. Carols of Cockayne. Stupidest. I met, of course, with many menWhose brains were very small; I found a party, now and then,With nearly none at all. A WILD HUNT. 53 I spoke to some who talkd about The weather and the crops ;To others, much the worse, no doubt, For alcohol or hops. Alas ! in evry deep, you know, There is a deeper yet;Methought that I had sunk as low As I was like to , wherefore should I deign to dive An atom deeper down ? My Man, said I, if still alive, Is hiding out of town. The fret, the fever, and the fuss, Were wearing out my brain ;And so at last I haild a bus To ta
. Carols of Cockayne. Stupidest. I met, of course, with many menWhose brains were very small; I found a party, now and then,With nearly none at all. A WILD HUNT. 53 I spoke to some who talkd about The weather and the crops ;To others, much the worse, no doubt, For alcohol or hops. Alas ! in evry deep, you know, There is a deeper yet;Methought that I had sunk as low As I was like to , wherefore should I deign to dive An atom deeper down ? My Man, said I, if still alive, Is hiding out of town. The fret, the fever, and the fuss, Were wearing out my brain ;And so at last I haild a bus To take me back home, securely re-installd, I rang for Mary Ann ;She said a visitor had calld— A stupid-looking man. 54 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. I questiond her, and cooks replies Completely provd the said, I never did set eyes On such a silly face. Thrice welcome, Destiny !. I cried \ The moral that you teach :Tis thus Man travels far and wide For things within his reach ! 55 A VERY COMMON CHILD. ALLEN. EFLECTIVE reader, you may goFrom Chelsea unto outer Bow, And back again to Chelsea,Nor grudge the labour if you meet—In lane or alley, square or street—The child whom all the children greetAs Elsie—little Elsie. A pretty name, a pretty face,And pretty ways that give a graceTo all she does or utters,Did Fortune at her birth bestow,When little Elsies lot below—About a dozen years ago— Got cast among the gutters. 56 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. The Fates, you see, have willd it soThat even folks in Rotten Row Are not without their trials ;Whilst only those that know the waysOf stony Londons waifs and straysCan fancy how the seven days Pass oer the Seven Dials. Suppose an able artizan, (A model of the working man So written at and lecturd,)Amongst the fevers that infestHis temporary fever-nestShould catch a deadly one—the rest Is easily conjecturd. Twas hard, on fathers death, I think,That Elsies mother took to drink ; (Twas harder yet on baby.)The reason, reader,
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