Ne’er from the wicket he departed Without a decent score; And seldom were his timbers started Until his legs were sore. At pads and gloves, as things new-fangled, With pleasant scorn he’d laugh; But now so grievously he’s mangled, No more we’ll fear his chaff. _Punch._ September 22, 1855. ―――― AN ELEGY OF THE ADMIRALTY. Here, on the floor stands famed TOM BRASSEY, The darling of his friends, He built the _Arethusa_ saucy, But did not plate her ends! For Tom was faithful to his Party, (His virtues were so rare!) So economical and hearty, He seemed upon the square! His ships we took for things of beauty (Though REED, and others, scoffed), And doubtless they would do their duty, But ah! their ends are soft! Yet still, comparatively little They cost, as REED admits; Unlucky that they are so brittle, They’ll get blown into bits! And when the shot the foe dispatches Has raked them, oft and oft, The sea will pour beneath their hatches, Because――their ends are soft. _Punch._ March 21, 1885. ―――― LORD TOM NODDY. But, a sheer wreck, sits Lord Tom Noddy, The last made of our Peers, Who joins our legislative body Amidst a nation’s jeers. As M.P. he could not do duty, His brain had grown too soft; So――mark our Constitution’s beauty―― He’s now been sent aloft!――aloft! He’s now-ow been――ah sen-n-n-n-t a-a-loft! Lord Tom for nothing good was noted, Of virtues he had none; But with his side he always voted, And was his father’s son. So, as upon his last appearance He publicly was scoff’d, The Premier, to effect a clearance, Has sent Lord Tom aloft!――aloft! Has sen-n-n-nt Lord Tom-o-om ma-aloft! _Truth._ Christmas Number, 1886. There is another parody on _Tom Bowling_, by L. M. Thornton, entitled _Drunken Sally_, but it is too vulgar to be inserted. It may occasionally be seen amongst the penny ballads on street walls. ――――:o:―――― THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN. And did you ne’er hear of a jolly young waterman, Who at Blackfriars Bridge used for to ply, And he feather’d his oars with such skill and dexterity, Winning each heart and delighting each eye. He look’d so neat, and he row’d so steadily, The maidens all flock’d in his boat so readily, And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an air, That this waterman ne’er was in want of a fare.