Yet sometimes have I cause to bless the awful noise they make, ’Tis when from some infernal dream their crashing bids me wake; When on my breast a demon sits, who’s marked me for his prey, I’m glad that milk-carts go about so early in the day. Pass on, disturber of my rest--pass on thy way unseen; You little know how very near to murder you have been; Your reckless driver never dreams how great has been his share In making me the wreck I am--and p’r’aps he doesn’t care. Yet when I sleep the dreamless sleep in that great silent town, Where ne’er a cart of any kind goes rattling up and down-- The coroner who sat on me may possibly suggest That “Died of too much early milk” would suit my tombstone best. The Collaborators. Once on a time ’twas the freak of fate That Fidgitt and Whims should collaborate, So they sat them down on a midsummer day To think of a plot and to write a play. They both shook hands ere the task began, Adopting the Prize Ring’s general plan, And said, “If each other we chance to kill, It isn’t a murder,” with right good will. They buried their heads in their hands awhile, Till Fidgitt looked up, with a sickly smile, And timidly stammered a first rough plot, Which Whims immediately said was “rot.” They buried their heads in their hands again, Till a notion fluttered in Whims’s brain; He got to the middle, and there he stuck, For Fidgitt declared the plot was “muck.” They argued the point till it came to blows, And Whims hit Fidgitt upon the nose, Then Fidgitt the inkstand seized, and threw At Whims’s head, which it split in two. Then each in sorrow resumed his seat, And their hands they wrung and their bosoms beat, And presently Fidgitt, his cheeks aflame, With pride declared he’d the hero’s name. It wasn’t a name that Whims would keep And he argued till Fidgitt began to weep. So Whims suggested a name instead, And that to another discussion led. They flew at each other like angry cats, They tore their shirts and they crushed their hats; They smashed the table and broke the chairs, And kicked each other right down the stairs. They banged each other against the wall, But made it up in the entrance-hall. They said they would go for a quiet walk, And begin again with a general talk. They talked so loudly in Bedford Square That the people about all stopped to stare, And a poor little child from a window fell, In terror at hearing Whims’s yell. They called each other such dreadful names That they shocked a couple of aged dames, Who called a bobby to stop the din; He tried and couldn’t, so ran them in. They explained to the sitting magistrate That they’d only tried to collaborate; But the magistrate said such scenes must cease, So he bound them over to keep the peace.