Compress'd, alas! the thorax,
That throbbed with joy or pain;
Not e'en a dose of borax
Could make it throb again.
Dried up the warrior's throat is,
All shatter'd too, his head:
Still is the epiglottis—
The warrior is dead.
THE PHRENOLOGIST TO HIS MISTRESS. PUNCH.
Though largely developed's my organ of order,
And though I possess my destructiveness small,
On suicide, dearest, you'll force me to border,
If thus you are deaf to my vehement call
For thee veneration is daily extending,
On a head that for want of it once was quite flat;
If thus with my passion I find you contending,
My organs will swell till they've knocked off my hat
I know, of perceptions, I've none of the clearest;
For while I believe that by thee I'm beloved,
I'm told at my passion thou secretly sneerest;
But oh! may the truth unto me never be proved!
I'll fly to Deville, and a cast of my forehead
I'll send unto thee;—then upon thee I'll call.
Rejection—alas! to the lover how horrid—
When 'tis passion that SPURS-HIM, 'tis bitter as GALL.
THE CHEMIST TO HIS LOVE. PUNCH.
I love thee, Mary, and thou lovest me—
Our mutual flame is like th' affinity
That doth exist between two simple bodies:
I am Potassium to thine Oxygen.
'Tis little that the holy marriage vow
Shall shortly make us one. That unity
Is, after all, but metaphysical
O, would that I, my Mary, were an acid,
A living acid; thou an alkali
Endow'd with human sense, that, brought together,
We both might coalesce into one salt,
One homogeneous crystal. Oh! that thou
Wert Carbon, and myself were Hydrogen;
We would unite to form olefiant gas,
Or common coal, or naphtha—would to heaven
That I were Phosphorus, and thou wert Lime!
And we of Lime composed a Phosphuret.
I'd be content to be Sulphuric Acid,
So that thou might be Soda. In that case
We should be Glauber's Salt. Wert thou Magnesia
Instead we'd form that's named from Epsom.
Couldst thou Potassa be, I Aqua-fortis,
Our happy union should that compound form,
Nitrate of Potash—otherwise Saltpeter.
And thus our several natures sweetly blent,
We'd live and love together, until death
Should decompose the fleshly TERTIUM QUID,
Leaving our souls to all eternity
Amalgamated. Sweet, thy name is Briggs
And mine is Johnson. Wherefore should not we
Agree to form a Johnsonate of Briggs?
We will. The day, the happy day, is nigh,
When Johnson shall with beauteous Briggs combine.
A BALLAD OF BEDLAM. PUNCH.
O, lady wake!—the azure moon
Is rippling in the verdant skies,
The owl is warbling his soft tune,
Awaiting but thy snowy eyes.
The joys of future years are past,
To-morrow's hopes have fled away;
Still let us love, and e'en at last,
We shall be happy yesterday.