Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things,
Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung;
The gas up-blazes with its bright white light,
And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl,
About the streets and take up Pall-Mall Sal,
Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.
Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash,
Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep,
But frighten’d by Policeman B 3, flee,
And while they’re going, whisper low, “No go!”
Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads,
And sleepers waking, grumble—“Drat that cat!”
Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls
Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will.
Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise
In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor
Georgy, or Charley, or Billy, willy-nilly;—
But Nursemaid in a nightmare rest, chest-press’d,
Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games,
And that she hears—what faith is man’s—Ann’s banns
And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice:
White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out,
That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows’ woes!
DOMESTIC ASIDES; OR, TRUTH IN PARENTHESES.
“I really take it very kind
This visit, Mrs. Skinner!
I have not seen you such an age—
(The wretch has come to dinner!)
“Your daughters, too, what loves of girls—
What heads for painters’ easels!
Come here and kiss the infant, dears,—
(And give it p’rhaps the measles!)
“Your charming boys I see are home
From Reverend Mr. Russel’s;
’Twas very kind to bring them both,—
(What boots for my new Brussels!)