I am thine in thy gladness, I am thine in thy tears, My love, it can change not In absence or years. Were a dungeon thy dwelling, My home it should be, Its gloom would be sunshine, Were I but with thee. For life has no beauty Of thee, love, bereft. I am thine, and thine only, THINE OVER THE LEFT. John Jones, 21 A PARODY ON BEN BOLT. Oh, don’t you remember Lame Sally, John Jones, Lame Sally whose nose was so brown, Who look’d like a clam if you gave her a smile, And went into fits at your frown. In the old goose pond in the orchard, John Jones, Where the goslins are learning to swim, Lame Sally went fishing one wet, windy day, And, by a mistake, fell in. Under old Simmon’s brush fence, John Jones, That winds at the foot of the hill, Together we’ve seen the old mare go, Grinding cider at Appleton’s mill. The mill-wheel is oven wood now, John Jones, The rafters fell on to a cow, And the weasels and rats that crawl round as you gaze, Are lords of the cider mill now. Do you mind the pig-pen of logs, John Jones, Which stood on the path to the barn, And the shirt-button tree, where they grow on the bough, Which we sewed on our jackets with yarn. The pig-pen has gone to decay, John Jones, The lightning the tree overcome, And down where the onions and carrots once grew, Grows thistles as big as your thumb. There is a change in the things I love, John Jones, They have changed from the good to the bad, And I feel in my stomach, to tell the truth, I’d like to go home to my dad. Twelve months, twenty has pass’d, John Jones, Since I knock’d off your nose with a rail, And yet I believe I am your only true friend, John Jones, of the Hurricane Gale. Sparking Sarah Jane. 22 Sitting on the sofa, leaning on my breast, Is a lovely maiden, perfectly at rest; Listening to my love vows, sighing very plain; Bless me this is pleasant, sparking Sarah Jane. _Chorus._--Bless me ain’t it pleasant, Bless me ain’t it pleasant, Bless me ain’t it pleasant, Sparking Sarah Jane? Gentle words are spoken, kisses sweet we give, Vows to love each other long as we do live; Vows to be as happy as the running rill, Never getting angry: do you think I will?