And walked in Paradise ;
The fairest thing that ever grew Atween me and the skies.
ROASTED SUCKING-PIG. AIR, Scots wha hae," etc.
PUNCH'S Poetical Cookery Book.
Wordsworth. To make this condiment your poet begs
Osgood. The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs;
Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen
Smoothness and softness to the salad give;
Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,
And, half suspected, animate the whole;
Of mordant mustard add a single spoon,
Distrust the condiment that bites so soon;
But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault
To add a double quantity of salt;
Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca crown,
And twice with vinegar, procured from town;
And lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss
A magic soupçon of anchovy sauce.
O green and glorious! O herbaceous treat!
'T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat ;
Back to the world he 'd turn his fleeting soul,
And plunge his fingers in the salad-bowl;
Serenely full, the epicure would say,
"Fate cannot harm me, I have dined to-day."
Lover. Echo! mysterious nymph, declare
Of what you're made, and what you are.
Echo.
Air!
Lover. Mid airy cliffs and places high,
Sweet Echo! listening love, you lie.
Echo.
You lie !
Lover. Thou dost resuscitate dead sounds, -
Hark! how my voice revives, resounds!
Zounds!
Echo.
Lover. I'll question thee before I go,
Come, answer me more apropos !
Echo.
Poh! poh!
Lover. Tell me, fair nymph, if e'er you saw
So sweet a girl as Phoebe Shaw.
Echo.
Pshaw!
Lover. Say, what will turn that frisking coney
Into the toils of matrimony?
I ASKED of Echo, t' other day,
(Whose words are few and often funny,)
What to a novice she could say
Of courtship, love, and matrimony.
Quoth Echo, plainly, - "Matter-o'-money!"
Whom should I marry?—should it be
A dashing damsel, gay and pert,
A pattern of inconstancy;
Or selfish, mercenary flirt?
Quoth Echo, sharply, — “Nary flirt!”
What if, aweary of the strife
That long has lured the dear deceiver,
She promise to amend her life,
And sin no more; can I believe her?
Quoth Echo, very promptly, -
Echo.
Lover. Has Phoebe not a heavenly brow?
Is not her bosom white as snow?
EVEN is come; and from the dark Park, hark,
Echo.
Ass! No! The signal of the setting sun - one gun!
Lover. Her eyes! was ever such a pair?
And six is sounding from the chime, prime time
Are the stars brighter than they are? To go and see the Drury-Lane Dane slain,
Echo.
They are!
Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out,
Lover. Echo, thou liest, but can't deceive me. Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade,
Echo.
Leave me! Denying to his frantic clutch much touch;
Lover. But come, thou saucy, pert romancer,
Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride
Who is as fair as Phoebe? Answer!
Four horses as no other man can span ;
Or in the small Olympic pit sit split
Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.
Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things
Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung;
The gas upblazes with its bright white light,
And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl
About the streets, and take up Pall-Mall Sal,
Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.
Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash,
Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep,
But, frightened by Policeman B. 3, flee,
And while they're going, whisper low, "No go!"
WHAT a moment, what a doubt!
All my nose is inside out,
All my thrilling, tickling caustic,
Pyramid rhinocerostic,
Wants to sneeze and cannot do it! How it yearns me, thrills me, stings me,
While the nectar still reddens our cups as they How with rapturous torment wrings me!
A child sleeps under a rose-bush fair
A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun...
A country life is sweet!
Across the narrow beach we flit....
A dew-drop came, with a spark of flame
A diagnosis of our history proves..
Adieu, adieu, my native shore..
A district school not far away...
Ae fond kiss and then we sever.........
A fair little girl sat under a tree....
A famous hen 's my story's theme..
Afar in the desert I love to ride....
A fellow in a market-town.......
A flock of merry singing-birds..
A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by..
A footstep struck her ear......
Again the violet of our early days..
A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine.....
827 And now, unveiled, the toilet stands displayed..
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