I'M NOT A SINGLE MAN. Yet every Miss reminds me this - If they had hair in papers once, Miss Mary Bond was once so fond Once they made choice of my bass Her taste at once is modernized voice I'm not a single man! There may be hands I may not Kemble will play makes the soul Plainly she hears this question and reply: "Axes your pardon, sir, but what "Taxes," says he, "and shall not d'ye want?" call again!" THE CIGAR. SOME sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far, The world may wag at will, So I have my cigar. Some fret themselves to death, With Whig and Tory jar; Sir John requests my vote, Some want a German row, I never see the Post, I seldom read the Star, The Globe I scarcely heed, So I have my cigar. They tell me that bank stock Is sunk much under par, It's all the same to me, So I have my cigar. Honors have come to men, My juniors at the bar, No matter I can wait, So I have my cigar. Ambition frets me not; A cab, or glory's car Are just the same to me, So I have my cigar. I worship no vain gods, But serve the household Lar; I'm sure to be at home, So I have my cigar. I do not seek for fame, A general with a scar; A private let me be, So I have my cigar. To have my choice among The toys of life's bazaar, The deuce may take them all, So I have my cigar. Some minds are often tost By tempests, like a Tar; I always seem in port, The ardent flame of love, My bosom cannot char; I smoke, but do not burn, So I have my cigar. They tell me Nancy Low Has married Mr. R-: The jilt! but I can live, So I have my cigar. FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. BEN BATTLE was a soldier bold, Now, as they bore him off the field, 66 The army surgeons made him limbs: As represent my legs!" Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, But when he called on Nelly Gray, "O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray! Said she, "I loved a soldier once, For he was blithe and brave; But I will never have a man With both legs in the grave! "Before you had those timber toes, Your love I did allow, But then, you know, you stand upon Another footing now!" "O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray! But as they fetched a walk one day, And Sally she did faint away, "Why, then," said she, "you've lost The boatswain swore with wicked the feet Of legs in war's alarms, And now you cannot wear your shoes Upon your feats of arms!" "Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray; "I wish I ne'er had seen your face; Now, when he went from Nelly Gray, His heart so heavy got And life was such a burthen grown, It made him take a knot! So round his melancholy neck One end he tied around a beam, And there he hung till he was dead As any nail in town,For though distress had cut him up, It could not cut him down! A dozen men sat on his corpse, To find out why he diedAnd they buried Ben in four crossroads, With a stake in his inside! FAITHLESS SALLY Brown. YOUNG BEN he was a nice young man, A carpenter by trade, words, Enough to shock a saint, That though she did seem in a fit, 'Twas nothing but a feint. "Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head, He'll be as good as me; For when your swain is in our boat, So when they'd made their game her, And taken off her elf, She roused, and found she only was A coming to herself. "And is he gone, and is he gone?" She cried, and wept outright: "Then I will to the water side, And see him out of sight." A waterman came up to her: "Now, young woman," said he, "If you weep on so, you will make Eye-water in the sea." "Alas! they've taken my beau Ben Says he, "They've only taken him What a hard-ship that must be! "Oh! would I were a mermaid now, For then I'd follow him; But, oh! I'm not a fish-woman, And so I cannot swim. "Alas! I was not born beneath The Virgin and the Scales, And he fell in love with Sally Brown, So I must curse my cruel stars, That was a lady's maid. And walk about in Wales." Now Ben had sailed to many a Then reading on his 'bacco-box, place That's underneath the world; But in two years the ship came home, And all her sails were furled. But when he called on Sally Brown, "O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown, He heaved a bitter sigh, And then to pipe his eye. THE ART OF BOOK-KEEPING. How hard, when those who do not wish to lend, thus lose, their books, I, of my "Spenser" quite bereft, last winter sore was shaken; 66 My "Mallet" served to knock me down, which makes me thus a talker; They picked my "Locke," to me far more than Bramah's patent worth, For though I caught them stealing "Swift," as swiftly went my 66 "Steele." Hope" is not now upon my shelf, where late he stood elated; Even "Glover's" works I cannot put my frozen hands upon; I"Prior" sought, but could not see the "Hood" so late in front; |