Beat a dog till it howls outright-- Cruel, but all very well for a spree: Suppose that he did so day and night, _That_ would be like the Sea. I had a vision of nursery-maids; Tens of thousands passed by me-- All leading children with wooden spades, And this was by the Sea. Who invented those spades of wood? Who was it cut them out of the tree? None, I think, but an idiot could-- Or one that loved the Sea. It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float With 'thoughts as boundless, and souls as free': But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat, How do you like the Sea? [Illustration: "AND THIS WAS BY THE SEA"] There is an insect that people avoid (Whence is derived the verb 'to flee'). Where have you been by it most annoyed? In lodgings by the Sea. If you like your coffee with sand for dregs, A decided hint of salt in your tea, And a fishy taste in the very eggs-- By all means choose the Sea. And if, with these dainties to drink and eat, You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree, And a chronic state of wet in your feet, Then--I recommend the Sea. For _I_ have friends who dwell by the coast-- Pleasant friends they are to me! It is when I am with them I wonder most That any one likes the Sea. They take me a walk: though tired and stiff, To climb the heights I madly agree; And, after a tumble or so from the cliff, They kindly suggest the Sea. I try the rocks, and I think it cool That they laugh with such an excess of glee, As I heavily slip into every pool That skirts the cold cold Sea. [Illustration] Y{e} Carpette Knyghte. I have a horse--a ryghte goode horse-- Ne doe I envye those Who scoure y{e} playne yn headye course Tyll soddayne on theyre nose They lyghte wyth unexpected force-- Yt ys--a horse of clothes. I have a saddel--"Say'st thou soe? Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?" I sayde not that--I answere "Noe"-- Yt lacketh such, I woote: Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe! Parte of y{e} fleecye brute. I have a bytte--a ryghte good bytte-- As shall bee seene yn tyme. Y{e} jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte; Yts use ys more sublyme. Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt? Yt ys--thys bytte of rhyme. [Illustration: "I HAVE A HORSE"] HIAWATHA'S PHOTOGRAPHING. [In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for this slight attempt at doing what is known to be so easy. Any fairly practised writer, with the slightest ear for rhythm, could compose, for hours together, in the easy running metre of 'The Song of Hiawatha.' Having, then, distinctly stated that I challenge no attention in the following little poem to its merely verbal jingle, I must beg the candid reader to confine his criticism to its treatment of the subject.]