This second _Ballade of Cricket_ was included in a collection of “_Ballades and Rondeaus_” edited by Mr. Gleeson White, and published by Walter Scott, London, 1887. ―――― A BALLAD OF BURDENS. The burden of Old Women. They delight In bulky bundles, always in the way; In ’busses close they wedge you tight at night, In railway trains they jam you up by day. Plump dames with pulpy cheeks and locks of grey, In weariness they waddle, puff, perspire. To banish them for ever one would say, This must be every busy man’s desire. * * * * * The burden of Sad Colours. Thou shalt see Gold tarnished, ghostly grey, and livid green, And lank and languorous thy face must be To harmonise with the lugubrious scene. And thou shalt say of scarlet, “It have been,” And sighing of old tints and tones shalt tire. To bring back brightness and to banish spleen, This must be every cheerful man’s desire. The burden of Smart Sayings. In this day All wish as cynic wits to bear the bell. Men mock at honour, justice, love, and say _The_ end of life “good stories” is to tell. The cad’s coarse jest, the cackle of the swell Are much alike, things that the most admire. To patter slang and tell side-splitters well, This is the end of every fool’s desire. The burden of Bad Seasons. Rain in Spring, Chill rain and wind among the budding trees, A Summer of grey storm-clouds gathering, Damp Autumn one dull mist of miseries, With showers that soak, and blasts that bite and freeze; A drenching Winter with north-easters dire. To make an end of seasons such as these, This must be every suffering man’s desire. The burden of Strange Crazes. Woman’s right To throng the polls, and join the spouting bands; Theosophy and astral bodies, sleight Of cunning jugglers from far foreign lands; Buddhistic bosh which no one understands, A thousand fads that ’gainst good sense conspire. To gag the crotcheteers and tie their hands, This must be every sober man’s desire. L’ENVOY. Donkeys, and ye whom frenzy quickeneth, Heed well this rhyme. Life’s many burdens tire. To lighten them a little, ere our death, This must be every kindly man’s desire. _Punch._ August 7, 1886. ――――:o:―――― PARODIES OF DOLORES. PAIN AND TRAVEL. Perpetual swaying of steamers, Oh, terrible tumble of tides―― More dear than the drowsing of dreamers, Who ramble by rustic road-sides! Oh, lips that are pale with the anguish, Let me see you again and again; They are yours when so seasick they languish, Our Lady of Pain!