Oh, had your mother known that you were out,
Death had not entered at the trifling part
That still defies the small chirurgeon’s art
With corn and BUNIONS,—not the glorious John
Who wrote the book we all have pondered on,—
But other BUNIONS, bound in fleecy hose,
To “Pilgrim’s Progress” unrelenting foes!
PLAINT OF THE OLD PAUPER.
Some boast of their FORE-fathers—I—
I have not ONE!