How many woes, the heavens beneath, The sons of men assume! For some, they say, are boomed to death, While some have ne'er a boom. And some like rockets rise and fall-- A sadder lot have they Whose rockets never mount at all, But fizz and die away. _My_ sun is sinking to the West-- It did not fairly rise. In velvet coats I can't invest, Nor in Byronic ties. The very cheapest "shag" I smoke, My thirst on water quench-- My latest sixpence when I broke, I _knew_ I must retrench. Upon a simple scone I lunch, Or luncheon I ignore-- I cannot even buy a _Punch_-- A most terrific bore! But yet at Fleet Street, 85, From gazing none retard, And solace still may thence derive An impecunious Bard. * * * * * TEMPORA MUTANTUR. There was a time I loved to row Upon the Thames, and pitch my tent On reedy islands lying low, Without a thought of tax or rent. But if I sleep in puddles now I get rheumatics, gout and cramp. The Thames has grown--I know not how-- So damp. There was a time I loved to climb From morn till eve, from eve to morn, Those snow-capped Alpine peaks sublime, The Rigi and the Matterhorn. Now, Ludgate Hill is quite as much As I can do, or Hornsey Rise-- Mountains, you see, have grown to such A size. There was a time I loved to flit To Margate with its German bands, And split my sides at nigger-wit, Or ride on donkeys on the sands. Now, niggers have got coarse and low, And if I mount on steeds, they cough, Or wink, or wag their ears and throw Me off. But now my nerves are all a wreck I'll seek some less exacting sport In Regent's Park, nor risk my neck In foolish pranks of that mad sort. I'll find some steady man who owns A safe reliable Bath-chair, And tip him well to wheel my bones With care. * * * * * NEWS FROM NORWICH. "Am I too sweeping when I say that we have more to fear from drinking and gambling than from all the capitalists put together?" So boldly and pertinently asked Mr. President DELVES, in his opening speech at the Norwich Trades Union Congress. Mr. DELVES "paused for a reply." _Mr. Punch_ gives it with an emphatic "No!" It is not every working-man's friend who will tell the working-man this wholesome truth: that the Bottle and the Betting-Book are his worst enemies. When he defeats _them_, the grasping capitalist, the mere greedy monopolist, will not have a chance against him. Sober workmen who did not gamble would indeed be "too strong to be afraid of Parliament," or any other power.