The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 50

'T was business call'd a Father to travel by the Rail; His eye was calm, his hand was firm, although his cheek was pale.

He took his little boy and girl, and set them on his knee; And their mother hung about his neck, and her tears flowed fast and free.

I'm going by the Rail, my dears--ELIZA, love, don't cry-- Now, kiss me both before I leave, and wish Papa good-by.

I hope I shall be back again, this afternoon, to tea, And then, I hope, alive and well, that your Papa you'll see.

I'm going by the Rail, my dears, where the engines puff and hiss; And ten to one the chances are that something goes amiss; And in an instant, quick as thought--before you could cry "Ah!"

An accident occurs, and--say good-by to poor Papa!

Sometimes from scandalous neglect, my dears, the sleepers sink, And then you have the carriages upset, as you may think.

The progress of the train, sometimes, a truck or coal-box checks, And there's a risk for poor Papa's, and every body's necks.

Or there may be a screw loose, a hook, or bolt, or pin-- Or else an ill-made tunnel may give way, and tumble in; And in the wreck the pa.s.sengers and poor Papa remain Confined, till down upon them comes the next Excursion-train.

If a policeman's careless, dears, or if not over-bright, When he should show a red flag, it may be he shows a white; Between two trains, in consequence, there's presently a clash, If poor Papa is only bruised, he's lucky in the smash.

Points may be badly managed, as they were the other day, Because a stingy Company for hands enough won't pay; Over and over goes the train--the engine off the rail, And poor Papa's unable, when he's found, to tell the tale.

And should your poor Papa escape, my darlings, with his life, May he return on two legs, to his children and his wife-- With both his arms, my little dears, return your fond embrace, And present to you, unalter'd, every feature of his face.

I hope I shall come back, my dears--but, mind, I am insured-- So, in case the worst may happen, you are so far all secured.

An action then will also lie for you and your Mamma-- And don't forget to bring it--on account of poor Papa.

A LETTER AND AN ANSWER.

PUNCH.

THE PRESBYTERS TO PALMERSTON.

The Plague has come among us, Miserable sinners!

Fear and remorse have stung us, Miserable sinners!

We ask the State to fix a day, Whereon all men may fast and pray, That Heaven will please to turn away The Plague that works us sore dismay, Miserable sinners!

PALMERSTON TO THE PRESBYTERS.

The Plague that comes among you, Miserable sinners!

To effort hath it strung you?

Miserable sinners!

You ask that all should fast and pray; Better all wake and work, I say; Sloth and supineness put away, That so the Plague may cease to slay; Miserable sinners!

For Plagues, like other evils, Miserable sinners!

Are G.o.d'S and not the Devil's, Miserable sinners!

Scourges they are, but in a hand Which love and pity do command: And when the heaviest stripes do fall, 'Tis where they're wanted most of all, Miserable sinners!

Look round about your city, Miserable sinners!

Arouse to shame and pity, Miserable sinners!

Pray: but use brush and limewash pail; Fast: but feed those for want who fail; Bow down, gude town, to ask for grace But bow with cleaner hands and face, Miserable sinners!

All Time G.o.d'S Law hath spoken, Miserable sinners!

That Law may not be broken, Miserable sinners!

But he that breaks it must endure The penalty which works the cure.

To us, for G.o.d'S great laws transgressed, Is doomsman Pestilence addressed, Miserable sinners!

We can not juggle Heaven, Miserable sinners!

With one day out of seven, Miserable sinners!

Shall any force of fasts atone For years of duty left undone?

How expiate with prayer or psalm, Deaf ear, blind eye, and folded palm?

Miserable sinners!

Let us be up and stirring, Miserable sinners!

'Mong ignorant and erring, Miserable sinners!

Sloth and self-seeking from us cast, Believing this the fittest fast, For of all prayers prayed 'neath the sun There is no prayer like work well done, Miserable sinners!

PAPA TO HIS HEIR, A FAST MINOR.

PUNCH.

My son, a father's warning heed; I think my end is nigh: And then, you dog, you will succeed Unto my property.

But, seeing you are not, just yet.

Arrived at man's estate, Before you full possession get, You'll have a while to wait.

A large allowance I allot You during that delay; And I don't recommend you not To throw it all away.

To such advice you'd ne'er attend; You won't let prudence rule Your courses; but, I know, will spend Your money like a fool.

I do not ask you to eschew The paths of vice and sin; You'll do as all young b.o.o.bies, who Are left, as you say, tin.

You'll sot, you'll bet; and, being green, At all that's right you'll joke; Your life will be a constant scene Of billiards and of smoke.

With bad companions you'll consort With creatures vile and base, Who'll rob you; yours will be, in short, The puppy's common case.

But oh, my son! although you must Through this ordeal pa.s.s, You will not be, I hope--I trust-- A wholly senseless a.s.s.

Of course at prudence you will sneer, On that theme I won't harp; Be good, I won't say--that's severe; But be a little sharp.

All rascally a.s.sociates shun To bid you were too much, But, oh I beware, my spooney son, Beware one kind of such.

It asks no penetrative mind To know these fellows: when You meet them, you, unless you're blind, At once discern the men.

The turgid lip, the piggish eye, The nose in form of hook, The rings, the pins, you tell them by, The vulgar flashy look.

Spend every sixpence, if you please, But do not, I implore, Oh! I do not go, my son, to these Vultures to borrow more.

Live at a foolish wicked rate, My hopeful, if you choose, But don't your means antic.i.p.ate Through bill-discounting Jews.