A Legend of Jarvis’s Jetty.
Mr. Simpkinson (loquitur).
’Twas in Margate last July, I walked upon the pier,
I saw a little vulgar Boy—I said, “What make you here?
The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks anything but joy;”
Again I said, “What make you here, you little vulgar Boy?”
He frown’d, that little vulgar boy,—he deem’d I meant to scoff—
And when the little heart is big, a little “sets it off:”
He put his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose—
He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose!