With bosom weary and worn, With eyelids painted and red, A woman, fresh from a great duke's ball, Knelt by the side of her bed. Her rubies were ruddy and rich, And perfect her bodice and skirt-- She looked like a splendid and tigerly witch, And yet with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Flirt." F. C. W., Exeter College, Oxon. _College Rhymes_ (T. Shrimpton and Son), Oxford, 1872. * * * * * THE SONG OF THE WIRE. With finger cunning and firm, With one eye and a crooked back, An old man, clad in an old pair of bags, Was carving a profile in black. Snip! snip! snip! Cold, wet, or whatever the day, And still, with a voice of a ludicrous crack, He croaked the "Wirer's Lay." "Wire! wire! wire! While men to their lectures fly, And wire! wire! wire! Where the Turl runs into the High! It's O, to be the Vice, Or a Prince in his cap and gown, It's O, to be able to pay the price To be stuck round my hat's old crown. "Wire! wire! wire! Till the nose begins to be clear; Wire! wire! wire! Till the lips and the chin appear! Hair and shoulder and brow, Brow and shoulder and hair, Till over the likeness I chuckle and wait For a gent who's a moment to spare. "O, men, with sisters dear! O, men, with mothers to please! It is not for them my portraits are bought, But for dearer far than these! Snip! snip! snip! With a point as keen as a dart, Carving at once a likeness to suit, And a place in the loved one's heart. "But why do I talk of her? The fair one of unknown name, I hardly think she could tell the face, They all seem much the same-- They all seem much the same, Because of the types I keep; 'Tis odd that faces should be so like, And yet I work them so cheap! "Wire! wire! wire! My labour never flags; And what are its wages? a copper or two, Which I lose through the holes in my bags, A nod of the head, or a passing joke,-- A laugh,--a freshman's stare,-- Or a gent so bland, when I ask him to stand While I carve him his portrait there. "Wire! wire! wire! In the sound of S. Mary's chimes, Wire! wire! wire! As specials wire to the _Times!_ Hair, and shoulder, and brow, Brow, and shoulder, and hair, Till the trick is done, and I pocket the coin, As I finish it off with care. "Wire! wire! wire! In the dull month of Novem- ber--wire! wire! wire, When Oxford is bright with Commem. While under light parasols, The pretty girls slily glance, As if to show how nice they would look If they'd only give me a chance.