JOHN BUDD AND SUKEY SIMS.
Susanna Sims was under nurse
To little Messieurs Cole;
And John Budd was a gardener,
That lived at Camberwoll.
And John would often say to Sue,
"We're for each other made:
For vy—ain't I a nursery-man,
And you a nursery-maid?"
He said she was his pink, his rose,
His Clarkia Grandiflora:
And swore no love had ever root
Like to the love he bore her.
Yet still, whenever he talk'd thus,
She look at him quite gruff,
And "Come now, Mister Budd," she'd say,
"None of your garden stuff!"
And every year, as spring came round,
With flow'rs of every hue,
He'd cull the fairest of them all,
And carry them to Sue.
But all in vain for him to bring
The sweetest buds of May;
For cruel Susan still turned up
Her nose at his nosegay.
Vainly in search of blossoms rare
He wandered to and fro:
She spurn'd them all; and every bloom
To him was a fresh blow.
And when he'd boast his pretty birds,
Their songs and merry freaks,
She'd say, "John Budd, I doesn't care
A twopence for the beaks."
The fact was this, another swain
Had won fair Susan's heart—
The fancy-bread man, Sammy Twist—
For him she felt love's smart.
And still, while "Oh! 'tis love, 'tis love!"
Was running in John's head,
Susanna Sims would sing, "Oh! tell
Me where is fancy bread?"
No doubt it was a puzzling state
To be in—that of Sue:
The baker's man was very poor,
John Budd was well to do.
One hour she'd say, "I'll marry Sam;"
Another, "No, I wont."
Poor Susan Sims! Love whisper'd "Dough:"
But Interest said "Don't."
At last Sue quite made up her mind
In favour of the baker;
And sent him word to say that he
Might come next day and take her.
Away they stole at early dawn:
"And now, my pretty puss,"
Says he, "we'll have a cab." Says she,
"No; I prefers a buss."
They get in one of Shillibeer's,
And rode along Fleet Street,
(So call'd, I am told, because in it
You never can go fleet,)
When "Crikey! here's a pretty start!
Vere are you going, miss,
Vith that ere married man?" sang out
The tiger of the 'bus.
Then Susan gave a shriek, and fell
Just like a piece of lumber;
And Sammy blew the tiger up,
And swore he'd take his number.
And then Sue open'd half an eye,
And cried, in accents crack'd,
"Oh, Sam! how could you guilty be
Of such a marriage act?"
Then Sammy for the Doctor ran—
At least he told 'em so.
He went: but as for coming back,
Alas! it was "no go."
And when at last poor Sue got home,
As pale as any lily,
She found a letter from John Budd:
And thus ran Johnny's billy:—
"I seed you get into the 'bus,
To be another's wife:
And so resolved to go and end
My wegetable life.
I've tuk an ounce of pois'nous stuff;
And when these lines you see,
Dear Susan, I shall be no more—
Alas!—
Your humble B—."