Takings, or, The life of a collegian : a poem . ach,Some one appeared impatient to get shelter, And while they heard retire a hackney-coach,Entered a comely couple, helter-skelter. Here ! here has been a pretty job of jobs ! Cried Mrs. first, and after Mr. Hobbs. 158 TAKINGS. IX. What! whats the matter V every body cried,The lady answered, You must know, to-day We thought of taking pleasure, so we hied To Highgate, with our pretty childrens shay ; Which Mr. Hobbs bought Kitty for a fairing, To give the little dears a little airing. X. And there we drawed em in such pleasant places,They seemed
Takings, or, The life of a collegian : a poem . ach,Some one appeared impatient to get shelter, And while they heard retire a hackney-coach,Entered a comely couple, helter-skelter. Here ! here has been a pretty job of jobs ! Cried Mrs. first, and after Mr. Hobbs. 158 TAKINGS. IX. What! whats the matter V every body cried,The lady answered, You must know, to-day We thought of taking pleasure, so we hied To Highgate, with our pretty childrens shay ; Which Mr. Hobbs bought Kitty for a fairing, To give the little dears a little airing. X. And there we drawed em in such pleasant places,They seemed at least a hundred miles from town, When suddenly full bang in all our faces,Torrents of rain, in deluges came down. So Mr. Hobbss coat and hat got soild, And my new sarsnet gown completely spoiled. XI. * My parasol used for an umbereller,Saved me but little even beneath a tree, And while we stood up every saucy felleiSeemed quite delighted, our distress to see. So we was forced to leave behind our shay, And in the Highgate stage to come > qu IjooJ; -p, im or i n/ •IK B^&qmo*! tooq bfiii *• \bmtim$il !«$( oi I—.bsirai!) od Haw worf worrA uoYtmo rrrirote odJ mdw ,odw,oij$oi erfrbnaa bfnoO n i))iToiiv rid* dguowft tJaoI trad i i if) oil jlaite-gniiilijw ^abfluB ym <9fifio oodifutd yM 1I1X ted f)0u <&oo bnfl im\ bolioifimi ertfil Ibrl ^hfion ow ** to1iw edJ b&m *\ iiso\ UpAt? rbfil] afl Hf 1 wod &k ill Jooq ortJ .buohl aid Jiid) imd) bfoi bu i bluoW CANTO VI. 159 XII. Yes, said the husband, and poor Pompeys gone; You know how well he carried.—I to jailCould send the rogue, who, when the storm came on, Tied a tin kettle to his faithful tail :He dropped, and I have lost, through this vile trickMy bamboo cane, my Sunday walking-stick. XIII. Twill warn me how I pleasure take again—Spoiled hat and coat, and hal
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