'd cab,
And the sound of a wheel that's still!
Pelt, pelt, pelt,
On the damp, drench'd streets, O Rain;
But the tender bloom of a dress-coat spoilt
Will never return again.
JOHN COLLETT.
"But, says the Sporting Times, Calcutta is a rough place for a 'stony-broke,' for there is no comfortable workhouse for Europeans, such as would remind one of Tennyson's well-known 'Workhouse Song.'"—
"Break, break, break,
All these cursed stones I see,
For that is the task they've set me,
And I wish that I wasn't me."
WAKE! wake! wake!
In thy Northern land so free,
And our eloquent leader utters
A protest for you and me.
Oh, well for Midlothian's sons
That they shout with him in the fray,
Oh, well for our British lads,
For we know he will gain us the day.
And the Franchise war goes on,
Though the Lords would have us be still;
But, O for our triumph, thou Grand Old Man,
When the people have their bill.
Wake! wake! wake!
To the war-cry of "Liberty!"
And slav'ry's old despotic days
Shall never return to thee.
RICHARD H. W. YEABSLEY.
The Weekly Dispatch, September 14, 1884.
(Parody Competition).
———♦———