TEMPUS EDAX RERUM.
Old Time is a regular glutton,
Something dainty for ever he's munching;
The leg of a Statue's his dinner,
And the wing of a Palace his luncheon.
Rhodes' Colossus is merely a chicken,
In the maw of this greedy old soul;
And Stonehenge only rashers of granite,
And Pompeii a "toad in the hole."
Trajan's Column to him's a Poloney,
And the Pyramids Omelettes Soufflées;
Irish stew are ould Erin's Round Towers,
And a nice little hash is Herne Bay.
But of late, he'd had little worth eating,
So one day he—inclin'd for a treat—
At the Board of Works called to inquire
What new buildings they'd got he could eat.
The Commissioners said, "They were sorry
They'd got nothing nice for him; but
There's the Wellington Statue just up, Sir,
And Westminster Bridge in low cut.
"Nelson's Monument wasn't quite ready"
For old Edax Rerum to swallow;
"But he might have the National Gallery,
With Trafalgar Square Fountains to follow."
But though he lik'd things in bad odour,
The Gallery pleas'd not his whim;
For though very fair game was the building,
'Twasn't rotten enough yet for him.
"On the ruins of Greece have I feasted,"
Cried Old Time, with contemptuous raillery;
"And having a taste for the Parthenon,
How the deuce can I stomach that Gallery?"
COME, MOVE ON THERE, MY MAN.
THE STAGE COACHMAN AND THE POST BOY.
AN IMAGINARY CONVERSATION.
Stage Coachman (meeting Post Boy).
Vy! who'd a thought o' seeing you! Vell! how's your vife and fammerly? and how do you find yourself, Muster Joe?
Post Boy.
Only middlin', thank ye!—but how can you hexpect a man, who's a yarning nuffin a-veek, to find himself, I should like to know?
Stage Coachman.
Ah! these here is hard times for you and me, Joe; since every hindivid'al hobjects vith us now to ride—
I'm blow'd if I an't been empty for this month past, and gone every journey vith nuffin at all in my hinside.
Post Boy.
And as for the matter of po-chaises, Vill'm, bless you! there's so plaguy little for a boy now to do—
That I'm sure I don't know how I should ever be able to ive, if I didn't hoccasionally make a dinner out of a "Fly" or two.
Stage Coachman.
Vell! all I can say is, Joe, I can't keep on a running of my coach vithout never no passengers;
Only, I can't a-bear the hidea of my poor 'osses a going the vay of all 'oss-flesh, and a being made into beef sassengers.
Post Boy.
Yes! that'll be the hend on the poor critturs, no doubt; for I have heerd—and it sartinly is my belief—
That, since the railvays have come in, many houses in town rig'larly every veek biles down three 'osses and a gallovay for halamode beef.
Stage Coachman.
Cuss all railways and steam ingins, says I! I vonders how people can like to travel by sitch houtlandish modes—
Only, to be sure, there is jist now vot they calls a "Manier" for mangling all the country, and hironing all the roads.
Post Boy.
And if they only goes on a using up the iron in the vay they're now doing, depend on it, Vill'am—though I hopes I shan't live to see it!
Every poor 'oss that is left vill be hobligated to vander about the streets, vithout never so much as a shoe to his feet.
Stage Coachman.
And vorser still!—Hang me! if each blessed Landlord vont be hinsolvent, and each blessed hinn be sqvashed—
For I heerd t'other day that even "The Red Lion" had got over his head and ears in debt, and vas a going to get vhitevashed.
STEAMED OUT,
or the Starving Stage-Coachman and Boys.
Post Boy.
They do say, too, that the Sheriff has seized all "The Hangel's" things, and "The 'Ole in the Vall" is to be closed afore another twelvemonth comes round—
And, vot's more! that "The Pig in the Pound"'s broke, and von't be hable to pay his creditors nuffin at all votsomdever in the pound.
Stage Coachman.
And then the Chambermaids has all gone to stand behind mahogany counters at the Stations—though a body would hardly think it—
Vhere they sarves out hot tea and soup, to poor half-starv'd devils of passengers, vot arn't hallowed no time to drink it.
Post Boy.
All the Boots, too, has turned railvay policemen, and hangs out them signals, of vhich you've werry likely heerd speak;
And vhich they uses to purvent the gen'l'men, as is travelling in sitch a werry particular hurry, a being druv slap into the middle of next veek.
Stage Coachman.
Yes! and the vorst of that there cursed railvay is, that vhenever there is a haccident on it—
The're sartin to mangle a person's poor body so, that even the Coroner don't like sitting upon it.
Post Boy.
And though, Vill'am, I've bolted with dozens of heiresses in my time, I an't had a 'lopement for this plaguy long vhile;
For the 'appy couples, hang 'em! now takes a "day ticket" to Gretna Green, and runs avay in the most hunromanticated style.
Stage Coachman.
Yes! and vhere now is that beautiful purcession, on the fust of May, to show off the new scarlet coats of the Drivers of Her Majesty's mails?
Vy! if there vos to be sitch a thing, now-a-days, Joe! it 'ud be nuffin but von one long line of them beastly dirty Stokers to them nasty filthy rails.
Post Boy.
Vell! Vill'am, I only vish I vas the hingineer to them there railvay trains—and then their business I vouldn't be werry long sp'iling;
For, if I only had the driving of all of them as likes travelling behind steam ingins, blow me! but I'd bust the bilers of the whole biling.
Stage Coachman.
And, as for my part, if I only had the tooling along of them there D'rectors—into 'em, Crikey! Joe, vouldn't I stick it?
Yes! I'd tool 'em along slap to that "bourne from which no traveller returns;" or, in other words, from which nobody can't get no "Return Ticket."