. The choice works of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse. a method of Waltons own showing,—- But a fisherman feels Little prospect of EelsIn a path thats devoted to towing I I have tried all the water for miles,Till Im weary of dipping and casting, And hungry and faint,— Let the Fancy just paintWhat it is, without Fish, to be Fasting! SEA SONG. And the rain drizzles down very fast, While my dinner-time sounds from a far bell. So, wet to the skin, Ill een back to my inn,Where at least I am sure of a Bar-bell 1 4» SEA SONG. AFTER DIBDIN. Pure water it plays a 5;;ood part in . The swabbing th
. The choice works of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse. a method of Waltons own showing,—- But a fisherman feels Little prospect of EelsIn a path thats devoted to towing I I have tried all the water for miles,Till Im weary of dipping and casting, And hungry and faint,— Let the Fancy just paintWhat it is, without Fish, to be Fasting! SEA SONG. And the rain drizzles down very fast, While my dinner-time sounds from a far bell. So, wet to the skin, Ill een back to my inn,Where at least I am sure of a Bar-bell 1 4» SEA SONG. AFTER DIBDIN. Pure water it plays a 5;;ood part in . The swabbing the decks and all that— And it finds its own level for sartin— For it sartinly drinks very flat. For my part, a drop of the creatur I never could tliink was a fault, For if Tars should swig water by natur,:, The sea would have never been salt! Then off with it into a jorum, And make it strong, sharpish, or sweet, For if Ive any sense of decorum It never was meant to be neat! One day when I was but half sober-Half measures I always disdain —. A Bottle Jack. I walkd into a shop that sold soda,And a\d for some , the lubber he drew and ne drew, boys,Till Id shi;j)d my six bottles or mor.,And blow off my last limb but its true, boys,Why, I warnt half so drunk as aiore !* Comic Annual, iSjO. 47» A SINGULAR EXHIBITION Then off with it into a make it strong, sharpish, or sweet,For if Ive any sense of decorum,It never was meant to be neat. A SINGULAR EXHIBITION AT SOMERSETHOUSE* Our Crummie is a dainty cow.—Scotch Song. On that first Saturday in May, •:?{ When Lords and Ladies, £freat and grandjRepair to see what each done since last they sought the Strand,In red, brown, yellow, green, or blue,In short, whats calld the private view,—Amongst the guests—the deuce knows howShe got in there without a row—
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidchoiceworkso, bookyear1881
