| 1836.] | DECEMBER. | ||
|---|---|---|---|
| Holiday joys have some alloys,— | |||
| For many they're bitter pills, | |||
| When all the dearest ducks come home | |||
| From school, with their long bills, | |||
| And the noisy waits at midnight chime, | |||
| Convince you it is Wakation time. | |||
| M | Season's | Odd Matters. | WEATHER. |
| D | Signs. | ||
| 1 | The | ||
| "BOXIANA." | |||
| 2 | season's | Now | |
| I hate the very name of box; | |||
| 3 | signs | It fills me full of fears: | would it not |
| It 'minds me of the woes I've felt | |||
| 4 | this | Since I was young in years. | be better |
| 5 | month | They sent me to a Yorkshire school, | ⚹ ♄ ♓ ☉ ♄ |
| Where I had many knocks; | |||
| 6 | do | For there my schoolmates box'd my ears, | |
| Because I couldn't box. | |||
| 7 | greatly | than such | |
| I pack'd my box; I pick'd the locks; | |||
| 8 | vary | And ran away to sea; | |
| And very soon I learnt to box | |||
| 9 | in | The compass merrily. | ☌ ♄ ♂ |
| 10 | manner | I came ashore—I call'd a coach, | |
| And mounted on the box; | weather | ||
| 11 | too | The coach upset against a post, | |
| And gave me dreadful knocks. | wisdom | ||
| 12 | that's | ||
| I soon got well; in love I fell, | as this, | ||
| 13 | most | And married Martha Cox; | |
| To please her will, at fam'd Box Hill, | |||
| 14 | extr'or- | I took a country box. | ☽ ☿ ♍ ♊ ♉ |
| 15 | dinary: | I had a pretty garden there, | |
| All border'd round with box; | that I should | ||
| 16 | if you | But ah, alas! there liv'd, next door, | |
| A certain Captain Knox. | arrive | ||
| 17 | are | ||
| He took my wife to see the play;— | at the end | ||
| 18 | rich | They had a private box; | |
| I jealous grew, and from that day | of my tether | ||
| 19 | why | I hated Captain Knox. | |
| 20 | then | I sold my house—I left my wife;— | ♃ ♄ ♍ |
| And went to Lawyer Fox, | |||
| 21 | you're | Who tempted me to seek redress | |
| All from a jury box. | without | ||
| 22 | warm | ||
| I went to law, whose greedy maw | |||
| 23 | and | Soon emptied my strong box; | having |
| I lost my suit, and cash to boot, | |||
| 24 | jolly, | All thro' that crafty Fox. | |
| prophecied | |||
| 25 | but if | The name of box I therefore dread, | |
| I've had so many shocks; | |||
| 26 | you're | They'll never end,—for when I'm dead | ☍ ♀ ☽ ♐ |
| They'll nail me in a box. | |||
| 27 | poor,— | ||
| anything at | |||
| 28 | cold | ||
| all about | |||
| 29 | hungry | ||
| the matter? | |||
| 30 | melan- | ||
| 31 | choly. | ♀ ♐ ♄ ♊ ♑ | |
FINALE.
My task is done! but, ere I "drown my book,"
And "break my staff," I'll take a parting look.
If I have made a fool, in sportive fit,
A lapstone meet, whereon to shape my wit,
So gently have I used him, that, with care,
He'll serve my purpose for another year:
As old Majendie skinned the Italian hound,
And time too short for demonstration found,
Then told his pupils, if they managed right,
They'd keep the dog alive another night.
Of embryo asses I've a pretty store,
Who crave a flaying in a twelvemonth more;
Subjects of every colour and complexion,
Contending for the honour of dissection;
While some there are, who, blest in their condition,
Would waive the honours of my exhibition.
As bashful Bishops, at an ordination,
Cry "Nolo," to the gentle invitation:
And some, the only merit of whose life
Will be, their forming victims for my knife.
Now, John,—not Sir John Ross—I mean John Bull
Thou silly, soft, good-natured, guileless gull!
Why wilt thou let each knave enrich his nest
With treasures pilfered from thy downy breast?
Pill-bolting glutton of all sorts of trash!
In jest or earnest needing still the lash,
Thy cure (no sinecure) will keep, I fear,
My rod in pickle for another year.