JOLLY WET.
Hooray! It rains, it pelts, it pours,
At work I shall be free from bores,
Who call and stay. The storm that roars,
The wet, will keep them all in-doors.
I've but to dread the Postman's knock,
A sharp but momentary shock,
I'll hope that it may bring no worse,
Than some attempt upon my purse.
Prospectus, Circular, or Puff,
Into the fire just won't I stuff,
And smile, as to myself I say,
"That postage-stamp is thrown away!"