Phillis is my only joy, Faithless as the wind or seas; Sometimes coming, sometimes coy, Yet she never fails to please. If with a frown I am cast down Phillis smiling And beguiling, Makes me happier than before. Though, alas! too late I find Nothing can her fancy fix; Yet the moment she is kind, I forgive her all her tricks; Which though I see, I can’t get free; She deceiving, I believing, What need lovers wish for more? CHARLES SEDLEY. ―――― A RHYME OF THE HOAX. Fillies _is_ my only joy―― Slippery jades as e’er one sees, Sometimes forward, sometimes coy, Sometimes game to win with ease. If I’ve ill luck, And back the ruck, Yet disaster Makes me faster. Bet each year upon the Oaks. Though, alas! I always find There’s no guessing all their tricks, Yet I still with constant mind Risk my monkey’s, five or six; This year may be A case for me Of cash――bereavement; O ACHIEVEMENT. Win! or ’tis a frightful _Hoax_. _Echoes from the Clubs._ May 22, 1867. ―――― Fillies is my only joy! Faithless though the jades oft be Transient ever such annoy. ’Tis but so much £ s. d.; Done are we brown On Epsom Down, Fillies shying, Shiners flying, Spooners sappier than before! Though, alas! too late I find, Fails the goal my fancy picks; Since she’s not of womankind, Freely I forgive her tricks. Fortune’s slippy, ah! Get on HIPPIA,[4] I believing, Ne’er misgiving, Mean to risk my “tin” once more. _Echoes from the Clubs._ May 29, 1867. ――――:o:―――― PARODIES OF ALFRED BUNN’S OPERATIC SONGS. THE SOT BOWED DOWN. The sot bowed down by too much drink, To nearest post will cling; Or in the gutter p’rhaps will sink, Which can no comfort bring; For all exciting spirits tend The senses having flown, To make a fool the only friend That drink can call its own. The sot will in his muddy lair, Still ponder o’er the last Strong glass he took, and could’nt bear, But which he swallowed fast. Till the police assistance lend, And in a cell of stone; Lock up all night the only friend That drink can call its own. ANONYMOUS. ―――― SONG OF JANUARY.