Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. IV

Parodies

She wore a “pull back” costume
            That night when first we met;
          As flat as any pancake,
            Her tablier worked with jet.

          Her footsteps had no lightness
            (Though high her heels were shown)
          How could they, with a tightness
            To sprightliness unknown?

          I saw her but a moment,
            Yet methinks I see her now,
          With a cloud of lace _à sortir_
            About her sunny brow.

      “Cherry ripe, cherry ripe, ripe, ripe,” I cry,
      “Fresh and fair ones”――when no Bobby’s nigh.

  _Funny Folks._

                     ――――

          I CANNOT EAT THE OLD HORSE.

(Written during the agitation in Paris in favor of eating horse
flesh).

      I cannot eat the old horse,
        I rode long years ago;
      I’m sure my teeth would fail me,
        And foolish tears might flow.
      For bygone hunts come o’er my heart,
        With cuts from round and side;
      I cannot eat the old horse,
        On which I used to ride.

      I cannot eat the old horse,
        For visions come again;
      Of bygone meets departed,
        And runs in soaking rain.
      But perhaps when raging hunger,
        Has set his hand on me;
      Then I may eat the old horse,
        And hope t’will tender be.

                  ――――:o:――――


           OH! THE MISTLETOE BOUGH.

      The mistletoe hung on the castle hall,
      The holly branch shone on the old oak wall,
      And the baron’s retainers were blithe and gay;
      And keeping their Christmas holiday:
      The baron beheld with a father’s pride,
      His beautiful child, young Lovell’s bride;
      While she, with her bright eyes, seem’d to be
      The star of that goodly company.
                              Oh! the mistletoe bough.

      “I’m weary of dancing now,” she cried;
      “Here tarry a moment――I’ll hide――I’ll hide;
      And Lovell, be sure thou’rt the first to trace
      The clue to my secret hiding place.”
      Away she ran――and her friends began
      Each tower to search, and each nook to scan;
      And young Lovell cried, “Oh! where dost thou hide,
      I’m lonesome without thee, my own dear bride.”
                              Oh! the mistletoe bough.

             *     *     *     *     *

              THE MICHAELMAS GOOSE.

      The Michaelmas goose lay in Leadenhall,
      On the outside of a poulterer’s stall;
      The poulterer’s boys were blithe and gay,
      Keeping of Leadenhall Market-day:
      The poulterer, though his stock profuse,
      Kept twigging with pride the Michaelmas goose;
      Whilst she with her neck broke, seem’d to be
      The best of all gooses that could be.
                      Oh! the Michaelmas goose,
                      Oh! the Michaelmas goose.

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. IV

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