. The choice works of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse. t force ;This flesh of mine the worra»— Theyre come to lunch, of course. And when my bodys turnd to clay. And dear friends hear my knell,Oh, let them give a sigh and say— I hear the upstairs bell. TO MARY HOUSEMAID,ON valentines day. Mary, you know Ive no love-nonsense,And, though I pen on such a day, I dont mean flirting, on my conscience,Or writing in the courting way. Though Beauty hasnt formd your feature,It saves you, prhaps, from being vain, And many a poor unhappy creatureMay wish that she was half as plain. Your virtues w
. The choice works of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse. t force ;This flesh of mine the worra»— Theyre come to lunch, of course. And when my bodys turnd to clay. And dear friends hear my knell,Oh, let them give a sigh and say— I hear the upstairs bell. TO MARY HOUSEMAID,ON valentines day. Mary, you know Ive no love-nonsense,And, though I pen on such a day, I dont mean flirting, on my conscience,Or writing in the courting way. Though Beauty hasnt formd your feature,It saves you, prhaps, from being vain, And many a poor unhappy creatureMay wish that she was half as plain. Your virtues would not rise an inch, Althou^i^h your shar3e was two foot taller. And wisely you let others pinch Great waists and feet to make them smaller. You never try to spare your handsFrom getting red by household duty, 6f« PAIN IN A PLEASURE-BOAT, But, doing all that it commands,Their coarseness is a moral beauty. Let Susan flourish her fair arms, And at your odd legs sneer and scoff; But let her laugh, for you have charmsThat nobody knows nothing What odd legs I FA/JV IN A PLEASURE-BOAT, A SEA ECLOGUE**• I ^tprehend you I—School o/ReJorm. off there !—ship the rudder, Bill—cast off! shes under way I Mrs under what?—I hope shes not!—good gracious, what a spray I out the jib, and rig the boom !—keep clear of those two brigs 1 Mrs hope they dont intend some joke by running of their rigs! , shift them bags of ballast aft—shes rather out of trim I Mrs bags of stones ! theyre pretty things to help a boat to swim I • Comic Annual, 1831. PAIN IN A PLEASURE-BOAT, wind Is fresh—if she dont scud, its not the breezes fault! Mrs fresh, indeed ! I never felt the air so full of salt! schooner, Bill, harnt left the roads, with oranges and nuts I 8 Mrs F. If seas have roads, theyre very rough—I never felt such ruts 1 6i8
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