O a weary day was that For Jacob to go through; The debt was two seventeen (Which he no mor owed than you), And then there was the plaintives costs, Eleven pound six and two. And then there was his own, Which the lawyers they did fix Of ten pound one and six. I cannot settingly tell If Jacob swaw and cust, And av drawn a cheque for £24 4s. 8d. O Pallis Court, you move My pitty most profound. A most emusing sport You thought it, I'll be bound, To saddle hup a three-pound debt With two-and-twenty pound. Good sport it is to you To grind the honest pore, To pay their just or unjust debts With eight hundred per cent. for Lor; Make haste and get your costes in, They will not last much mor! Come down from that tribewn, And go it, Jacob Homnium, 0 0 PLEACEMAN X. 21 12 HE night was stormy and dark, The town was shut up in sleep: Only those were abroad Or those who'd no beds to keep. who were out on a lark, I pass'd through the lonely street, The wind did sing and blow; I could hear the policeman's feet Clapping to and fro. There stood a potato-man In the midst of all the wet; He stood with his 'tato can In the lonely Haymarket. Two gents of dismal mien, And dank and greasy rags, Came out of a shop for gin, Swaggering over the flags: Swaggering over the stones, These shabby bucks did walk; And I went and followed those seedy ones, And listened to their talk. Was I sober or awake? Could I believe my ears? Those dismal beggars spake Of nothing but railroad shares. I wondered more and more: Says one- "Good friend of mine, How many shares have you wrote for, In the Diddlesex Junction line ?" "I wrote for twenty," says Jim, "But they wouldn't give me one; His comrade straight rebuked him For the folly he had done: "Oh Jim, you are unawares Of the ways of this bad town; I always write for five hundred shares, And then they put me down." "And yet you got no shares," Says Jim, "for all your boast;" "I would have wrote," says Jack, "but where Was the penny to pay the post?" "I lost, for I couldn't pay That first instalment up; But here's taters smoking hot-I say, Let's stop, my boy, and sup." And at this simple feast drew each ragged capitalist Their talk did me perplex, And thought of railroad specs, lost. The while they did regale, I Down on my left thumb-nail. All night I tumbled and tost, "Bless railroads everywhere," I said, "and the world's advance; Bless every railroad share In Italy, Ireland, France; For never a beggar need now despair, And every rogue has a chance." A WOEFUL NEW BALLAD OF THE PROTESTANT CONSPIRACY TO TAKE THE POPE'S LIFE. BY A GENTLEMAN WHO HAS BEEN ON THE SPOT. YOME all ye Christian people, unto my tale give ear; COME 'Tis about a base consperracy, as quickly shall appear; 'Twill make your hair to bristle up, and your eyes to start and glow, When of this dread consperracy you honest folks shall know. The news of this consperracy and villianous attempt, I read it in a newspaper, from Italy it was sent : It was sent from lovely Italy, where the olives they do grow, And our Holy Father lives, yes, yes, while his name it is No No. And 'tis there our English noblemen goes that is Puseyites no longer, Because they finds the ancient faith both better is and stronger. And 'tis there I knelt beside my Lord when he kiss'd the POPE his toe, And hung his neck with chains at Saint Peter's Vinculo. And 'tis there the splendid churches is, and the fountains. playing grand, And the palace of PRINCE TORLONIA, likewise the Vatican; blow. And it's there I drove my Lady and Lord in the Park of Pincio. |