'Twas thus that I went back to school
In garb no boy could ridicule,
And eft becoming
A jolly child—I plunged in debt
For tarts—and promised fair to get
The prize for summing.
But, no! my schoolmates soon began
Again to mock my outward man,
And make me hate 'em!
Long sitting will broadcloth abrade,
The dye wore off—and so displayed
A red substratum!
To both my Parents then I flew—
Mama shed tears, Papa cried "Pooh,
Come, stop this racket:"
He'd still some cloth, so Snip was bid
To stitch me on two tails; he did,
And spoilt my jacket!
And then the boys, despite my wails,
Would slily come and lift my tails,
And smack me soundly.
O, weak Mama! O, wrathful Dad!
Although your exploits drove me mad,
Ye loved me fondly.
Good Friends, our little ones (who feel
Such bitter wounds, which only heal
As wisdom mellows)
Need sympathy in deed and word;
So never let them look absurd
Beside their fellows.
My wife, who likes the Things I've doft
Sublimes her sentiments, for oft,
She'll take, and ... air them!
—You little Puss, you love this pair,
And yet you never seem to care
To let me wear them.
BEGGARS.
I am pacing Pall Mall in a wrapt reverie,—
I am thinking if Sophy is thinking of me,—
When up creeps a ragged and shivering wretch,
Who seems to be well on his way to Jack Ketch.
He has got a bad face, and a shocking bad hat,
A comb in his fist, and he sees I'm a flat;
For he says, "Buy a comb, it's a fine un to wear;
Just try it, my Lord, through your whiskers and 'air."