. The choice works of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse. s a nice easy bit in the street, That MAdam has lately unpavedl V. There is some one—I see a dark shape— At that window, the hottest of all,—My good woman, why dont you escape ? Never think of your bonnet and shawl:If your dress isnt perfect, what is it For once in a way to your hurt ?When your husbnnd is paying a visit There, at Number Fourteen, in his shirt I VI, Only see how she throws out her chaneyl Her basins, and teapots, and allThe most brittle of her goods—or any, But they all break in breaking their fall ISuch things are not sure
. The choice works of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse. s a nice easy bit in the street, That MAdam has lately unpavedl V. There is some one—I see a dark shape— At that window, the hottest of all,—My good woman, why dont you escape ? Never think of your bonnet and shawl:If your dress isnt perfect, what is it For once in a way to your hurt ?When your husbnnd is paying a visit There, at Number Fourteen, in his shirt I VI, Only see how she throws out her chaneyl Her basins, and teapots, and allThe most brittle of her goods—or any, But they all break in breaking their fall ISuch things are not surely the best From a two-storey window to throw-She might save a good iron-bound chest, For theres plenty of people below ? VII. O dear ! what a beautiful flash ! How it shone thro the window and door;We shall soon hear a scream and a crash, When the woman falls thro with the floor !There ! there ! what a volley of flame. And then suddenly all is obscured !— Well, Im glad in my heart that I came ;— But I hope the poor man is insured! 256 Vr. The Angel of Death. THE VOLUNTEER. The clashing of my armour in my earsSounds like a passing bell ; my buckler puts meIn mind of bier ; tliis, my broadsword, a pickaxeTo dig my grave.—The Lovers ProgreiS. TwAS in that memorable yearFrance thieatend to put off inFlat-bottomd boats, mtending eachTo be a British coffin,To make sad widows of our wives,And every babe an orphan :— II. When coats were made of scarlet cloaks, And heads were dredged wiih flour, I Hsted in the Lawyers Corps, Against the battle hour ; A perfect Volunteer—for why? I brought my wiU and power.* THE VOLUNTEER. IH. One dreary day—a day of dreads Like Catos, overcast— About the hour of six (the mom And I were breaking fast), There came a loud and sudden sound^ That struck me all aghast! IV. A dismal sort of morning roll,That was not to be eaten :Although it was no skin of mine,But parchment that was beaten,I felt tattood through all my flesh,Like any Ota
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