For months still I lingered in hope and in doubt,
While her form it grew wasted and thin;
But the last dying spark of existence went out.
As the oysters were just coming in!
She died, and she left me the saddest of men,
To indulge in a widower's moan;
Oh! I felt all the power of solitude then,
As I ate my first "natives" alone!
But when I beheld Virtue's friends in their cloaks,
And with sorrowful crape on their hats,
O my grief poured a flood! and the out-of-door folks
Were all crying—I think it was sprats!
FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. A PATHETIC BALLAD. THOMAS HOOD.
Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms!
Now, as they bore him off the field,
Said he, "Let others shoot,
For here I leave my second leg,
And the Forty-second Foot!"
The army-surgeons made him limbs:
Said he, "they're only pegs:
But there's as wooden members quite
As represent my legs!"
Now, Ben he loved a pretty maid,
Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went up to pay his devours,
When he devoured his pay!
But when he called on Nelly Gray,
She made him quite a scoff;
And when she saw his wooden legs,
Began to take them off!
"O, Nelly Gray! O, Nelly Gray
Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat
Should be more uniform!"