Then her countenance all over Pale and (emerald) green appears, As he kicks her down the staircase, 'Mid their Lordships' wicked jeers. But her GLADSTONE looked upon her, Lying lifeless, worn, and spent, And he said, "Your dress is ragged-- These must be arrears of _rent_." Deeply mourns the Lord of BURLEIGH, No one more distressed than he, When the PREMIER moved the Commons With the Peers to disagree. And they gathered softly round her, Did the Commons, and they said, "Bring the dress we sent her forth in-- _That_ will raise her from the dead!" _Punch_, August 13, 1881. _The Figaro_ of January 22, 1873, contained a long parody (eleven verses), entitled, "The Lord of Burleigh," but it is not now of sufficient interest to warrant its reproduction. * * * * * A BURLINGTON HOUSE BALLAD. (_With Apologies to Our Lordly Laureate_). In her ear he whispers sadly, "I've a grief upon my soul, And I want you very badly Just to take a little stroll." She replies, in accents fainter, "Anywhere, my love, with thee." He is but a budding painter, And his fair _fiancée_ she. To her chamber straight she scurries, Lest delay should bring reproof, Pops her bonnet on and hurries With him from her father's roof. So she goes, by him attended, Hears him absently converse, As with spirits all unmended He controls his steps to hers. Faring thus, she wonders greatly, Till a gateway she discerns With armorial bearings stately, And beneath the gate she turns. Sees a building most majestic In a simple maiden's eye; Pays he then a smug domestic, And the turnstile clicks them by. All around are paint and glitter High and low upon the wall, While he treads with feelings bitter, Leading on from hall to hall. And as now she freely utters Rapture it were vain to hide, Fiercely turns he round and mutters, "_There's my picture--it is 'skyed!_'" _Funny Folks_, May, 1884. * * * * * THE MAY QUEEN OF 1879, AS SHE MIGHT HAVE BEEN. Well, you waked and call'd me early on the first, my mother dear, As though't had been the jolliest time of all the glad new year, For as you were aware, mother, in spite the wretched day, I had to be Queen o' the May, mother, I had to be Queen o' the May. You did your best for me, mother, I must say that of you; You had my waterproof prepared, and my goloshes too; You lent me your own muff, mother, my chilblains were so sore, And made dear Robin bring the cover'd cart close to our door.