So he ordered the grave to be opened wide, And the shroud to be turned down; And there he kissed her clay-cold lips, Till the tears came trickling down, down, down, Till the tears came trickling down. Lady Nancy she died as it might be to-day, Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow; Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief, Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow, sorrow, sorrow, Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow. Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras’ churchyard, Lord Lovel was laid in the choir, And out of her bosom there grew a red rose, And out of her lover’s a brier-rier, rier, And out of her lover’s a brier. It grew and it grew to the church steeple top, And then it could grow no higher; So there it entwin’d in a true lover’s knot, For true lovers all to admire,-rire,-rire, For true lovers all to admire. ―――― FRAGMENT OF A BRADLAUGHABLE BALLAD. He strode and he strode till he reached the lan_ding_, And then he couldn’t “strode” any higher, And there he saw Mister Inspector Den_ning_, Who asked him at once to retire-’ire-’ire. Suggesting that he should retire. He tackled the Sergeant and his depu_tee_, A Messenger too in the Lobby, When in came a lot of Constabula_ree_,―― Mister Bradlaugh he collared a Bobby――’obby――’obby; But _was_ collared too by that Bobby. They fought and they tussled away down the stairs, With many a gasp and a guggle, And poor Daddy Longlegs, who won’t say his prayers, Lost his collar and tails in the struggle――’uggle――’uggle. Lost his temper and tails in the struggle. Who profits by this? The reply’s not remote, Not the Rough, nor the Bobby, nor Gaoler, But _as_ Mister Bradlaugh must have a new coat, ’Tis a capital thing for his tailor――’ailor――’ailor, A very good thing for the tailor. _Punch._ August 13, 1881. ―――― THE TALE OF LORD LOVELL. Lord Lovell he stood at his own front door, Seeking the hole for the key; His hat was wrecked, and his trousers bore A rent across either knee, When down came the beauteous Lady Jane In fair white draperee. “Oh, where have you been, Lord Lovell?” she said: “Oh, where have you been?” said she: “I have not closed an eye in bed, And the clock has just struck three. Who has been standing you on your head In the ash-barrel, perdee?”