C. D. Warner, My Summer in a Garden.
HOME THEY BROUGHT.
OME they brought her lap-dog dead,
Just run over by a fly;
Jeames to Buttons, winking, said,
"Won't there be a row? oh my!"
Then they called the flyman low,
Said his baseness could be proved,
How she to the Beak should go,—
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
Said her maid (and risked her place)
"In the 'ouse it should have kept,
Flymen drives at such a pace"—
Still the lady's anger slept.
Rose her husband, best of dears,
Laid a bracelet on her knee,
Like a playful child she boxed his ears,—
"Sweet old pet!—let's have some tea!"
Shirley Brooks, Wit and Humour.
ON BLESSED IGNORANCE.
E is most happy, sure, that knoweth nought,
Because he knows not that he knoweth not.
Robert Heath (circa 1585-1607).