Perhaps, like thee—for fortune’s fickle—
I may, myself, be caught i’ t’snickle;
And some kind hand that sees my pickle—
Through saving thee—
May snatch me too fra death’s grim shackle,
And set me free.
Dame Europe’s Lodging-House.
A Burlesque on the Franco-Prussian war.
Dame Europe kept a Lodging-House,
And she was fond of brass;
She took in public lodgers,
Of every rank and class.
She’d French and German, Dutch and Swiss,
And other nations too;
So poor old Mrs. Europe
Had lots of work to do.
I cannot just now name her beds,
Her number being so large;
But five she kept for deputies,
Which she had in her charge.
So in this famous Lodging-House,
John Bull he stood A1;
On him she always kept an eye,
To see things rightly done.
And Master Louis was her next,
And second, there’s no doubt,
For when a little row took place,
He always backed John out.
And in her house was Alex. Russ;
Oft him they eyed with fear;
For Alex. was a lazy hound,
And kept a Russian Bear.