Kinks.
No. 90.—BEN BOLT. (A NEW VERSION.)
Thirty Proper Names Concealed.
O don't you remember old Sally, Ben Bolt,
Old Sally whose hair was so red,
Her matutinal cry of "Buy any shad?"
Racked our ears till we wished we were dead.
In a small back yard off the alley, Ben Bolt,
The miserly fish-wife of yore
Sits nursing her hord, while she counts once again
The same sheckles she counted before.
O don't you remember the streamlet, Ben Bolt,
Where the boys that played hookey from school
Sat snug on the banks eating taffy and pie,
Or bathed in the clear crystal pool.
But next day, perhaps, you remember, Ben Bolt,
We would fain for a bed negotiate,
Our respective papas had the evening before
Plied the rod at so lively a rate.
O don't you remember our teacher, Ben Bolt,
The man so averse to all fun?
No ham bone or sparerib sent up to our rooms
But he sniffed it and took it away.
Near the church round the corner they've laid him at last,
Where the willows 'n sympathy wave,
And the mocking-bird, chorister meet for a Czar,
Gently warbles a dirge o'er his grave.