. The choice works of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse. iderd him The stoutest man in town. But Brown an<i stout will both wear out, One Friday he died hard,And left a widowd wife to mourn, At twenty pence a yard. Now Widow B. in two short monthsThought mourning quite a tax, And wishd, like Mr Wilberforce,To manumit her blacks. With Mr Street she soon was sweet; The thing thus came about:She askd him in at home, and then At church he askd her out! Assurance such as this the man In ashes could not stand ;£0 like a Phcenix he rose up Against the Hand in Hand. * Comic Annual, 1833. Sio THE GHOS
. The choice works of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse. iderd him The stoutest man in town. But Brown an<i stout will both wear out, One Friday he died hard,And left a widowd wife to mourn, At twenty pence a yard. Now Widow B. in two short monthsThought mourning quite a tax, And wishd, like Mr Wilberforce,To manumit her blacks. With Mr Street she soon was sweet; The thing thus came about:She askd him in at home, and then At church he askd her out! Assurance such as this the man In ashes could not stand ;£0 like a Phcenix he rose up Against the Hand in Hand. * Comic Annual, 1833. Sio THE GHOST. One dreary night the angry spriteAppeard before her view ; It came a little after one,But she was after two ! O Mrs B. ! O Mrs B.! Are these your sorrows deeds,Already getting up a flame To burn your widows weeds ? Its not so long since I have leftFor aye the mortal scene ; My Memory—like Rogerss,Should still be bound in green ! Yet if my face you still retraceI almost have a doubt— Im like an old * Forget-Me-Not/With all the leaves torn out!. Cock of the Walk. To think that on that finger-jointAnother pledge should cling ; O Hess ! upon my very soul. It struck like Knock and Ring. A ton of marble on my breast Cant hinder my return ;Your conduct, Maam, has set my blood A-boiling in my urn ! Remember, oh ! remember, howTlie marriage rite did run,— If ever we one flesh should be,Tis now—when I have none ! ODE TO MADAME HENGLER. And you, sir—once a bosom friend— Of perjured faith convict,As ghostly toe can give no blow, Consider you are kickd. A hollow voice is all I have, But this I tell you plain,Marry come up !—you marry, Maam, And 111 come up again. More he had said, but chanticleerThe spritely shade did shock With sudden crow, and off he went,Like fowling-piece at cock ! 5 ODE TO MADAME HENGLER, FIREWORK-MAKER TO VAUXHALL.* O Mrs Hengler !—Madame,—I beg pardon-Starry Enchantress of the Surrey Garden !
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