Qui nunc dancere vult modo,
Wants to dance in the fashion, oh!
Discere debet—ought to know,
Kickere floor cum heel and toe,
One, two, three,
Hop with me,
Whirligig, twirligig, rapide.
Polkam jungere, Virgo, vis,
Will you join the polka, miss?
Liberius—most willingly,
Sic agimus—then let us try:
Nunc vide,
Skip with me,
Whirlabout, roundabout, celere.
Tum læva cito, turn dextra,
First to the left, and then t'other way;
Aspice retro in vultu,
You look at her, and she looks at you.
Das palmam
Change hands, ma'am;
Celere—run away, just in sham.
Barclay Philips.

A CATALECTIC MONODY!

A cat I sing, of famous memory,
Though catachrestical my song may be;
In a small garden catacomb she lies,
And cataclysms fill her comrades' eyes;
Borne on the air, the catacoustic song
Swells with her virtues' catalogue along,
No cataplasm could lengthen out her years,
Though mourning friends shed cataracts of tears.
Once loud and strong her catechist-like voice
It dwindled to a catcall's squeaking noise;
Most categorical her virtues shone,
By catenation join'd each one to one;—
But a vile catchpoll dog, with cruel bite,
Like catling's cut, her strength disabled quite;
Her caterwauling pierced the heavy air,
As cataphracts their arms through legions bear;
'Tis vain! as caterpillars drag away
Their lengths, like cattle after busy day,
She ling'ring died, nor left in kit kat the
Embodyment of this catastrophe.
Cruikshank's Omnibus.

ODE FOR A SOCIAL MEETING

WITH SLIGHT ALTERATIONS BY A TEETOTALER[1]

Come! fill a fresh bumper—for why should we go
logwood
While the nectar still reddens our cups as they flow?
decoction
Pour out the rich juices still bright with the sun,
dye-stuff
Till o'er the brimmed crystal the rubies shall run.
half-ripened apples
The purple-globed clusters their life-dews have bled;
taste sugar of lead
How sweet is the breath of the fragrance they shed!
rank poisons wines!!!
For Summer's last roses lie hid in the wines
stable-boys smoking long-nines
That were garnered by maidens who laughed through the vines,
scowl howl scoff sneer
Then a smile, and a glass, and a toast, and a cheer,
strychnine and whiskey, and ratsbane and beer
For all the good wine, and we've some of it here!
In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in hall,
Down, down with the tyrant that masters us all!
Long live the gay servant that laughs for us all!
Oliver Wendell Holmes.

THE JOVIAL PRIEST'S CONFESSION