He paid attention to one Kate
Maria Julia Jervis,
But she did not appreciate
John Thompson’s Civil Service.
Quoth he, “Oh scorn me not, sweet Kate,
Nor let my love-suit fail,
Oh tell me not my pleading’s late,
And don’t Despatch this Mail.”
But she replied, in accents grave,
“I love you not—decamp!”
And when he spoke again—she gave
Her foot an Extra Stamp.
And cried, “My anger you awake,
Your speech on insult borders,
I’m poor, but I would scorn to take
Your vile Post-office Orders.”
Then Thompson felt in mournful mood,
And moaned in accents shivery,
“Miss Jervis, if my speech be rude,
Pray pardon its Delivery.”
He left the room with footsteps slow,
A bitter lesson taught,
And then to counteract the blow,
A pillar-box he sought.
He felt how foolish was the tact
In courtship he had boasted,
And recognized the solemn fact
That he was badly Posted.
SONNETS TO A SHOEMAKER.
THE cobbler’s always cheerful, though
His path of life be crost,
He does not tear his hair in woe,
Whene’er his all is lost.
He welts a lot, but not the wife
With whom his lot is cast;
She’ll find him, whatsoe’er their strife,
Still faithful to the last.