A MAY-DAY LAY.
Hip, hip, huzza!
For Merry May!
More dear than tongues can tell,
To ev'ry child of Phœbus,—and
Of Lancaster and Bell.
Lay by your books:
Let anxious looks
Give place to mirth and smiles.
Come, come, my lads, put up your slates,
And run and fetch your tiles!
Now off they go,
Dick, Tom, and Joe,
Just like a pack of hounds;
With vicar, crier, and beadle too,
To beat the parish bounds.
Away, away,
By bank and brae,
By footway and by highway:
Each lane a Lad-lane now becomes,
And ev'ry way a Boy-way.
At ev'ry well
Their notes they swell,—
One's in the water thrown;
Where he this moral lesson learns:—
"Always let well alone."
And then at night,
Oh! what delight
To hear the pipes of Pan!
And see the old connexion still
Kept up 'twixt May and Can!
While maidens bound
The May-pole round,
With hearts and footsteps light:
And near the Pole a booth is found,
A Boothia Felix quite.
At least 'twas so
Some years ago,
Ere wisdom oped our eyes;
And farthing folks, with penny mags,
Made people penny wise.
But, nowadays,
We've no such Mays:
Unpluck'd now blows the hawthorn.
A May-pole I no more can find
Than Parry can the northern.
Our Johnny raws
Read Newton's laws,
All merriment unheeding;
And, poring over the Laws of Light,
Imagine it light reading.
Yet still, sweet May,
To me thou'rt gay;
My pleasure and my pride!
I love thy vi'lets, daffodils,
Daisies,—and pigeons—pied!
I love thy flow'rs,
And shady bow'rs;
Thy mountains and thy vales.
I love thy morning breezes, and
I love thy nightingales!
Then, hip! huzza!
For Merry May!
We'll banish care and fear;
And sing and dance from day to day,
And laugh from ear to ear!
JUNE.—Haymaking.
| JUNE. | [1837. | |||
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Pattern of patience,—placid punter,—say, | ||||
| Since early dawn, when thou didst take thy stand, | ||||
| How many nibbles hast thou had? I pray,— | ||||
| How many minnows hast thou brought to land? | ||||
| Not one!—yet comfort thee, Piscator bold; | ||||
| One thing, at least, you're sure to catch,—a cold! | ||||
| D. | Great Events and Odd Matters. | Prognostifications. | ||
| 1 | ![]() | Crib | ||
| 2 | squaring | |||
| 3 | Transit of Venus. A ship-load of Vestals consigned to Van Diemen's land. | to Gully | ||
| 4 | ![]() | ☍ □ ♂ ☉ | ||
| 5 | had a more | |||
| 6 | sinster | |||
| 7 | aspect than | |||
| 8 | Sun rises 3 h. 48 m. | Mercury | ||
| 9 | I wish my Son would rise as soon, | squaring to | ||
| To breathe the balmy air of June,— | ||||
| 10 | The lazy dog! | Mars? | ||
| Not snoring half his hours away, | ||||
| 11 | Lie like a torpid lump of clay, | ♎ ♃ ☿ | ||
| Or old King Log. | ||||
| 12 | To rouse the sluggard from his nest, | Then, | ||
| I've all things tried, and done my best,— | ||||
| 13 | The prig! | as touching | ||
| I've stripped the clothes, in hopes he'd mend; | ||||
| 14 | I've given him strap,—a thick rope's end,— | THE | ||
| Cold pig! | ||||
| 15 | In vain!—There lies the stupid clown, | WEATHER | ||
| As if the Night Mare held him down. | ||||
| 16 | ♈ ☍ | |||
| 17 | ♈ ☍ | |||
| 18 | Battle of Waterloo. Lobsters in season. | ![]() | what better | |
| 19 | ![]() | index | ||
| 20 | need we of | |||
| 21 | Daniel Lambert died. Grand Diet of Worms. | ♂ ☉ ♉ ♋ | ||
| 22 | ![]() | The grave-digger fled, all a-shiv'ring and shaking, | its | |
| For old Mother Earth she cried, | ||||
| 23 | With a terrible groan: "Why the deuce are you making | evershifting | ||
| This precious big hole in my side!" | ||||
| 24 | ♊ ♒ △ | |||
| 25 | Quarter Day. Moon hides behind a cloud, for fear of being shot. | variable | ||
| 26 | variations | |||
| 27 | ☿ □ ☊ ♍ | |||
| than the | ||||
| 28 | Ha! my lad, you've caught a Tartar, | countenance | ||
| Landlords never give no quarter. | ||||
| 29 | of | |||
| 30 | Spouse? | |||




