I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute, For my creditors can’t do away With their dread for the toe of my boot O Solitude! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face, If forebodings one’s bosom alarms That a bailiff may come to the place? I am out of my landlady’s reach; She knows it, and leaves me alone, My skill there is none will impeach At grilling a chop or a bone. The clo’men in Petticoat-Lane My form with indifference see, For though making of most things some gain They cannot make ought out of me. New trousers! what visions unfold! I dare not now venture abroad, For the trousers I’ve on are too holed, And a new pair I cannot afford. The sound of the muffin-man’s bell Makes me ready with anguish to bust, For of money I’ve only heard tell, And the beggars decline to give trust. The pot boy has made me his sport! He conveys to this desolate floor From the pub at the end of the court The bottles of Guinness no more. My friends, when they wish to convey, The hint that for me they have sorrowed, “Feel very much hurt,” so they say, I return not the trifle I borrowed! But my landlady’s gone to her rest, And the bailiff’s away in despair, And everything seems to suggest That I may with safety repair To the printers――benevolent race, Whose mercy may grant me a pot, Which lends e’en affliction a grace And reconciles man to his lot. _The Hornet._ July 15, 1867. ―――― LINES BY THE “HEAD OF THE FAMILY.” I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute; From my husband right down to the cat, I am mistress of man and of brute. O servitude! where are thy charms That pages and housemaids can trace? Better reign in a sphere I won’t name Than serve in the opposite place. I either society seek, Or live in my boudoir alone. I can’t bear from others free speech, Though fond of the sound of my own. My husband, a sweet little man, Has ceased a free agent to be; In fact, he’s so under my thumb, His tameness is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love, For him I have placed under ban; And made him as meek as a dove, The nice little, mild little man. He once used to get in a rage, Till I taught him religion and truth. He has learnt all the wisdom of age,―― He has cut all the “Sallies” of youth. Submission! what treasure untold I brought when I taught him that word; Far better than silver and gold,―― Though these he’d perhaps have preferr’d. “The sound of the church-going bell” Till married to me he ignored; And p’raps that he did was as well, Since all through the sermon he snored.